Unbroken (Fighter Erotic Romance #4) (2 page)

SHANE.
“You know, there are three types of people who eat here - locals, those passing through, and a few who are hiding from something,” the waitress slid the cup of coffee and creamer to the center of the table.

“You don’t live here, and you haven’t ridden that motorcycle out of town yet. So, are you trying to get the courage to cross the border?” she chuckled and tilted her head to the south.

I smiled and reached for the creamer. Anthony, Mew Mexico was ten minutes north of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico – a city known for drugs, violence, and killing. I had stopped in Anthony for the night because it seemed peaceful – a nice place for me to collect my thoughts and prepare for what was ahead. A night turned into a few days, and a few days became a week. South of Las Cruces and north of El Paso, the small town of 5000 people was a tranquil little place to relax. The local diner, which had become a daily stop for me, was a step back in time - red round vinyl topped chrome bar stools from the 1950’s, a jukebox, old fashioned malts, milk shakes, and one waitress working her ass off to serve everyone who entered. The nametag pinned to her uniform said it all.

Bea.

More than likely it was short for Beatrice. Without a doubt, a local who grew up here, and had never had the opportunity or a good reason to uproot and leave the area.

“I have no business in Mexico. No ma’am, I’m just relaxing, that’s all,” I smiled as I poured the creamer into my coffee cup.

“Anthony is quite a hot spot, yeah I can see that,” she rolled her eyes and smiled.

“So, four over medium, the breakfast steak medium rare, and dry wheat toast?” she tilted her head slightly to the side, undoubtedly proud she had recalled my breakfast preferences.

“Yes ma’am,” I nodded.

As she smiled and walked away, I sipped my coffee and looked around the empty restaurant. One man, probably in his early seventies, sat at the bar sipping from a coffee cup. He had shared the restaurant with me every morning – he in his spot, and me in mine. Purposefully I came late - around 9:00 am - after the locals were off to work, and before the lunch crowd began. As the waitress turned and walked away, he looked over his left shoulder and tipped his coffee cup my direction. I returned the gesture and smiled as I lowered my lips to the rim of the overfilled cup.

Without a doubt, there were things I missed about being in Texas. Kace, Ripp, Kelsey, Vee, Austin, and A-Train were extremely close to me. Additionally, Ripp’s family had become a family to me – or the nearest thing I had ever experienced. Together, the entire group was the closest thing to a family I would ever be able to enjoy. But now…now I couldn’t face them. Not now.

In staring out the window, I began to wonder why God would ever make a place as ugly as Anthony, Texas. As I studied the traffic driving through town, I considered the existence of God entirely. At least the God I had come to understand as being. As I tilted the bottom of my coffee cup upward, I realized it was empty.

I would have sworn she just filled it.

“Lemme refresh that for you, and here’s your breakfast,” Bea said as she slid the plate of food in front of me.

I lowered my cup to the table and smiled. As she poured coffee from the pot, she studied my right hand.

“Your hands look better. Actually, much better,” she smiled and tilted the pot away from my cup.

“Not that I was looking. It’s just,” she paused and scrunched her brow.

“They were swollen and terrible looking that first morning you came in.”

“I’m a boxer,” I smiled as I raised my right hand from the cup and pressed my knuckles into my left palm.

She shook her head slightly and grinned, “Boxer’s wear gloves. Boxer’s
protect
their hands. You may be a boxer, but your hands didn’t get that way from boxing.”

Beatrice the insightful waitress.

“That’s a fact. And your attention to detail didn’t come from being a waitress,” I grinned.

“No,” she sighed.

“Criminal Justice, I wanted to be a cop,” she smiled.

“What’s keeping you from it,” I asked as I unraveled my napkin and removed my fork.

“Three little ones. I have three little ones at home. One, two, and four. Wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world. Maybe one day I’ll go back to school. For now I’ll work here and raise them the best I can,” she grinned proudly.

I nodded my head and shifted my gaze toward the plate.

Walk away, lady. I don’t want to talk. Not now, and not about this.

“You have any? Any kids?” she asked.

As I reached for my knife and began to cut my steak, I shook my head from side to side and stared down at my plate.

