everything I need to say to her, but my tongue feels lodged in my throat. She’s screaming her questions at me in English, rather than a language I hardly understand. Over in Afghanistan, this didn’t feel as hard as this situation. I know what she’s asking me, and I don’t know why I can’t answer her.
“Sir, please tell me where Danny is,” she yells louder.
I take a seat next to her aunt and lift Ella away from her, sitting her down with me. I wrap my arms around her and try to soothe her cries. “It’s going to be okay,” I say, gently rocking her back and forth.
But I know that after today, nothing will ever be okay for Ella or her aunt again.
CHAPTER ONE
SIX YEARS LATER
JAGS
EENY MEENY MINY moe, I think I’ll choose this pretty hoe. I squint my eye through my thick beer goggles and imagine what she might look like in the morning. Hmm. Is that a wedding ring, or nah, it’s on the wrong finger. I may not want to go home alone but I don’t go after the married ones, which proves I have some standards, I guess. I’m not interested in other men’s property.
This run-down, hole in the ground whisky bar is starting to empty out from its abundance of cowboys and rednecks, probably because it’s past midnight, and I’m off the beaten path on some side street in Shitsville, Texas, but there’s still time to make my move, buy her a drink, and invite her back to my very empty hotel room that I haven’t checked into yet. I do a sniff check because this place was hopping with country music just an hour ago and there were one too many half-naked chicks rubbing up against me as they danced their liquor off, which is part of the reason I’m not in the mood to go home alone. In any case, if I smell, it’s because of someone else’s stank.
I’m good. I’m good. I rub my hands together a few times before diving in for the kill. I amble across the beer-covered floor and slide down onto the stool next to Bambi. That’s her name for the night; she just doesn’t know it yet.
Dropping the side of my face down onto my fist, I tilt my head in Bambi’s direction and let out a loud sigh. Nothing. No reaction from her. How odd. She holds her finger up to the bartender, and I notice her nails are painted a dead-rose color. That’s hot.
“So,” I say loudly through another sigh.
Bambi finally turns her head toward me, looking me up and down, sort of the way I look at women. “Let me guess,” she says, sounding exhausted by my mere presence. “You sat down on that stool so you could attempt to buy me a drink and then,” she looks down at her watch, “make the big leap into getting me to go home with you?”
“Wow, woman. Egotistical much? To be honest, you aren’t my type. And I was actually just saying ‘So’ because the bartender has walked past us three times and there’s no one even in this joint anymore. But if you really wanted my attention that badly, you could have just asked me,” I say through a tight-lipped grin. Holy shit, I’m thinking on my toes even at six beers deep. Impressive, Jags, impressive.
She groans and curls her lip with disgust. “You’re a bad liar,” she says. Okay, maybe not so impressive.
“And you’re kind of hot. So go ahead and call me a liar now.” I grin again at her because she’s blushing. You tried to put me down; take that.
“How the hell did you know?” she asks, putting her hand up in my face for a brief second as she orders herself another beer. “He’ll have one too. I’m treating this pretty princess tonight.” Is she for real? She just called me a fucking princess?
“Thanks, Bambi.” Take that.
She rolls her eyes as she takes the overfilled glass from the bartender chick and downs a quick swig before placing it down over the cardboard coaster sponsoring some weirdly named beer. “So? How did you know I’m from Boston?” she asks.
“You’re kind of a bitch, and you said ‘wicked.’”
A smile threatens to form over her lips as she takes another swig. “I take it you’re either from Boston yourself, or you’ve lived there for a period of time.”