Maverick (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #6) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,1
now, and we stank like dead pigs. Not that I cared. Didn’t even care that my chest was sticking to Nic’s thanks to the perspiration coating us that had dried where we touched.
I sometimes felt like I couldn’t get close enough to him, so being glued in place was my idea of heaven.
“I don’t think it’s the goulash I’m scared of,” he muttered dryly, but he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of mine.
Closing my eyes at the touch, I rasped, “I know.”
We all did.
We’d been outnumbered, but we’d won back the outpost. Somehow.
The odds hadn’t been in our favor. Losing two of our team was lucky in the grand scheme of things, but lucky and loss didn’t go hand in hand.
And luck this deep in the sandbox, this far out from communications with other COPs? Unlikely.
They were waiting.
Just like we were.
They were coming for us again.
We just had to maintain our position, just had to stay alive until the 10th Mountain Division, my old unit, finally got their asses here.
I rubbed my stubbled cheek against his chest, taking advantage of these moments of intimacy while my other brothers were out there, keeping an eye on things. We’d take over for Ken and Eagle Eyes in a half hour, because after sixty-four hours of active duty, they needed some fucking shut-eye.
He squeezed me, kissed my head again, and rasped, “Maverick?”
“Yeah, Nic.”
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
I clenched my eyes closed because that was the first time he told me that, the first fucking time, and I knew where his mind was at.
The PTSD was so entrenched in his brain it was like he had a ghoul in there.
Maybe he did.
I knew he was waiting.
Waiting to fucking die.
I could have railed at him, gotten angry. Told him not to tell me those words because he wasn’t sharing them to make me feel better, to cement what we had together. No, he was using them as a goodbye.
“We’re going to get out of this,” I snarled. “We’ve been in worse situat—”
He shook his head. “Maverick.”
His tone was the one I’d been listening to for years, the calm, steady melody of a man who somehow fooled the rest of the world into believing he had no demons. He was the best master sergeant I’d come across, but he shouldn’t be here.
He should be home. And from his voice, I knew he felt like he’d never get back there again.
“I need you to make it, Maverick. I need to know you’ll get home, that you’ll get back to the real world. I love you too much to think of you—”
The tears that pricked my eyes shamed me, but the serene tone, the way in which he said my name… how his plea wasn’t plaintive, just hopeful, I had no choice but to reach up and cover his mouth to stem the tide of his words. I couldn’t hear any more.
“I love you too, Nic.”
And the second those words fell from my lips, I wished them back.
I wished them to hell, because the moment they drifted from my vocal chords, formed intelligible sounds that could be understood, that was when things went FUBAR, and death embraced our team once more…
One
Ghost
Ten years later
Katina: Is he awake?
Me: Not yet. He will be soon though. Get some sleep, zayushka.
Katina: I’m not a rabbit.
Me: You are. My rabbit.
Katina: I’m going.
Me: Good. SLEEP!
*Two hours later*
Katina: Is he awake?
Me: Katina! Why are you awake?
Katina: I’m worried.
Me: I know, kotyk. I’m worried too.
Katina: Will he be okay?
Me: We won’t let him be anything else.
Katina: Mommy wasn’t okay.
Me: Maverick isn’t Mama.
Katina: I want him to be okay. I like his smile and how he makes you smile. You don’t smile enough, Alessa.
Me: He makes me happy. He’ll wake up soon. I promise.
Katina: You can’t promise that.
Me: Tak, I can.
Katina: I hate it when you speak Ukrainian.
Me: Tough. You’re going to learn it. It’s what Mama would have wanted.
Katina: o.O
Me: O.o
Me: Get some sleep. Please? You’ll be the first person I’ll call when he’s awake.
Katina: Spasybi.
Me: You’re welcome <3
Two
Ghost
Two hours later
“Who are you?”
Have you ever lived a nightmare?
My life was a nightmare for years.
I’d had things done to me that no one could begin to imagine, endured the evilness of mankind like few had, and yet one biker brought me to my knees.
“Who are you?”
One biker hurt me more than any of my rapists—or as they called themselves, owners—ever could.