“No ma’am, I sure don’t.”

“Well, when you do someday, you’ll never regret it. They’re a true gift. Enjoy your breakfast,” she smiled, nodded her head toward my plate, and walked toward the jukebox.

Often it seems we’re forced to hear exactly what it is we aren’t willing to listen to when we
want
to hear it the least but
need
to hear it the most.

Johnny Cash’s
I Hung My Head
began to play as Bea stepped away from the jukebox. Although I had heard the song countless times in bars and taverns over the years, it sounded much different this time. As I ate my steak, the words from the song made sense in a different manner than they had previously. I had always thought the song was about killing. This time it wasn’t.

Acceptance.

The song was about acceptance.

My inability to accept circumstances in my life is what brought me here. I took another bite of steak and stared out the window as I chewed, as if I were looking for some form of answer to a question I was too afraid to ask.

As Johnny Cash’s
When the Man Comes Around
began to play, I closed my eyes and listened intently.

And I heard as it were the noise of thunder…

One of the four beasts saying come and see and I saw…

And behold a white horse.

The sound of the music was quickly overshadowed by the noise of a loud motorcycle exhaust rumbling from the small parking lot which adjoined the diner’s glass front. Aggravated, I opened my eyes and stared into the lot.

And behold a white horse.

SHANE.
I have always lived a simple life and kept to myself, not needing or desiring the opinions of a stranger to assist me in understanding life or the complications associated with it. Oddly enough, a simple statement or expressed opinion from an outsider is often the one thing which causes us to veer from the peaceful road we were previously traveling along. One person’s transparent opinion has the ability to lift us from our feet with pride, or crush us into the depths of some God forsaken hell we can’t seem to find a way out of.

From deep inside the fiery pit from in which I was currently living, I looked through the window into the parking lot and shook my head in disbelief as my hand fumbled along the table for my cup of coffee.

Sitting on his motorcycle with one hand resting on the handlebars and the other searching for a cigarette, he stared blankly toward the front of the diner. His hand shaking as he held it to his mouth, he puffed eagerly on the cigarette as he lit it. After a few long drags, slowly his head pivoted 180 degrees, inventoried the empty parking lot, and he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Methodically, he stood from his motorcycle, bent over, and stepped on his cigarette. As he placed the butt into his shirt pocket and began walking toward the door, I turned toward the counter where the old man was seated.

“Bring me another cup of coffee. Black,” I said to the waitress.

She nodded her head and reached for one of the many cups which were hanging behind her from hooks below the bottom shelf. I looked down at the table as she placed the cup down and began pouring coffee into it. Before she filled the cup, I heard the bell attached to the front door jingle.

“Friend or foe?” she asked quietly as she lifted the coffee pot from the cup.

I looked up and grinned, “Right now, probably a little of both.”

“He looks like he might be a handful,” she said as she tilted her head in his direction.

“We’ll be just fine,” I smiled.

The sound of his boot heels echoed through the empty diner as he walked toward the booth I was sitting in. Somewhat embarrassed, I looked down at my plate as if I had no idea he was approaching.

“You might need a lesson or two in how to hide, Dekk,” he said as he lowered himself into the seat across from me.

I shook my head slightly in disbelief as I looked up, “I won’t even ask.”

“In the future, you need to use cash. That debit card of yours is like a flashing beacon of fucking light,” he chuckled.

After a precursory glance over the interior of the diner, he turned to face me.

“I’m going to tell you a story. Say my peace, so to speak. When I’m done I’m going to walk outside and smoke another cigarette then ride out of here. I hate shitty little dusty towns like this. They remind me of places I’m trying to forget about.” he said.

“You know, if God was going to give the world an enema, he’d more than likely stick the tube in this shitty little town,” he hesitated as he stared out the window and slowly shook his head.

He turned toward the table and looked down at the coffee.

“When I leave you can either head out with me or stay here, I don’t care either way,” he smiled as he pointed at the coffee cup in front of him.

I nodded my head.

