Page 27 of The Darkness Within

“You weren’t going to come back? Yeah, we figured, that’s why we had to hunt you down. Trust me, you’re coming back, even if we have to drag your damn ass kicking and screaming.”

“But why? You don’t even know me.”

It’s his partner, Brandt, or Aguilar, whatever, that answers.

“Yeah, we do. We know who you are, Nash. You’re a soldier. You fought the same war we did. You bleed red, just like we do. You suffered and sacrificed for your country, just like we have. We know exactly who the fuck you are. You’re a Bitch. And when a Bitch has a bad day, the Bitches show up and support him.”

“Hell yeah,” they all shout, including McCormick, who has his mouth stuffed full of hot dogs.

I notice Mandy and the guy with the mohawk, Jax, are the quiet ones in the bunch.

“I heard you weren’t coming back home,” Mandy says.

He actually sounds disappointed. The fuck if I know why because I’ve given him nothing but grief since he met me.

“I’m going to stay with a friend for a while.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing your apartment is empty and you don’t own anything. Less shit to move.”

Liza pushes her way into the packed room, elbowing the hulking vets aside like they’re children. When she makes her way to my bedside, she freezes. “Wardell? How do you know Nash?”

“We run in the same circles,” he says with a smirk.

“I should have known the two most stubborn men I’ve ever met are friends. Looks like Brandt is taking good care of you.”

“Real good care,” a couple of the guys chide.

“Yeah, he’s been keeping a close eye on me lately,” West teases, looking his partner up and down with intent.

One thing I have to say about these guys, I admire their sense of humor. Sure, they sit around and bitch once a week and get deep into their feelings, but the rest of the time? They keep things light, positive, and try to lift each other up. If I have no choice but to be around people, these guys are exactly what I need.

“Visiting hours are over, guys. Come back tomorrow. Nash needs his beauty sleep,” Liza orders. When the last Bitch files out, she cleans up my half-eaten dinner tray. “At least I don’t have to worry about you when you go home tomorrow. You’ve surrounded yourself with good friends, and I’m relieved you’re in good hands. Those guys won’t let you down.”

“What the hell is this place?”

To say Nash is less than thrilled with my living arrangements would be an understatement. Actually, saying it’s an understatement would be understating it.

“This is my home.” It’s hard not to laugh. I played a dirty trick on him. His reaction could be a lot worse.

“You live here?”

“Actually, I own it.”

Serenity House is my home in every sense of the word. The large two-story beige Craftsman with the covered porch and red door is also home to three other men.

“What is this place?”

“Serenity House is a halfway house for recovering addicts and alcoholics. The three men that live here with me are also veterans.”

“That’s so quaint,” he snaps. “Could you please take me back home?”

“You are home, Nash.”

“No, to the apartment I was staying at.”

“You’re not going back there until—”

“I know,” he breathes out in frustration, “until I can make better decisions.”

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