By
Sierra Rose
Copyright © 2015 by Sierra Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without
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The Edge of Tomorrow Blub
Calli Crawford has given up too much in life, too many rules and regulations forcing her to become someone she can barely recognize. Such is the life of a woman in the witness protection program. With loneliness and fear as a constant companion, she's in search for solitude in hopes of making it to the trial date and getting back to her life.
Captain John "Edge" Barker has served his final mission for the Navy Seals and the devastation of it has left its mark on the hard-bodied vet. His plan is to focus on his dogs and ignore the rest of the world, but when a raven-haired women in need moves across the street, his world is turned upside down.
Needing someone to protect, he goes against his better judgment and steps into her world and makes her fight his own. With the largest syndicate in New York searching high and low for them, the pair doesn't have the luxury of living in the present. They're forced to stay on the razor’s edge of tomorrow.
Prologue
The wind howled its fury all around us. The angry sea pounded our bodies, threatening our ability to take a breath between one raging wave and the next. We had planned it perfectly, with no moon to announce our arrival on the beach.
There were only three of us on the mission, but we were Navy Seals—it wouldn’t take more. We were expected to brave the elements, to battle the rebels, to live on the edge of humanity. Not one man on my team rode that edge tighter than me, and this night was no exception. I had come by the nickname “Edge” honestly, with few willing to hold their position or take the insane chances I was known for during a rescue that usually took its toll on the best of the best.
Even I have my limits.
I turned my head to see if all three of us had made it to shore. It was no small relief to see Carl and his dog Colt pulling themselves up on the beach due east of me.
Dammit, where was Sam? I scanned further down the beach but could see little through the velvety darkness. Even with night goggles, my vision was quite impaired. The shores could be treacherous, with nowhere to hide on the barren desert beach that hugged the receding mountains of Yemen. We were all sitting ducks and we knew it, and what was worse so would the pirates if they caught a glimpse of us.
The only salvation for Carl, Sam, Colt, and I was to hope that this band of marauders were too drunk or too high to realize we had arrived. Even through the storm and swooshing waves we could hear the men hooting and hollering as they celebrated around their campfire. I was used to these murderous celebrations of lost lives and stolen treasure.
We’ll make sure they suffer for what they’ve done—for their stupidity and hatred.
After dozens of these types of missions, I had grown uncomfortably similar to the enemy, filled with the same hopelessness.
I’m getting paid well, though, for this sorry ass life. That’s what I’d tell myself when guilt rose up like bile in my throat and threatened to allow my emotions to surface.
This was to be my last mission. At thirty-three years old, I was too old to continue these raids and too young to sit behind a desk. The Navy had sucked me dry, both emotionally and physically. All I wanted was a small house in any town in the USA to raise my dogs and live in relative peace, if there was such a thing. The more random shots I heard from the rebel’s camp, the more I questioned my ability to ever live peacefully again.
I know too much. I’ve seen too many things. There’s no going back to those innocent days when I dreamed of being a hero. In place of a hero, I had become a mercenary for my own country. I was a paid gunner, addicted to action and suspense.
Who was worse, those celebrating their own depravity or me in all my tainted denial?
I shook myself back to reality and tuned my ears back to the commotion coming from the camp. They were still celebrating; confident their booty would bring high dollars on the black market. If they were like the others we had come across, they had probably spent three-quarters of their loot on drugs. Life to them was one raid after another, with hopes of capturing the most valued cargo of all—women. They appeared to be over the top with their success at capturing two female hostages, and it didn’t hurt that the hostages were young and beautiful. They would bring a healthy sum when sold to their favorite slave trader, not to mention how delectable it would be to sample the goods before the sale.
It probably wasn’t the kindest thing to save the women. Like almost all the others, they would be traumatized and used. Life as they knew it was over. We’d have to tell them that their husbands had been tortured and their sons killed or traded as well. Many of the women who had suffered similar fates were known to commit suicide or depend on other devices to dull their memories of life before being captured. It was a life they would never again experience, and their promised fairytale existence had all been a cruel joke.
Suddenly, I alerted to danger that pulled me out of my morbid thoughts. I bird-called for Sam, and to my relief he responded. I could barely make out the shadowy figures of Carl and Colt as they took cover behind a sandy dune to await further instruction. I sighed my relief, but it was a moment too soon. The guard fired his AK-47, skipping bullets across the tops of the dunes and into Carl’s head. Colt tried to take the shot, but for the first time ever he was one second late. That second had cost Carl dearly.
Sweat dripped down the side of my face as my goggles fogged over. I could barely distinguish between the guard and the guard dog, but I threw my knife anyway in hopes it would reach its target. Success! My dagger buried itself in the guard’s chest, and Colt buried his teeth in the rebel’s leg, pulling him away from his slain master. I rushed to Carl’s side, already knowing he was dead, but refusing to accept the outcome.
I wanted to scream my rage, to cry out a killing yelp and take the scalp of the rebel. I think the natives had it right—like stealing the very soul of your enemy.
“Okay Edge, suck it up. Come on Colt, time to do some damage.” This time, I spoke my thoughts out loud. The words offered courage and strength to every fiber of my being, but for some reason everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
There was no time to linger, so I forced one foot in front of the other, but my body wouldn’t respond. I kept trying to reason through the chaos, but nothing made sense. I experienced the same old familiar feelings that I knew far too well, but I couldn’t quite fathom why I actually knew what would happen next.
I called Colt, and together we slowly zigzagged to Sam, quickly devising an alternate plan. As the rest of the pirates came looking with their torches, Colt circled around to distract them. It worked! Sam and I slunk around several low bushes in the opposite direction and carefully made our way to their camp. There were a few men hanging around their expressions giving me clear acknowledgment that they had been alerted by all the fireworks. The two battered women were tethered to a stake, hunkered down to cover their exposed nakedness.