Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) by Natasha Thomas Page B
Authors: Natasha Thomas
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wails of mothers and wives. The stoic, yet tearful faces of fathers and brothers. And the kids. Fuck me. The kids are always the worst hit with the news. Their faces hold so much hope when they see officers at the door, but morph quickly to utter desolation at the news their daddies are no longer of this world. All the more reason to investigate why these good men were ultimately led to their deaths, and make it a priority.
It was heartbreaking, but we never did find the source of the leak. We had our suspicions, but not enough solid Intel to go on to make any arrests or even go ahead and question the suspects we did have. After a six-month long investigation the outcome was ‘Of Unknown Origin’, a nice was to say we’ve got no fucking clue and can’t be fucked to waste the time to figure it out. Those of us that were there were never questioned. Our statements weren’t taken. The details our superiors knew were sketchy at best, only gathered from Intel received through battlefield communications at the time of the attack, which anyone that’s been into battle knows isn’t worth shit.
On returning stateside Plugger, Sarge, and I were given our discharge papers, our superiors deciding the three of us had served our country well however our services were no longer required. It was an honourable discharge, so at least we could get the fuck out without all the political bullshit involved with challenging the decision. We were each handed a card with contact details of our closest VA hospital, with the offer to be checked out if we felt we needed it. That was it. ‘Thanks for the eight-years you spent in hell. Here’s a piece of cardboard that we’re forced to give you. Use it if you want, but if not try not to kill yourself or anyone else would you, it doesn’t look good for the military’. Truth. That’s the line they fed us. Not surprising, I suspect it was standard operating procedure, after all we’re only a number on a file in a cabinet somewhere to the bureaucrats. Only as useful as our last mission, and look how that turned out.
Coming awake, hard I’m breathing heavy, covered in sweat, and swear I can still smell acrid burning flesh in my nostrils. Feel the blood covering every inch of my skin. The dreams are getting worse. Worse than ever before. Like I said I know why, but that doesn’t change a damn thing.
Doctor Burns said traumatic events, substantial change, and frequent variations to routine and sleeping patterns can trigger the dreams to escalate. Looks like he was right, because all of those things have led to each and every one of my dreams ending like this; me covered in a sweat, disorientated, smelling things I can’t possibly be smelling, and feeling dirty like I’d just crawled through the desert. Just like I had the night of the attack. Sleepless nights of late have meant that I’ve barely stepped foot inside Chasers. That I’m only eating to survive, not because I can taste anything. I don’t work out, because I’m pacing enough to take over where lifting weights left off. I check my phone for missed calls or text messages hundreds of times a day. And I’m fucking lucky Arrow reminded me Church was today, or I would’ve had my fucking ass handed to me later because I would’ve forgot about it completely.
CHAPTER NINE
Hunter
Til Its Gone – Yelawolf
My brothers only stayed a week where they were originally supposed to stay two. In the end I think we all consider ourselves fortunate that any of us are still alive, let alone whole enough to travel. Half of the week we wanted to kill each other, the other half we just spent the considering ways to make that happen without ending up in lock up. The worst part was the first few hours after getting home from Priss’. Without the chance to explain it all to her things were tense between me and my brothers. Fuck that’s not true. We almost did kill each other within an hour of me getting
It was heartbreaking, but we never did find the source of the leak. We had our suspicions, but not enough solid Intel to go on to make any arrests or even go ahead and question the suspects we did have. After a six-month long investigation the outcome was ‘Of Unknown Origin’, a nice was to say we’ve got no fucking clue and can’t be fucked to waste the time to figure it out. Those of us that were there were never questioned. Our statements weren’t taken. The details our superiors knew were sketchy at best, only gathered from Intel received through battlefield communications at the time of the attack, which anyone that’s been into battle knows isn’t worth shit.
On returning stateside Plugger, Sarge, and I were given our discharge papers, our superiors deciding the three of us had served our country well however our services were no longer required. It was an honourable discharge, so at least we could get the fuck out without all the political bullshit involved with challenging the decision. We were each handed a card with contact details of our closest VA hospital, with the offer to be checked out if we felt we needed it. That was it. ‘Thanks for the eight-years you spent in hell. Here’s a piece of cardboard that we’re forced to give you. Use it if you want, but if not try not to kill yourself or anyone else would you, it doesn’t look good for the military’. Truth. That’s the line they fed us. Not surprising, I suspect it was standard operating procedure, after all we’re only a number on a file in a cabinet somewhere to the bureaucrats. Only as useful as our last mission, and look how that turned out.
Coming awake, hard I’m breathing heavy, covered in sweat, and swear I can still smell acrid burning flesh in my nostrils. Feel the blood covering every inch of my skin. The dreams are getting worse. Worse than ever before. Like I said I know why, but that doesn’t change a damn thing.
Doctor Burns said traumatic events, substantial change, and frequent variations to routine and sleeping patterns can trigger the dreams to escalate. Looks like he was right, because all of those things have led to each and every one of my dreams ending like this; me covered in a sweat, disorientated, smelling things I can’t possibly be smelling, and feeling dirty like I’d just crawled through the desert. Just like I had the night of the attack. Sleepless nights of late have meant that I’ve barely stepped foot inside Chasers. That I’m only eating to survive, not because I can taste anything. I don’t work out, because I’m pacing enough to take over where lifting weights left off. I check my phone for missed calls or text messages hundreds of times a day. And I’m fucking lucky Arrow reminded me Church was today, or I would’ve had my fucking ass handed to me later because I would’ve forgot about it completely.
CHAPTER NINE
Hunter
Til Its Gone – Yelawolf
My brothers only stayed a week where they were originally supposed to stay two. In the end I think we all consider ourselves fortunate that any of us are still alive, let alone whole enough to travel. Half of the week we wanted to kill each other, the other half we just spent the considering ways to make that happen without ending up in lock up. The worst part was the first few hours after getting home from Priss’. Without the chance to explain it all to her things were tense between me and my brothers. Fuck that’s not true. We almost did kill each other within an hour of me getting
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