Текст книги "Semper Fi"

Автор книги: Jane Harvey-Berrick

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

She shook her head in disbelief, but at least she was smiling.

Outside, I loaded up the bike, packing everything away into the saddlebags.

“We could go straight to Genoa, using the Mont Blanc tunnel,” I suggested, “but I really like the idea of going up through the high pass. There’ll still be quite a bit of snow around—you up for that?”

I didn’t want to stress her out by saying that the mountain route was 100 percent hairpin turns.

She weighed the options, then said, “I vote for the route over the Alps.”

I picked her up, swinging her around, then kissed her firmly.

“God, you’re amazing, woman!”

“Wait, I should write that down,” she laughed, pretending to make a grab for her notebook.

“No way! You might use that against me in court. Do I have the right to an attorney?”

“Get on the damn bike, Sebastian, before I change my mind.”

I could definitely get used to the feel of her thighs against mine as she sat pillion on the bike.

Before we left Geneva, we had a quick breakfast of sweet rolls and coffee in a café overlooking the lake, then headed up into the mountains. Soon we were seeing heaps of snow at the sides of the road. Some were as high as six or seven feet: they’d been piled up by snowplows clearing the road. I was glad I’d insisted that Caro got some quality ski gloves to keep her hands warm. The woman argued too much.

A couple of miles later we really began to climb; the asphalt disappeared and we were riding on compressed snow. I dropped the speed as the hairpin turns began to take us up the mountain.

Caro lost her relaxed posture and tried to sit up straight when I leaned into the bends. She was throwing off the balance and making the bike wobble. I pulled to the side of the road and flipped up my visor.

“Baby, you’re going to tip us over if you do that, and I don’t know about you, but it looks like a helluva long way down to me.”

“What … what did I do?” she asked, nervously staring at the vertical drop.

“You’re trying to sit upright on the bike: don’t. You’ve got to lean into it or the balance goes for shit. Don’t try and do anything, just sit real tight and hang onto me.”

She swallowed several times as her eyes tracked down the sheer mountainside.

“Okay, good safety tip. Glad you mentioned it.”

Her hands gripped my waist even more tightly as I drove off slowly, keeping the speed low, the bike zigzagging up the mountain. The views were stunning and I decided to stop at the highest pass, allowing Caro to enjoy the scenery.

I cut the engine and turned around to smile at her.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?”

She clambered from the bike awkwardly and tugged off her helmet, shaking her hair free.

“Wow,” she breathed.

I couldn’t agree more—but I wasn’t looking at the view.

While she was staring down to Geneva spread out below us, the lake mirror-like in the sun, the valley of Z-bends that we’d just driven up, the sky too blue to be real, I was looking at her. I felt grateful to be here: this woman, this time, this place. Second chances didn’t come any better.

“Thank you for this, Sebastian,” she breathed. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Thank you for giving me another chance, Caro.

She leaned into my body and I wrapped my arms around her, taking the time to appreciate her soft lips. She deepened our kiss immediately, her tongue moving possessively into my mouth—and I loved it.

Oo-rah.

When she pulled away, her face was flushed, and I was wondering if it was too cold for outdoor sex at the top of a mountain pass in the snow.

She must have guessed what I was thinking, because she said, “Save it, Marine. We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

I stood back while she snapped some photographs, then helped her climb onto the Honda. Moving slowly until the roads cleared, we started the steep descent down through the Alps to Italy. It was strange that I felt such a connection to a country I’d never been to before. Caro’s father was born near Salerno and I wanted to see his village. He’d been the only real parental figure I’d ever met until I was 14 and Ches’s family moved to San Diego. He’d been the one to start teaching me Italian, and it was from him I’d learned what a father should be. Taking this journey with Caro was the past crashing into the present. I wasn’t used to feeling so much.

A short while later, I pointed at a sign that read ‘Italia’, and then we were showing our passports to a border guard who was eyeing Caro with appreciation. Not that she noticed—she never did.

We were 20 Km from Genoa when the ocean came into view. It was a deep dark blue, calm with no waves, and white colonial-style villas followed the tree-line upward.

I took the shore road, passing dozens of concrete docks filled with yachts and expensive motor-cruisers as well as huge cargo vessels. Nothing military that I could see.

We drove through the city center, cruising past buildings that were hundreds of years old and what looked like a real castle on the top of the hill.

I stopped briefly to check the map. “Not far now,” I told Caro.

