Chapter 1
Survivor's guilt.
That's what the fucking Veteran's Administration shrink called it.
Whatever.
All he knew was that he was supposed to be dead with the rest of his Force Recon detail team.Abe.John-boy.James.He had a tat for each of his dead brothers.Cal.Sammy.Jones.He'd lost them the year before.So many, they covered his good arm.Nothing could cover the skin on the other side.
The burned side.
He limped up the steps to his new apartment building.He only had 80 percent flexion in his left knee because of the scar tissue from the burns which impeded the bend.It made going up and down stairs painful.Maybe that was why he'd picked an apartment with thirty steps and no elevator.He didn't want to stop hurting.The pain made him remember he was alive, which was good after the haze he'd put himself in from pain pills.
It had taken him three months to get clean after he'd grown addicted to the OxyContin for the burns.He'd lost fifteen pounds from diarrhea and vomiting when he stopped cold turkey.The temptation still ate him away from the inside sometimes.
But no.He was stronger than that.He was a fucking Marine Sergeant.They hadn't trusted him to Personal Security Detail because he was a wimp.
When he'd come home with the Purple Heart, his mom had wept over him, had begged him to move back to Corpus Christi and live at home to get away from it all.He'd promised her he was done with the pain pills, had promised he'd stay in counseling at the VA.It was the reason he gave for staying in San Diego after his discharge.
He needed a purpose.That was what the shrink said.
Fuck her.
Did she have any idea how dull civilian jobs were?Civilian life?After what he'd seen and done?
"Hey, let me help you carry that," a little redhead—a gorgeous twenty-something redhead—chirped, picking up one of the boxes he'd left at the foot of the stairs.
"No," he growled.
She paused mid-reach.She was girl-next-door cute, with her hair pulled into a high ponytail, and dimples.Yes, fucking dimples.So not his type.But adorable.
He glared at her and waited for her to see his face.Three… two… one…yep.Dimples' eyes widened at the sight of his scarred mug.He was pretty scary-looking.Mottled skin where the left side of his face should be.Not to mention, he was huge, tattooed and muscled.Eight years in the Marines and four tours to Afghanistan had kept him in tip top shape.
To his surprise, she went on with her plan to help him, bending over and picking up the heavy box, huffing a little as she lifted it.
"I said no," he snapped.Yeah.He wasn't used to people not listening to him, especially when he barked.And bark was all he did lately.
"It's no problem," she said, skipping up the steps to where he stood, then past him."We're neighbors.I live next door to you."
What.The Fuck?The girl couldn't take a hint.
"I don't need help."
"I know," she said, running along ahead, giving him a view of her wiggling ass, which was about as juicy as they come.Round, muscled, and Daisy-Duke clad.His cock stirred in his jeans.That was new.He hadn't been randomly attracted to any girl since he'd been back.
"Benny the manager said you're a Marine Sergeant."She spoke over her shoulder as she pranced ahead.
Jesus Christ.What kind of apartment building was this?He just wanted to be left alone, for God's sake.Would there be any privacy here?He opted for silence.Maybe she would just go away if he ignored her.
When he finally made it to the landing, Dimples was standing outside his door, looking expectant.Like he was going to invite her in to put the box down.
"Leave it there."
"Oh.Um… okay."
She squatted down, the muscles in her long, youthful legs flexing.She looked like a runner.Or cyclist.Someone who worked out regularly.
He should say thank you, but he didn't want to.He didn't want to encourage her any more.She'd probably go skipping back down the stairs to help with the rest of the boxes, and he sure as hell didn't want that.
