Cover Reveal
Her Soldier
(That Girl #3)
(That Girl #3)
by
HJ Bellus
Release Date: March
10, 2015
Publisher: Limitless Publishing
Photography By: Perrywinkle
Photography
Models: Teale
Shawn Murdock & Aaron Lesue’
Synopsis
Sergeant Jeremiah Abbner died in the line of duty serving his country. Or at least that’s what the newspapers said…
Sergeant Jeremiah Abbner died in the line of duty serving his country. Or at least that’s what the newspapers said…
The US
Government handed him a new identity, and strict orders not to make contact
with anyone from his past. As far as society was concerned Sergeant Jeremiah
Abbner was dead, and buried six feet under.
Not
having contact with his ex-wife would be easy. She was a manipulator and a
cheater.
Not
seeing his daughter on the other hand would devastate him…
Beau
Morgan, aka Jeremiah, settles down in a town far away from everything he’s ever
known. Coping with the trauma he’s experienced and discovering a new life Beau
finds himself the most aggressive he’s ever been. His blood simmers with rage
while his fists are thirsty to let it all out .
In the
middle of his own living hell he never expected to run into an old familiar
face. And to top it off, one who recognized him as Jeremiah.
He’s
vowed never to love again, but as circumstances land him in the arms of a
woman, Jenni Lee, this time he may not have a choice, as she rarely takes no
for an answer.
Can
Beau Morgan control his temper long enough to settle into his new life? Or will
resentment taint him forever?
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Streetlights whiz past my peripheral vision as I roar down Main Street to the restaurant. The familiar rage inside me begins to boil. Just the mention of that name can do dangerous things to me internally. I never want to hear it again. Everything was taken away from me with that name.
Chapter 1
Streetlights whiz past my peripheral vision as I roar down Main Street to the restaurant. The familiar rage inside me begins to boil. Just the mention of that name can do dangerous things to me internally. I never want to hear it again. Everything was taken away from me with that name.
I try to focus on
Michelle’s face instead of the rage. She looked so different, yet it was the
same girl. I could tell from her tattoo. What a mysterious mind fuck that girl
is. I searched everywhere for her after the night she abandoned me at the
tattoo parlor. Her wrist. Holy fuck. It hits me if that’s Michelle, I knew then
she’d have a lump on her wrist, because I can guarantee she never visited a
hospital.
The night we spent
together was something magical. There aren’t many things in my life I’d classify
as magical—my gran’s baking, the birth of my child, and that night with her.
She had a serious effect on me, but ran. She literally ran off into the night.
I deployed two months later. End of story.
My thoughts occupied me
while loading the food and heading back to the reception. As I step out of the
delivery truck, a sound catches my ear. It’s not one many would pick up on, but
I do easily. Someone is being beaten. The darkness of the night with the
faraway lights makes it easier for me to detect the sound of bones being
beaten. I spent many nights this way.
The ground is uneven,
with little paths leading in every direction. Being unfamiliar with the lay of
the land is making it beyond difficult to maneuver my way to the punches. A
desperate plea sounds, making me damn near desperate to find where it’s coming
from. Instinctively, I reach for my gun, but only find keys in my pocket. Army
life is still so second nature that even after years I find myself reverting to
old habits.
“You fucking cunt.” The
voice becomes clearer, and the surroundings light up a bit. Finally rounding a
corner, I spot a petite blonde cowered down on the ground with a brooding man
standing above her. It’s clear by the sheer size of the man he would be able to
snap her neck in a second. The pale pink color of the wedding party catches my
eye, and instantly I wonder if it’s Michelle. There’s way too much blonde hair.
It’s not her.
The blonde lifts her
face up from the ground, and this is when I lose it. Blood is flowing down her
face, making her features difficult to recognize. Her hair is pulled out of its
fancy up-do. The man jerks her up by the hair to a standing position.
Everything inside me
boils. Clearly, the situation is exactly what I think it is.
“You’re going home with
me right now, Jenni. I’ll fucking drag you if I have to.” The man pulls the
helpless woman closer to him, tearing her pink dress with the action. “You’ll
never hang around the Wilks boys again.”
Stepping into the slice
of light covering the duo, I ask, “Is there a problem here?”
I feel the rage inside
me boil further, if that’s even possible, when her brown eyes reflect back at
me. She’s beyond desperate and scared. I’ve seen this look on civilians before,
and every time it turns on a switch within me. I’m not playing the hero card.
It’s more like knowing the difference between right and wrong and acting on it.
It takes someone to make a stand.
The blonde is pulled
even tighter into the man, and the sound of her dress being completely ripped
from the top of her body fills the air.
“We’re fucking fine,
man. Leave.”
I move in closer to the
situation, watching her reaction as I do. Once I make eye contact with her, I
don’t break it. “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the young lady.” My
gaze bores holes into her desperate eyes. “Are you okay?”
She begins to speak,
but the man rips on her hair again. This time is enough. I don’t wait for an
answer or another moan of pain from the woman. Before I know what is happening,
I step up and hammer the man in the face. Taken by surprise, he lets go of the
girl. I grab for her and push her behind me to safety. However, my need to
punish this man isn’t nearly satisfied. He’ll pay for every single ounce of
pain he’s inflicted on her.
