Page 3 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

Killing was not complicated, and had become more of an instinct than a decision I consciously made.

Dealing with death, however, was different.

I released his hand, frustrated that he had chosen to point the weapon at me, but feeling no regret for the action I had taken. I turned toward the entrance and walked through the room, gazing blankly beyond the walls and into the dusty street as I did so.

“How many is that?” I heard Grayson ask.

I tapped a cigarette from my pack, raised it to my mouth, and lit it. As I watched the smoke slowly rise from the tip, I bit into the cotton filter and spoke through my teeth. “How many is what?”

“Kills. Cunningham said you killed a bunch of these sorry motherfuckers,” he said.

I glared at him, capable of answering, but not necessarily feeling doing so was warranted – at least not to him.

He narrowed his eyes as he gazed into the street at the children playing. “God damned Muslims, we should drop a motherfuckin’ bomb on this son-of-a-bitch if you ask me. Turn this sand to a fuckin’ sheet of glass.”

I closed my left eye, took a long drag from the cigarette, and studied him with my open eye. As I exhaled a cloud of smoke into the space between us, I responded in the only manner I saw fit.

“Well, PrivateGrayson, nobody asked you. And we’re not fighting Muslims, dumb fuck. We’re fighting terrorists.” I paused and took a long pull from the cigarette.

I stared down at the toes of my boots and exhaled the smoke from my lungs. After a few long seconds of staring blankly at the dirt floor, I shifted my gaze upward and studied his eyes. A replacement for a Marine who had been killed by an IED, and all of eighteen years old, he would more than likely be dead in a matter of weeks if his attitude didn’t change. As he looked back at me with the eyes of an over eager inexperienced Marine, I continued.

“I’m not here to condemn a man for his religious beliefs, but I’ll send one straight to an early grave for his stance against the United States of America or one of my fellow Marines. You’ve got a lot to fucking learn, Private,” I said, making sure he understood that I was not only aware of his military rank, but that he was as low and as inexperienced as a Marine could possibly be.

His eyes went wide as if I had slapped him in the face.

He stared beyond me for a moment, shifted his eyes to me, and gave a slight acknowledgement of my condemnations.

“I’ll do my best, Corporal Jacob,” he said in an apologetic tone.

As I turned and walked out of the building, I considered Grayson’s initial question, and wondered why I didn’t accurately respond. I bent my knees and lowered myself into a squatted position beside the opening of the door and gazed into the street. The length of the deserted dirt road was littered with pieces of brick and chunks of concrete, a reminder of the many bombs dropped before our arrival. A young boy played with a soccer ball, bouncing it from his knees onto his chest and shoulders, oblivious as to what was going on around him. As I watched him balance the ball on his upper chest, I tried my best to recall the lives I had taken.

I wasn’t ashamed, nor was I proud. Killing the enemy was something that had happened, and if given the same circumstances to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. As far as I was concerned, there was only one thing that really mattered – if I didn’t kill the men who were trying to kill me, my objective would never be reached.

My objective?

At the end of each tour of duty, I needed to make it home for one reason and one reason only.

To hold my wife in my arms.

I looked out into the dusty street. The boy was gone. The sound of small arms fire echoed in the air like distant music. I stood, raised my hands to my face, and rubbed my tired eyes. No matter how much I rationalized ending the lives of the men I had killed, the details of each of their deaths lingered in my mind, playing over and over like a slow-motion scene from a horror movie. It was the price I paid, I supposed, for doing something so contrary to man’s religious, moral, and spiritual beliefs.

So far, I had killed thirteen men to reach my objective.

And holding her in my arms was all the justification I really needed.