Resisting Temptation Read online

  Looking around, my gaze lands on Charles S. Winston, the guy whose pants are still undone and is covered in my sister’s blood.

  “Now just stay where you are, son. This is God’s will and you cannot change what he wants!”

  For the first time in my life, that darkness that has never surfaced, unleashes. “You motherfucker!” I charge at him and take him to the ground. My gun flies out of my hand from the force of my body slamming into his. I start raining blow after blow to his face, and suddenly I feel like I’m on the outside looking in, like I have no control over my body as rage and despair fuels my violence.

  Hands quickly grab me and lock my arms behind my back, giving the asshole the opportunity to strike me back. I don’t feel his hits though; I feel nothing but the fury and adrenaline that rushes through my veins. I manage to rip out of the arms that hold me, and land beside my gun.

  When I see the asshole walk back over to my sister, I don’t hesitate. Grabbing the gun, I point and pull the trigger, shooting him in the back of the head. After what feels like minutes, but in actuality is only seconds, he drops to the floor. I quickly get up and train my gun on the two other guys. “Don’t fucking move or I will shoot you too.”

  My sister’s quiet, weak sobs quickly snap me into motion. I rush over to her while keeping my gun trained on the other two. When I look down at her, my heart shatters at her tear-streaked, pale face, and fear replaces my rage when I see the amount of blood surrounding her.

  Whipping out my cell phone I call 911 and give them the address of the location, and vaguely tell them what happened. The two guys flee the room, but I don’t care and I don’t try to stop them. The lady tries to keep me on the phone but I hang up, wanting to give all my attention to my sister.

  Untying her wrists, I get on the bed beside her and pull her up between my legs. I cradle the top half of her tiny body to my chest. Her labored breathing tells me things are bad.

  Leaning down, I kiss her forehead. “Hang in there, kid, everything is going to be okay. Help is on the way.” Tears fall onto her small, pale face and mix with her own. That’s when I realize I’m crying. I haven’t cried since before my dad died. I clench my teeth from the pain that’s slicing through my chest like a hot blade. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I grind out.

  “I’m sorry, Cade,” she sobs weakly, “he said he’d kill you if I ever told.”

  She was scared for me; she kept the secret to protect me. Guilt strikes me hard and fast, mixing in with all the other painful emotions pulsing through my body. I didn’t think my heart could pull any tighter than it already was, but it does. The agony ripping through my chest is making it difficult for me to breathe.

  I pull her in closer to me, thinking if I hold her tighter she won’t be able to slip away from me, but I was wrong. That day, before the ambulance had even arrived, my sister died in my arms. And the moment she took her last breath was the exact moment ice froze over my heart. It was the same day I stopped living and only existed.

  CHAPTER 1

  Cade

  Ten years later – Iraq

  Trudging through the trees and dry patches of grass, I make my way to the location I have been coming to for the past three nights, and I immediately know she’s there again. Because the most beautiful voice that I’ve ever heard hits me and, like always, the sweet, soft sound of it is like a blow to my chest.

  Seriously, why the fuck is that?

  As I come up to the wide, grassy clearing, I spot her. She’s sitting cross-legged, strumming her guitar and singing what I think is country… shit I would never, ever listen to. But if I knew I’d always hear it from her voice I’d gladly listen to it every fucking day of my life.

  Again I’m struck stupid by her beauty. Long, red hair cascades down her back in loose waves and the sight makes my fingers twitch, craving to know if it feels as soft as it looks. Instead of the usual sundresses I have been seeing her in, she’s wearing a white sleeveless top that hangs loosely off her small body and a pair of jean shorts. My eyes travel down her long, lean, bare legs and collide with a pair of cowgirl boots.

  The way the sun has started to set – it casts a glow on her that doesn’t make her look real. It makes her look like something that people try to fill your head with, but I know is bullshit, a fucking angel. But if I did believe in angels, I’d swear this chick was one. Her entire persona screams innocence.

