Page 39 of Deadly Obsession
Thankfully, one of our Recon Marine Snipers had been watching us from elsewhere in the city. “Three-six-bravo! Blue on blue! Blue on blue. British friendlies to your west!” came across the radio.
Just like that, the gunfire went silent. And shortly after, we were sharing our hut with a British squad that had gotten separated from their main force.
“That’s Reaper, Goliath, and I’m Mustang. How about you, partner?” I’d asked the British soldier, who’d sat down to play blackjack with us. The stakes? Cigarettes and candy from our MREs.
“Corporal Watson, Micheal Watson. You chaps can call me Mike.” He had short blond hair and beady blue eyes that only a fool would trust. He had good stories and plenty of smokes, so we’d let him join in the game. After all, he was a new face and it was a chance to interact with our allies.
It wasn’t long before Reaper and Goliath got called out to stand watch over the two most likely avenues of approach, leaving Mike and me alone in the hut.
“Blackjack,” I announced for the tenth time as I set down a nine of hearts, a ten of clubs, and a two of spades.
“Fucking hell, I haven’t beat you a single time. I’m done. Haven’t got a cigarette to my name anymore. You’ve cleaned me,” he cursed, throwing his hands in the air.
“Ah, don’t worry about it, partner. Here,” I said, handing him a full pack of Marlboro Reds from the stash in my assault pack. “America’s best.”
He picked it up and we spent the better half of the night chain smoking and telling stories about our time in country until the conversation shifted to stories about home instead. I told him things about growing up on a ranch, and he told me about the hundreds of women he’d had waiting for him—including his wife. His stories were accompanied by a handful of photos he produced from his wallet.
“This here is Amy. A beauty I met at uni. Here is Abigail. Oh, and Stacy.” He continued shuffling the stack of Polaroids of half and fully naked women in his hands.
After girl number three, I’d honestly turned my mind off and was just politely nodding my head as this bastard bragged about how he was basically the biggest man-whore in his country. I was about to tell him to fuck off and try to get some sleep when one photograph caught my attention.
My hand shot out, my fingertip pressing on one picture he’d been about to breeze past. “Wait… Who is she?”
He paused, holding that particular photo out for me to see. It was of a raven-haired beauty. With the darkest, most enchanting obsidian eyes I’d ever seen. Her upper lip possessed this seductive cupid’s bow and her body was decorated in very elegant, fine-line tattoos. Which peaked out of the black lace lingerie she was wearing.
“Oh, that’s just Sera. My wife. Not by choice, mind you. Got her pregnant and, well, things are rather old-fashioned. You understand, right? What do you people call it? A shotgun wedding?” He laughed and sat the photos down on the ground between us as he lit another cigarette.
But I couldn’t take my focus off the photo of the woman with the obsidian eyes.
I shook my head and realized that I was now holding a photo in my hand, brushing over it with my gloved thumb. The same photo I’d stolen from that British soldier back in 2010.
My harpy, my Sera.
The woman who’d unknowingly stumbled into my life. I opened the Velcro pouch of my body armor, slid the photodirectly over my heart, and pressed the fabric back down. Before dropping two of my throwing axes into their holsters on my thighs, the other two gripped tightly in my gloved hands.
Unable to resist, I stepped into view of the closet’s full-length mirror. “DC Comics, eat your heart out.”
TWENTY-FOUR
SERA
Sitting in the passenger seat of James’s truck, all I could smell was him. The warm and comforting mix of cedar, tobacco, and pine. It had my thoughts jumping from demanding we go back and get him, to wanting to just get on the first plane for home.
A sudden bump in the road brought my mind back to the here and now, and the seemingly endless forest surrounding us.
“Wait, flashing lights! You see those red-and-blue flashes? Just up there, around this bend—what the fuck?” Danielle might as well have read my mind because that was exactly what I was going to say. The truck slowly came to a stop, and she put it in park as we stared blankly at the scene in front of us.
“Ladies, what’s the trouble? Why have we stopped?” Brian called out to us, the sound of shuffling telling me he was turning around. “Oh, God.”
“That’s Robert’s car… and the sheriff’s truck. Oh, fuck! Is that…?” Danielle opened her door, and before I could protest, she was out and slowly walking towards the other two vehicles.
Not about to let her go anywhere without me, I threwopen my door and went after her. “Brian, stay here! We’re just going to check it out!”
“Ladies! Be quick! And don’t go too far!” I could hear the panic in his voice as he scrambled to push himself up, his makeshift splint banging against the metal.
We didn’t get more than a few steps before we saw it. Just past where Robert clearly ran off the road and wrapped the front of his car around a tree was another body. A portly man in a well-kept uniform. Aside from the collar of the blouse, which was tinged red at the spot where his head should be. A large, similarly-colored stain covering the front of his truck, expanding outward from the winch situated on the grill.
My eyes scanned over the man’s uniform. Evidently, Danielle was doing the same thing. Because, at the same time I noticed it, she gasped. “His gun is missing. Whoever did this for sure has the gun. Oh my god! We’re going to die!”
