Page 2 of Duty Bound

She stared through the darkness, barely able to make out the fear-numbed faces of her fellow victims. None of them had seen this coming, and none knew what to expect.

One thing she knew for sure. It wasn’t good.

CHAPTER 2

It was past midnight when Blade cruised back into the void that was Fayetteville, North Carolina. He could still taste the open road on his tongue and feel the wind in his hair.

He'd pushed his motorcycle to the limit, trying to outrun the hell hounds in his head. The sleek Suzuki was more than a ride—it was his escape, his therapy on two wheels, cutting a path through the darkness like a knife through silence. But not even the throaty growl of the GSX-R could silence the screams.

His buddy Spade's last moments… the anguished yell as the bullet found its mark… blood on the dusty ground.

He heard himself yelling—no, begging—Spade not to die. To hang on, help was coming. Even though he knew it wasn't.

His friend had bled out in his arms, on the mountain path, whispering the words, "Tell Lily I love her."

Blade had ridden hard, leaned into the curves with a reckless abandon, pushing for a velocity high enough to set him free from the haunting memories. Spade wasn't the only one who'd died that day. Blaster and Ricky had fallen too. Shot down by a sniper's bullet.

Blade had tried to outrun the guilt, the what-ifs, the could-have-beens, but the ambush that took their lives was his cross to bear. His and his alone. No one else was left to share the burden.

Blade killed the engine, silence hanging heavy in the air. The stillness revealed a black SUV squatting curbside. His eyes narrowed as he removed his helmet, then he swung his leg over his bike. That wasn't usually there.

"Evenin', Blade." The voice cut through the hush.

Blade's heart kicked up a notch at the tough, gravelly timbre. "Pat?"

Pat was one tough son of a gun, a former Navy SEAL who'd weathered life's storms, including the loss of his wife and his early retirement. Blade hadn't seen the man shed a tear until his boy, Spade, was laid to rest ten months ago.

He had gotten to know Pat fairly well over the last few years, thanks to his friendship with Spade, but since he'd gotten his walking papers from the doc, they hadn't spoken much.

"Yeah. How are you doin', Blade?"

He smirked. Was Pat really asking if he was okay? "I'm standing, aren't I?" He squared up to the wise ex-officer. Facing Pat was like staring down the barrel of the past, and the first time he'd done it, he'd nearly fallen apart.

The memory of the ambush was still a fresh wound… the chopper ride, the blur of debriefs, and the tremor in his hands that wouldn't quit for two straight days. He'd lost three brothers that day, four counting Stitch, who had gone AWOL right after. Blade hadn't left Helmand until he'd brought their bodies home.

"You sure you're good?" Pat prodded, his gaze sharp.

Blade swallowed over the lump in his throat. "As good as I can be.” Pat just nodded—he knew the score.

"So, what's with the surprise visit?" Blade eyed the SUV again.

The corners of Pat's mouth turned up. "I was in the neighborhood."

"At this ungodly hour?"

"Just swinging by." His easy smile reminded Blade so much of Spade it hurt.

“You may as well come inside then." Blade led him indoors as the moon slipped behind a cloud. Once in the living room, he reached for the whiskey. "Drink?"

"Why the hell not?"

Blade poured two, handed one to Pat, then picked up his glass and sat down. Pat had already settled on an armchair in the living area. Seemed he was planning to stay a while.

"Still having nightmares?" Pat's gaze flicked to the pile of old newspapers, books, and DVDs on the coffee table—a stack of distractions for the sleepless.

He gave a dry laugh. "That obvious?"

Pat snorted and raised his glass. "To Joe." Spade's real name. Blade used it so rarely, he'd almost forgotten what it was.

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