She gave me a quick thumbs up, and I headed up the mountain. Our route took us off the main drag, and we bumped up a steep and stony road. A sign next to a small, whitewashed villa welcomed us to ‘Casa Giovina’.

I pulled up, but let the engine idle.

“This is it. It only has one guest room, but it’s out of season … want to try it?”

When I’d planned this trip, I hadn’t expected to have company. The places I’d chosen to stay might be a bit basic for Caro’s taste. She was used to upscale hotels on her newspaper’s budget; she might not like my choices. I didn’t need the reminder that I didn’t know her so well anymore.

But then she smiled and I felt the tension ease from my shoulders.

“It looks charming. Let’s go see, but if the owners have a pretty daughter, we’re out of here.”

Was that a joke?

An old woman dressed in black opened the door.

“Posso aiutarvi?”

“I hope you can help us,” Caro replied, in Italian. “We were wondering if you had a room for the night?”

It was a good thing that I’d let Caro do the talking, because the old lady was eyeing me like she was afraid I was going to burglarize the place. I was pretty certain she wouldn’t have let me across the threshold if I’d been by myself.

“Are you married?” the old woman asked, folding her arms across a pair of enormous tits. I was afraid to look at them—I couldn’t help thinking that if they weren’t covered up, they’d be hanging by her ankles. I shuddered at the thought.

Caro was stuttering out a surprised answer when a man in his fifties hurried down the corridor.

“Mama! You can’t ask people questions like that! I apologize—my mother is very old-fashioned. Are you French?”

“No, American.”

“But you speak Italiano! Americans never speak our language.”

I decided he might respond better to a man, so I rolled out the Italian I knew, although it wasn’t as fluent as Caro’s.

“We mean no disrespect to your mother—this beautiful woman is my fiancée,” I lied, “but if your mother would feel more comfortable, I will happily sleep in a separate room.”

I already knew that they only had one guest room—as did Caro. I kept my expression neutral, waiting for his answer.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said the owner, as his mother rolled her eyes to heaven and crossed herself twice. “Besides, we have only one room. Please, come in.”

The room was sparse, filled by a large old-fashioned bed, but the views out toward the ocean sold me on the room. Caro was smiling, which I guess meant she approved, too.

“The bathroom is across the hall, signore; it is to share.”

The owner shrugged in apology, but it didn’t bother me and Caro didn’t look fazed either.

“Breakfast is at 8am, signore, signorina. There is a ristorante just two kilometers up the road. It is very good—run by my brother.”

“That sounds great.”

We hadn’t stopped after our quick breakfast, and my stomach was growling.

“Ah, signore, one more thing: if you would refrain from riding your motorcycle after dark. My mother doesn’t sleep well, you understand, and she has the room next to yours.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Caro muttered, once he left. “I’m not getting on that thing again tonight if you pay me.”

“Feeling a little tender, Ms. Venzi,” I asked, pulling her toward me and rubbing my hands over her ass.

“Not really. It’s more the feeling that I’m still in motion.”

“I know something that will cure that,” I offered suggestively.

“Would that have anything to do with taking off our clothes and making mad, passionate love on that bed?” she asked, frowning at me.

Busted.

“It might have,” I admitted, eyeing her warily.

“Oh, alright then. I’ll try anything once.”

“Is that a yes?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t misheard.

“Yes, that’s a yes,” she stated, her eyes glittering. “But you’ll have to hurry—the ristorante probably closes before midnight.”

I glanced at my wristwatch, completely confused. “It’s only five o’clock?”

“Like I said—you’ll have to hurry.”

Okay, now I was on the same page. Damn! I liked the way she thought.

“Well, in that case, woman, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“By the way,” she said, taking a step away from me, “your fiancée?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Hmm, well, I like my idea better—the one where we commit as many sins as possible in the shortest amount of time.”

And, to make her point, she unzipped my jacket and ran her hands down my chest, before tracing a finger around the waistband of my jeans.

I was there. I was so there, and then some bastard knocked at the door. I yanked it open, ready to take the fucker’s head off, a murderous look on my face. It had the villa’s owner taking a couple of steps back.

“Ah, mi scusi, signore, signorina,” he stuttered, throwing nervous glances in my direction. “I have just telephoned my brother: he is closing at 7:30pm tonight. If you wish to eat there, it would be best if you leave now.”

“Thanks,” I said, in a tone that telegraphed my extreme fucking displeasure.