  Three nights ago I left camp and went for a walk, needing to be alone. What was supposed to be a quick twenty-four hour mission has already turned into five days, and it seems it could be another week. I don’t mind being gone on missions, the longer the better. It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me back home. But since I’m always with a team, being around people constantly can make me agitated, and I need time to myself. Even if some of those guys are like brothers to me.

  On that walk, only a few short minutes from base, a sweet, soft laugh had caught my attention. Following the sound, I came up to this clearing and found her with a bunch of Iraqi kids. She was chasing after them while playing some game. The moment my gaze landed on her something happened inside my chest, something that I haven’t felt in years and I have no idea why. Sure she’s beautiful, but I’ve seen lots of beautiful women. Hell, I’ve fucked most of them too. Yet something about this chick had me staying in the trees, out of sight, and watching her until she left. She was all I thought about that entire night and the next day. Which really pissed me off.

  So the next night I came back, hoping to catch another glimpse of her, wanting to reassure myself that I was being a fucking idiot and that she was not what I made her out to be. Instead of getting the reassurance I had wanted, that same feeling came back, except this time it was even more powerful, because she had a guitar and was singing. Her voice had rooted me to my spot, and had my breath stalling in my lungs. If it were possible it would have knocked me on my ass. I swear I have never heard anything like it before.

  That night I sat for two hours and listened to her sing shit that I would never normally listen to. I felt like a fucking pervert, staying out of sight and spying on her, but there was no way I was getting any closer to her. I’m still trying to figure out how, after ten years of being completely numb, some beautiful, redheaded country girl evokes something in my chest that no one ever has. It’s far from warmth because I’m incapable of feeling that, but it’s still something.

  I’ve been wondering what the hell a white American girl is doing in a place like this. Even though most of the soldiers have been evacuated and the war declared over, it still is dangerous, and the insurgency is still ongoing. Actually it’s been getting a lot worse lately, which is why I’m here. So why the hell would she be here, out of all places?

  My attention suddenly shifts across the field, to an Iraqi boy who is walking toward her with a smile. He looks about eight years old and I recognize him from the first night, when she was playing with a bunch of them. The girl is clearly expecting him and is even happy to see him, if her smile is anything to go by.

  And why the fuck does her smile even have shit shifting in my chest?

  The boy walks up to her and hands her a single, white flower shyly. Her smile brightens as she accepts it, and she even gives the kid a kiss on the cheek. Lucky little fucker.

  She sits back down and opens her arms to him. Turning, he sits on her lap and she places the guitar in his hands. Her arms go around him and she helps him strum the guitar. The kid is wearing the biggest smile on his face and they both begin to sing a song that they clearly have been working on.

  Finding myself not being able to walk away again, I take a seat by the tree that I have been sitting at for the past three nights and soak in everything about her. I am seriously fucked in the head when it comes to this chick.

  *

  Faith

  I’ve heard there was a secret chord

  That David played, and it pleased the Lord

  But you don’t really care for music, do you?


  It goes like this

  The fourth, the fifth

  The minor fall, the major lift

  The baffled king composing Hallelujah

  Hallelujah, Hallelujah

  Hallelujah, Hallelujah

  As I sing with Aadil, the sweet little Iraqi boy I met a week ago, my heart warms at the joyous smile on his face. I’m pretty sure he loves music as much as me. We have been practicing this song ever since the night he found me in this field, singing it. His English is not the best but he’s getting much better at following along with me.

  I remember the day I spotted him in the trees listening to me; he had a look of wonderment across his face. He was timid when I first approached him but he warmed to me quickly. That night I had completely lost my heart to him, and every evening since he has come to this spot to be with me. The other day he even brought a bunch of friends with him and we had a wonderful time. They taught me games that they like to play and I taught them some of my favorites.

  It bothers Beth that I leave camp, so I tried to have Aadil come to us. But for some reason he is scared of being spotted, so I promised him I would come here every night to be with him until the day I leave. He has come to mean an awful lot to me, in the short time we have gotten to know each other, and I will miss him dearly when the time comes for me to leave.