My fists fly into
action, nailing him with each blow. Now the sound of crunching bones is caused
by me and well deserved. I leave him with one final kick to the ribs. I’m
fairly certain he’s unconscious, as his moans and begging have now stopped. I
wipe my bloody knuckles on the back of my pants before turning to face the
woman.
She’s cowered back down
on the ground with her face buried. Her blonde mane is splayed out over knees
and is dappled with spots of blood. I’m pretty sure she’s past the point of
being cleaned up to go back to the wedding.
“Are you okay?” I
mentally berate myself for asking such a dumbass question. Of course she’s not
okay. My hands fumble a bit before they finally grab for her and rest on the
top of her knee. I push away her loose hair before I find her exposed kneecap,
which is scraped up too. “What can I do?”
She doesn’t respond with words.
Instead her body shudders as her tears flow. She’s beyond talking and clearly
not okay.
“I’m going to get you
out of here.” I pat her knee, finding a piece of her flesh that’s not damaged.
I run my hand up and down this spot trying to comfort her. “I’m going to pack
you to my truck and take you where you need to go. Would you like me to let anyone
know you’re leaving?”
I watch as her long
hair sways back and forth, signaling no.
“No to me helping you,
or to letting someone know?”
She slowly drags her
head up to look at me, with her hair matted to both sides of her face. Her left
eye is swollen shut, while most of the blood has started to dry up.
“Don’t tell anyone,
please. I need to leave,” escapes her cut lips.
Without any further
questioning, I stand and go back to the man who caused all of this and give him
a little more of what I think of him. This time the sound of his bone crushing
under my fist feels even better than last time.
I don’t take long
because I don’t want to leave her in too much pain and in front of her
assailant. Slowly and with more ease than I’ve used in years, I pick her up in
my arms. The top half of her dress falls away from her body, while the skirt
portion barely hangs onto her. She’s tense in my arms, not one bit relaxed or
comforted.
I’ll never understand
the urge to lay a hand on a woman. I’ve been pissed before at the opposite sex,
but using my fists to solve the problem has never even crossed my mind.
With each step I take
toward the parking lot, I feel her become more panicked. Her tiny hands grab at
my biceps, clenching tight.
“It’s okay. I’m just
going to take you to my truck, and then to wherever you need to go.” She
finally makes eye contact with me, and I think she might believe I’m not the
enemy, but I want to reassure her. “I won’t hurt you. I can even call the cops
right now and get you help.”
Music fills the dark
night air as we close in on the parking lot. When she hears the music, she
begins to sob in my arms.
“Do you want me to go
get one of your friends?”
“No.”
Her sobs continue as
she clings harder to my arm, but the rest of her body begins to relax a bit. I
desperately want to keep talking to her, or even hold her longer to show her
I’m not the enemy and will never hurt her. I’m not sure how to act in this
situation. We are two strangers in a very difficult situation.
“Okay, this is my truck.
Are you sure you don’t want me to go get someone?”
This time she struggles
from my arms and tries to stand on her own. Of course her fragile little body
can’t handle it. I steady her and keep her from collapsing to the ground. Her
bare chest is exposed to the world, with a dainty, baby blue bra covering her.
I pull off my white button up staff shirt and cover her up with it.
“Please don’t tell
anyone. Please? They’ll just think I’m an idiot.” She fiddles with the hem of
my shirt as she sits in the front seat staring at her feet. “And they aren’t
that far off.”
“Don’t.” I grab her
hand, stopping her from fiddling and berating herself. “Don’t you dare think
that way.”
“Beau.” I turn to see
one of my co-workers in a frantic state. “Where is the truck with the food? We
are almost out of everything. Boss man, Juan, is going nuts.”
Standing in front of a
co-worker in a white wife beater is somewhat awkward, though no more than
having a beaten woman behind me, but the last thing I want to do is expose her
to anyone. Before I have the chance to speak, a very red faced and pissed off
Juan joins the small crowd.
“Beau, where in the fuck is the food?” He pauses, with an odd
expression covering his face. “Where’s the company truck?”
I nod in the direction
where I parked the company truck, loaded and ready to go with food for the
reception. His beady black eyes follow my nod and then turn back to me.
“And what do you think
you’re doing?” Juan throws his hands behind his head in a fit. “Get back to
work now, Beau, and get your fucking shirt on.”
The woman behind me
lets out a light groan as she tries to get out of the truck. Her shoes are
missing, dress ripped, and she’s obviously in an insane amount of pain.
“Fuck you, I quit.”
The words come out
effortlessly. The way I see it, there was no other choice. I round the front of
the truck, moving as fast as I can to get next to her. She needs help.
“I’m going to take you
to the hospital.”
She faces me with a
desperate plea before any words leave her mouth. I know what her next words
will be, but the thing is, I’ve already let one woman in need of medical
attention escape me. I’m not repeating the same mistake. She will go to the
hospital.
About the Author
I am an independent author excited about releasing my first novel
very soon. A big dream coming true!!! I'm all country...the kinda country where
green grass grows and corn pops up in rows....love Miranda and her bad ass
music!!! Just a simple country girl getting one story out of her head at a
time...I always fall hard for a trucker style hat...especially if it's a John
Deere hat....loves me a good ol' farm boy!!!!!!
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