Caro was trying to hide her wide smile—it wasn’t working. “Rain check?”

“Looks like,” I grumbled, adjusting the un-fucking-comfortable boner in my jeans.

“Never mind,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s get you fed and then I can have my wicked way with you.”

That got my attention, but did nothing to ease the tension in my pants.

“How wicked?”

“Not that wicked, so stop drooling. Just moderately naughty—it’s been a long day.”

I was pretty sure I could change her mind.

We climbed the steep road to the ristorante, and I kept her hand in mine the entire way. I wasn’t usually the kind of pussy-whipped guy who held hands, and believe me it’s not something you do a lot of in the Marines, unless you’re talking hand-to-hand combat. I wouldn’t mind doing some of that with Caro—I was looking forward to seeing her capitulate, naked, coming apart under me.

I was so preoccupied with my plans for later on in the evening that we arrived at the ristorante before I realized it. So much for my skills of observation—if I didn’t get it together before the flight to Afghanistan, I’d be a fucking health hazard.

I was surprised to see that this out-of-the-way place was almost full and a load of kids were running around. Happy families—not something I knew much about.

The noise tailed off when they saw us. I heard the word ‘Americani’ whispered several times before the owner came over.

I guess his brother hadn’t given him the heads-up, because he seemed stunned when we spoke Italian and that we were happy to eat whatever was available. I don’t know where he got his opinions of Americans, but after years of eating MREs, he could have served me road kill, and if it had good gravy, I’d eat it.

There was no chance of having a table to ourselves, so I resigned myself to having to share Caro for a few hours. The unfamiliar feeling of jealousy seemed to be hovering near the surface ever since she’d been parachuted back into my life. It was a fucking uncomfortable feeling and it was making me act like a possessive asshole—something that definitely wasn’t going to impress her. I needed to regroup, so maybe it was just as well that we were seated at the corner end of one of the long tables, wedged in next to a family of seven.

They were wary of us at first, but when I shrugged out of my leather jacket, a little girl of about five or six noticed my tattoo and asked her mom about the ‘picture’.

Her mother tried to hush her up, but I smiled and used my limited Italian to explain that the tattoo was because Marines were warriors of the sea and the ‘picture’ reminded me of my work.

“Is that because you forgot?” she asked, running her hands over the globe and anchor.

The whole room burst into laughter as I smiled wryly.

After that I guess I was her new best friend, because she kept up a stream of questions that meant I hardly got a chance to eat my meal, although I managed to chug down some of the local wine. Then she reached up to run her hands over my regulation buzz cut, but it was the look of longing and sadness in Caro’s eyes that caught my attention.

Ten years ago she’d wanted children, but somehow it had never happened for her. I had no idea why, because she was fucking beautiful. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get me thinking.

The meal finished with small bowls of honey ice cream, although Caro was such a lightweight, I finished most of hers, too.

“Having fun, baby?”

She smiled back at me.

“Do you realize this is our first dinner-date?”

No way. “What about back in San Diego—that Sicilian place?”

“That doesn’t count,” she laughed. “You wouldn’t let me finish because you wanted to drag me back to the hotel.”

“Oh yeah, I definitely remember that!” I grinned, eyeing her speculatively.

“Besides, your friend, Brenda, was spying on us. I’m half expecting to see her now, tossing her hair over her shoulder and thrusting her boobs in your face like she used to.”

I was amused by the jealousy I heard in her voice. If this was a two-way thing, I guess I didn’t have to feel so bad.

“She thrust her boobs in my face?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice,” she accused. “Anyway, if any boobs are to be thrust in your face, they’ll be mine. Right, Hunter?”

Yeah, she was definitely tanked.

“Anything you say, boss. Looking forward to it.”

“But then I was thinking,” she went on, “if this is our first date, I probably shouldn’t sleep with you. I don’t want you thinking I’m easy.”

Seriously? She thought she could win this game with me? Trained in strategy and tactics, baby. I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through the numbers.

“Who are you calling?” she asked, sounding pissed that I wasn’t following her script.

“Well, my date just told me she wouldn’t sleep with me, so I thought I’d see if I had Brenda’s number on speed dial.”

Caro winced, then sat back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. Yep, I loved it when she did that—it pushed up her tits like she was serving them on a plate … or maybe an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Fine, fine. I’ll sleep with you,” she pretended to huff. “But if my reputation is in ruins, it’s all your fault.”

I winked at her, then stood up to pay the bill.