  After we finish the song, Aadil turns to me with a big smile. “I did better.”

  I smile back, “Yes, you did. Have you been practicing the words?”

  He nods and his smile slips a bit. “Only here though,” he replies, tapping his head.

  “Well I can tell, you did wonderful, Aadil. I’m very proud of you.”

  He beams at my praise. I’m just about to ask him if he wants to play again when I am interrupted by an angry shout. Looking across the field, I see a furious man storming toward us, screaming in Arabic.

  “Oh no. My father,” Aadil gasps. Pure fear washes over his face and he quickly stands. I promptly follow suit and place my hands on his thin, trembling shoulders. My heart begins to pound when I see just how angry the man is. Aadil begins apologizing profusely in Arabic, one of the very few words I know.

  I quickly realize his father is upset that he’s with me. Hoping he understands English, I raise my hands and calmly try to explain I mean no harm.

  “Shut up, bitch!”

  Well I guess that means he understands English. Taking a deep, nervous breath I try again. He completely ignores me. As soon as he gets within an arm’s reach of us, he raises his hand to Aadil.

  “NO!” Locking my arms tightly around Aadil’s tiny body, I turn us around and brace myself for the powerful blow that’s about to hit my back. But it never comes.

  After a few seconds, I anxiously glance behind me to see a very tall, very scary American man. He has a strong grip around Aadil’s father’s wrist in the air, preventing it from landing on me. The American says nothing but the cold, hard disdain in his eyes say enough.

  Instead of Aadil’s father looking fearful, like any sane person would at this hulking man, he becomes more furious. “You mind your own business, Soldier. You don’t know who you are fucking with.”

  Soldier?

  I study the American a little more closely and realize it’s a probability. I also notice how incredibly beautiful he is, probably the most beautiful man I have ever seen, and also the scariest.

  Nothing changes in the soldier’s hard expression. He pushes Aadil’s father hard enough that he lands on his back. “I don’t give a fuck who you are. Get out of here now or you will be nothing but a fucking memory by the time I’m done with you.”

  Whoa.

  By the lethal look of this soldier I imagine he could do some very serious harm. Aadil’s father glares back at him for a few seconds before standing to his feet. He shouts something at Aadil in Arabic that has the little boy flinching. I hold him tighter and try to offer as much comfort as I can.

  “This isn’t over. You have made a very grave mistake,” he threatens the soldier, who doesn’t seem the least bit worried, before turning and storming off.

  I stare at his retreating back and let out a relieved breath. I’m about to thank the American when Aadil’s quiet sniffles draw my attention to him. Dropping down on my knee in front of him, I cup his small, scared face and realize my own hands are shaking. “Are you all right, Aadil?”

  He shakes his head. “I have to go.”

  Panic threatens to choke me, not wanting him to go anywhere near that man. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He is very angry right now. Why don’t you stay with me for a little longer and give him some time to calm down?” Unfortunately, I have a feeling no amount of time is going to calm his father.

  Aadil shakes his head again, disregarding my suggestion right away. “No, the longer I wait the worse it will be.”

  My stomach clenches in fear. “Aadil, I’m scared for you. Come back to camp with me and we will figure out a way to help you.”

  “No. I will be okay. I promise. I will go to Ommah.” Ommah was another Arabic word I have learned. It means mother.

  He kisses my cheek and gives me a hug. My throat begins to burn as I squeeze him back tightly. A long minute later, I lean back and keep hold of his shoulders. “Will you come back so I know you’re okay?”

  “Yes. I don’t know when, but I will.” Pulling away from me, he timidly glances up at the soldier that I forgot was still here. “Thank you, Mister,” he chokes out quietly before he takes off running. I watch until he disappears in the trees, and feel absolutely terrified I’m not going to see him again.