He picked up the cup, took a slow sip, and held it in front of his face as he began to speak, “During my first tour, we were looking for al-Zawahiri. Hell, we were searching for a lot of al-Qaeda officials, but at this point in time,
he
was our target. We received intel on where he was and why he was there. It seems he was having a summit meeting of sorts with every other high ranking Islamic militant within a three hundred mile radius. Without a doubt, on this particular night, we were going to bag this shit-bird and bring the war to a screeching halt. At least that’s what we were told.”

“Go ahead and eat, this is going to take a minute,” he said as he tilted his head toward my plate of food.

As I began to cut my now cold steak, he lowered his coffee cup to the table and took his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. With a shaking hand, he lifted one of the cigarettes to his mouth and bit it between his teeth.  Flipping his cigarette lighter between his fingers, he began to speak through his clenched teeth.

“So, based on this intel, they assembled a handful of us; three Marines, and seven or so SEALS. They indicated al-Zawahiri had gone into some shit-hole home earlier on this particular day, and he hadn’t come out. Hell, from what they said, no one came in or out after he arrived. It seemed his little meeting was underway, and all we had to do was get there before he left,” he pulled the unlit cigarette from his teeth and lowered his chin into his hand.

I chewed the last bite of my steak and pushed my plate to the side.

“Now this being my first tour, I didn’t have much experience – and none in extraction to speak of – only training. All the brass wanted him alive if possible, so they’d preached protocol and rules of engagement to us all fucking day. We all sat around and waited for the cover of darkness while we planned what we were going to do. You know, studying the chicken-shit map they’d given us showing the supposed layout of the home, cleaning our weapons, and talking about how we were going to get this prick,” he paused, shook his head lightly, and took another sip of coffee.

He leaned into the edge of the table and rested the coffee cup beside his pack of cigarettes, still flipping the cigarette lighter between his fingers. Nervously, he released the cup and lifted the unlit cigarette to his lips.

“So, it’s zero dark fucking thirty, and we’re all waiting. About oh two thirty they round us up, take us as close as they can get us, tell us good luck and god fucking speed. We surround the front of this little mud hut and blow the door on this place, toss in a few flash-bangs, and in we go,” he pulled the cigarette from his lips and inhaled a deep breath as if disgusted.

“Needless to say, I’m as nervous as a fucking whore in church service. I’ve got diarrhea, my stomach is all fucked up, my head’s full of all kinds of thoughts on what
may
happen to me or to someone else, and what I’m gonna do when it does. I’d gone over every possible god damned scenario based on the intel we have and who’s supposedly in this shit-hole,” he paused and shook his head from side to side and looked out into the parking lot.

“You see Dekk, men are just that; men. And men make mistakes. A man will give you an
opinion
, and portray it as an absolute fact. If you’re either gullible enough or dumb enough to believe him, you then make a life changing decision based on the inaccuracies of his beliefs. And you see, Dekk,” he stopped gazing through the glass into the parking lot and turned to face me.

“It’s just that. It’s an opinion. It’ll never be any more or any less. If I had all of the lives we lost based on one man’s opinion of what was sure
not
to happen, I could fill this fucking diner with good god damned Marines. But I can’t, because they’re all fucking dead.”

“The opposite happened on this particular night. The shit-hole home was empty. No hidden exit. No tunnels. No way out except the doors which were in full view. And we had eyes on every fucking corner of this place. And after an assurance he and his band of merry men walked in and never came out – we went in after him. I was mad as fuck. Let down, depressed, and I felt kind of betrayed. They were wrong Dekk. They’re wrong more than they’re right. You know why? Because they’re fucking human and they gave their
opinion
.”

“You see,” he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and bit the filter between his teeth.

“If we’re forced to make a decision that has the potential to have a profound effect on our life, and it’s based on the
opinion
of one man, we must weigh the legitimacy of the man in question. And in my humble opinion, if the man in question is not God, his opinion is nothing more than an educated guess.”

He slowly stood from his seat and removed the cigarette from his mouth. As if he’d forgotten if it was lit or not, he lifted it, looked at the tip, and grinned, “I’m going to go burn this. I’ve been chewing on it for too damned long. Come out and join me?”

I nodded my head sharply as I reached for my wallet.

And I paid in cash.