As we left the ristorante, a chorus of good wishes followed us and the little girl blew me kisses, deciding that she was naming me ‘Angelo’—because I was blond, I guess.

I wasn’t feeling angelic—although I had something in mind that would have Caro calling me ‘God’. I pushed her up against the wall and kissed her hard, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, slow and possessive, gripping her waist with one hand, pressing the other over her mound.

I knew she could feel my rock hard dick against her hip, and I was seriously considering taking her there and then, but the ristorante started emptying and suddenly we had an audience.

Trying to catch my breath, I let Caro push gently on my shoulders.

“Should we try and make it back to our room this time?” she asked, her voice husky.

“Good idea,” I muttered. “I don’t think I could take a third interruption in one evening.”

The moon lit our path as we headed back down the hill. Caro didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, but energy and desire was making me want to grab her caveman-style and run the rest of the way so I could fuck her senseless. The Marines teach you to target your objective and put a plan together that will achieve it with the least amount of effort or risk. Just sayin’.

When we got back to Casa Giovina, the villa was in near darkness. A small lamp glowed in the hallway, and Caro crept up the stairs as if she was afraid of being caught. It was pretty damn funny.

She grabbed her toiletry bag and ran into the bathroom, so I stripped off my shirt and kicked off the boots and socks. When she hurried back in, I have to admit I enjoyed the open look of desire on her face.

“Seems like your eyeballs are the ones in danger of falling out, Ms. Venzi,” I couldn’t help teasing her.

“That is true, so hurry up and get your ass back in my bed.”

Fuckin’ A!

“Yes, boss!”

I almost sprinted into the bathroom, tried my best to piss through a semi, forcing myself to concentrate so I didn’t spray the floor. Then I brushed my teeth and strode back into the bedroom, a man on a mission.

Caro was sitting in the bed, the sheet pulled up tightly across her chest, an odd expression on her face. Women usually liked the jeans and bare chest look, so I was kind of irritated that she seemed as though she was trying not to laugh.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing,” she said, snorting back a giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

She shook her head, holding a hand over her mouth, but her laughter had left my dick as soft as Jello. Jee-zus, what did a guy have to do to get laid?

I stripped out of the rest of my clothes, yanked the sheets back and started to slide over to her, but the bed creaked so loudly, it sounded like a round from an M-16 cracking over my head. I couldn’t help flinching and Caro laughed out loud.

“Sorry! I think we got the you’re-not-married-so-you-damn-well-won’t-be-getting-any bed. It’s got a built-in anti-screwing alarm.”

Okay, so it was pretty funny, but I had the target in my sights, and it would take a tank running over the villa to divert my attention right now.

“You think a noisy bed is going to stop me?”

Caro looked taken aback.

“The old lady is right next door! She doesn’t sleep well—remember?”

“I can’t help that. Besides, it’ll bring back happy memories for her.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Huh, you think you’re that good?”

Wrong question.

I gave her a smile full of promise, then ducked down under the sheets. As I ran my workout-roughened fingers across the soft skin of her inner thighs, her body tensed up. But when I licked up the length of her slit, a ragged groan spilled out of her.

“Oh, God!” she sighed, her voice muffled by the pillow she’d pulled over her head to stifle her moans.

“Yes, baby?” I laughed at her.

I gave her a few more licks and sucks, nipping at her clit in a way that had her almost levitating off of the bed, then replaced my tongue with my fingers. The mattress creaked and groaned loudly, protesting as I slinked over her, resting my weight on my forearms, my dick pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.

Soon she was writhing under me and when I sucked her left nipple into my mouth, she fell apart, calling my name loudly. Her body trembled and a deep, pink flush spread across her whole body, leaving her looking heated and satisfied.

So far, so good.

“Still embarrassed by the bed?” I teased.

She didn’t reply, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gasped in oxygen.

The mattress creaked again as I slid off to dig out a condom from my toiletry bag.

“You want to do this, baby?” I suggested, holding it out to her.

She blinked up at me, still spiraling down from her orgasm. I waited, but she didn’t seem capable of speech, so I took that as a no. I tugged my dick a couple of times, lock and load, kind of like priming a rifle, sending a bullet into the chamber, then rolled the rubber down, making sure it was in place.

“Roll over, baby, I want you from behind.”

When she still didn’t move, I leaned down and sucked her swollen nipple until she woke up enough to respond.

“Give me a minute,” she grumbled.