  Standing up, I turn to the soldier and swallow nervously as his massive presence still gives off a threatening vibe. “Um, well, thank you very much. I’m not sure how you found us, but I’m sure glad…”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?”

  I flinch from his harsh tone before glaring back at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, what the fuck is wrong with you? You do know that there was a war here between them and us only a few months ago, right? This place is still fucking dangerous, especially for people like you.”

  People like me?

  “And here you are, without a care in the fucking world, playing your goddamn guitar while off in fucking la-la land.”

  “Hey!” I clap my hands loudly enough to get the pompous ass to shut up. “First off, buster, I know this isn’t the safest place in the world. My camp is only a few minutes from here and I am always careful…”

  “Careful?” he shouts in exasperation. “You call jumping in front of a guy’s fist fucking careful? Christ, I’d like to see what you think is fucking safe.”

  “What do you expect? I wasn’t going to stand by and let him hit Aadil. And excuse me, but who died and made you king shit?”

  I become even more angry now that this jerk just made me swear. Knowing I don’t owe him any explanations, I start stomping away. Unfortunately, my temper gets the better of me. Spinning around, I storm back up to him and tilt my head all the way back until I match him, glare for glare. I try not to let his cold expression and very large size intimidate me, which is pretty much impossible, so I fake my confidence. I also notice he smells pretty darn good too. The mean, delicious smelling jerk.

  Swiping angrily at a few stray curls that are blowing in my face, I square my shoulders then poke my finger in his hard chest. “I’ll have you know, I am not some dumb girl who sits and strums her guitar in la-la land. So before you throw out judgments at someone you don’t even know, buddy, you might want to choose your words more carefully next time. And when someone says ‘thank you’, you need to say ‘you’re welcome’. Not cuss and shout at them. Clearly your mother never taught you any manners.”

  Feeling a little better, after putting him in his place, I spin back around and storm toward my guitar. But before I make it there, the unthinkable happens: my boot sinks into a pothole and throws me off balance. A sharp sting slices through my ankle and I land on my but
t painfully.

  I feel my face turn as red as my hair and I drop my head in defeat. Seriously, God? Couldn’t you have at least let me fall gracefully?

  I feel the rude, sexy soldier still behind me and know he’s probably laughing his butt off right now, but my ego is too wounded to turn around and check for sure. So instead, I gather as much dignity as I can muster before I stand back up, but as soon as I put weight on my tender ankle it gives out on me. Sucking in a sharp, painful breath, I drop back down.

  “Just take it easy there, Firecracker,” the jerk says, as he approaches me. He drops down in front of me, and I expect to see amusement on his handsome face, so I’m surprised when I see the same hard expression he’s had this entire time.

  “I’m fine. I just need a minute,” I mumble, still feeling angry and embarrassed. He grunts as he reaches for my boot, but I scoot back. “I said I’m fine. So go ahead and get back to whatever it is you were doing before showing up here and yelling at me.”

  Completely ignoring me, he reaches for my foot a second time, and then lets out a frustrated breath when I move it away again. “Listen, I’m fucking sorry for yelling at you, okay? Now will you just let me fucking look at it to make sure it’s not fucking sprained?”

  I gape at him, wondering if he’s serious and quickly realize he is. “Well that is the worst apology I have ever heard from someone.”

  He glares at me and makes no attempt to better it. When I realize he isn’t going to, I roll my eyes and give in. Carefully, I swing my leg back over to him, and gasp when his big, warm hand grabs my bare leg. Not from pain though, from something else, something I’ve never felt before. His eyes snap back to mine, and the way he looks at me I’d swear he knows what I’m thinking. But there is no way he can, right?

  Looking away, he clears his throat and mumbles an apology before pulling my boot off. I let out a relieved breath; thankful he thinks my reaction to him was from pain, which I immediately feel guilty for.

  “It’s okay,” I reply quietly, not wanting him to feel bad for thinking he hurt me. Although he doesn’t look like the kind of guy to feel bad about causing someone pain.