Nope. Done waiting.

I picked her up and tossed her face down on the bed, positioning her peachy ass so the target was in the cross-hairs and I was rimming her tight little butthole. She wiggled beneath me, but didn’t tell me to stop. Definitely something I’d be taking further at some point in the future.

I lined up and pushed into her pussy slowly, the warm, soft heat, taking my breath away.

“Fuck, Caro!”

And then I lost it. Not lost a little, not just slightly out of control, but pounding into her like a fucking maniac, ruthlessly chasing my own release. The bed creaked and groaned, the headboard slamming against the wall, the antique springs my very own cheer team urging me on.

A second orgasm shot through her, making her pussy clamp around me so tightly I had no choice but to finish with her.

“Oh fuck!” I stuttered, pulling out of her quickly, gripping hold of the rim of the condom, wondering whether I should tell her that it had split—I didn’t want her freaking the fuck out.

And then, through the thin wall that separated us from the owner’s mother, I heard the sound of someone clapping, and her thin voice called out, “Bravo! Bravo!”

“What the fuck?” I gasped.

Caro started to laugh. “I think … I think we just got a round of applause!”

“You’re fucking kidding me!”

She shook her head weakly. “That’s what it sounded like. I guess she was impressed by your performance.”

Oh yeah! I am the man! I sat up and called out loudly, “Grazie, signora!”

“Prego!” she replied through the wall.

I lay back on the bed, my hands behind my head, and a huge-ass grin on my face. Caro rolled onto her side to gaze up at me.

“Something making you smile, Hunter?”

“Yeah! I never got a round of applause before.” Although there was that one time the women’s lacrosse team at UCSD gave me a platinum star rating on their facebook page.

“Maybe she was applauding me,” Caro suggested, her eyebrows raised cockily.

“Nah, she thinks I’m a stud, I can tell.”

I peeled off the used condom, hiding the split.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have performance anxiety; that can put a man off his stride, so they say.”

Her words evoked a powerful memory, and despite my decision to leave the past in the past, the screwed up 17 year-old that I’d once been, resurfaced.

“Do you ever think about the first time we were together? You know, when…”

She interrupted me, saying my name softly, like a prayer or a promise.

“Sebastian, you don’t have to remind me—it’s not something I’m likely to forget.”

“Sorry. It’s just … I thought about it a lot at the time and seeing you again this past week … it’s brought it all back.”

“For me, too.”

Lost in the memories, I leaned over to run a finger across the satiny skin of her cheek, before laying back again.

“Do you know how amazing you were that night? You took care of me after my dad had beaten the shit out of me.” I closed my eyes, pushing away the darkness of that memory. “I thought my heart was going to fucking stop when you undressed me and you took your clothes off. And then you touched me and my cock just exploded. I thought you’d laugh at me or something. It was so fucking humiliating.”

I paused, emotions too strong to control forcing the words out.

“But you didn’t. You made me feel like a man. I remember every word that you said. You told me it was going to be okay, and I didn’t know how it could be, but somehow you made the world go away, like it was just you and me.”

She was silent, drifting in her own thoughts.

“That’s how you make me feel, Caro, like the world just goes away and it’s just you and me. I … I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that again. All those other women, I know it bothers you, but it was just sex. It wasn’t … this.”

Her voice was soft when she replied.

“So, there was never anyone special, where it was more than just sex?”

I needed to be honest with her—no more secrets, no more lies, no more hiding what I felt about her. I was tired of the fear I felt when I was with her—fear that she’d leave me and I’d be alone again.

“There was one girl, Stacey, that I sort of dated for a while. She was … okay, but I wasn’t interested in anything long-term.”

“What happened?” Caro asked quietly.

I shrugged and looked away. She hadn’t meant anything.

“I heard her telling a girlfriend that she’d got me ‘tamed’.” Stupid bitch—just because I’d been playing nice with her—and only then because she was a friend of Ches’s wife.

“Oh, I can guess how much you enjoyed hearing that,” Caro said, shaking her head. “What did you do?”

“I slept with her best friend.”

The breath caught in her throat and a look of deep disapproval spread across Caro’s face which I didn’t really understand.

“I see,” she said sharply.

I shrugged and stared up at the ceiling.

“You asked me why Ches’s wife didn’t approve of me, and that’s the reason. Stacey was a friend of hers. And before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with Amy—it was another girl. I would never do that to Ches.”

Caro took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m not surprised Amy doesn’t like you after you did that to her friend … and it’s not very reassuring to hear that you’ve shown your dick to half the female population of California—and Paris, or so I’ve heard—but that’s your business. But surely you see that you made things difficult for Ches.”

What the fuck? How did we go from Stacey to this?

“How’s that?” I asked, not hiding the irritation in my voice.

“You put him in the middle, making him choose between his best friend and his wife.”

“What? How was I making him ‘choose’?”

“Well, I bet you anything Amy would have said she didn’t want you in the house if you were going to treat her friends like that, and Ches would have had to find some way of defending what was, frankly, indefensible behavior.”

She was accusing me of indefensible behavior? What about the way she’d shrugged me off like a cheap suit ten years ago? What about the way she’d left me to deal with my parents and all the shit that went down? I was 17. Seventeen.

“You get on your fucking high horse damn quickly, Caro,” I snapped.

“I’m just saying…” she began.

“What? What the fuck are you ‘just saying’?” I grit out, unable to stop my voice growing louder with each syllable. “You were a fucking journalist, Caro! You could have found me any time if you’d wanted to. It would have been so easy for you. So easy! I didn’t even know your last name. I was so desperate to find you that I even tried to see that prick of a husband of yours, but he slammed the door in my face and called my CO. I was on fucking punishment duties for weeks after that. But you didn’t give a shit, did you? It’s just lies. You just tell me what you think I want to hear. How can I ever trust you?”

“Sebastian, I…”

“I really want to hear this, Caro!” I yelled, my heart pounding and adrenaline shooting through my body as fight or flight warred inside me. “I really want to hear how hard you tried to find me. You knew my fucking father was forcing me to enlist because of you, but you didn’t even bother to make a few fucking phone calls. Three years I waited for you, Caro. Three fucking years, while you were off building your career and having a great life traveling all over the world. So yeah, I fucked some women who deserved it, because I’d already been fucked over once and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

She looked sick, gripping the sheet to her chest like she was afraid of me. Christ! As if I could ever hurt her … the way she’d hurt me.

“It wasn’t like that, Sebastian. Just listen to me for a moment! Let me explain, I…”

“Go tell it to the Marines, Caro,” I shouted, fury and ten years of resentment overtaking me, “because I’m not listening.”

She sat up and reached for her t-shirt. Shit! She was leaving. Again. I fucking knew it! I knew she was lying! She’d lied about it all.

“Where are you going?” I snarled at her. “Running away again? Yeah, well, it’s what you do best, isn’t it? Run away. Fuck that! I’ll save you the trouble.”

I leapt out of bed, pulled on my jeans, thrust my bare feet into motorcycle boots, then scooped up my t-shirt and jacket.

I was shaking with anger, unable to believe that it was happening again. Again!

I had no idea where I was going when I stormed out of there—just away—before my still-beating heart got ripped out of my chest and tossed into the dirt.

As I kick-started the bike’s engine, the loud roar echoed the way I wanted to yell, pouring out my fury, refusing to admit that the pain was crushing.

I tore down the stony track to the highway, too fast for the skittering headlight, bumping and swerving over the rutted tracks, covering my boots and jeans with a layer of thick dust. When I hit the highway, I opened the throttle and let her go, taking the bends too fast, not caring if I was still alive on the other side. Ten miles down the road, the engine began to sputter and I realized the reserve tank was running on fumes. I slowed down when I saw the lights of small town, pulling into the first place I saw that had a parking lot.

Well, color me fucking ecstatic—the neon sign welcomed me in. I went to stand at the bar, not even looking at the al banco price list, instead just waving to the elderly bartender with the cartoon villain mustache to bring me a bottle of grappa when he admitted that there was no whiskey. Not that I cared—I just wanted to get shitfaced and numb as fast as possible.

I threw some Euros at him, then dragged the shitty grappa towards me, downing three shots one after the other. The bartender muttered something under his breath, shrugged and walked away.

Anger and hatred burned inside, and it took all my training not to go find someone to beat the shit out of. To err is human, to forgive divine—and neither of those was Marine Corps policy. Ooh-rah.

So I drank, hoping numbness would follow. But instead the memories poured through me: the first time I saw her, the first time she smiled at me, the first time I made her laugh, the first time we made love. The way she listened to me like my words had value, the way she smelled after her shower—the scent of her skin after sex. The way she touched me, the words she’d said as the left: Ti amo tanto, sempre e per sempre. The lies.