The Dirty Saint (Dirty #1)

12. Chapter Twelve

12

Chapter Twelve

Afghanistan

EZRA

1 month prior to the kidnapping

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots ripple through the air.

I listen as civilians scream, grabbing their children, all trying to flee the dangerous scene. Bodies drop, blood spatters, and I watch in horror as a pregnant woman takes a bullet to the side of her belly.

I have been trained for this. Spent many, many hours in the brutal sun, but even though this situation is what my body has been taught to be accustomed to, there is still a sense of fear in the air, almost as thick as the smell of the gunpowder.

“Ezra, you have eyes on the enemy,” I hear my Captain ask.

I nod. In the corner of my eye, I can see a man with dark, tanned skin and a long, black beard. He holds up a large gun, screaming and shouting, pointing the butt into a crowd of civilians.

“Jordan and Zoe are trying to intercept the rockets. Listen, Ezra, take the damn shot once you have it. Let’s end this before the situation has time to escalate.”

Lining up my M-16, I try aiming for the man’s heart. I don’t want to risk the face and miss, thus drawing attention to my position.

“You’re going down motherfucker,” I hiss, my finger on the trigger.

Suddenly, a ticking noise goes off. Like a clock.

“What the fuck?”

A blast sounds, trees and desert exploding all around me. I jump back, shielding my face from the flying debris and fire.

“Maya, are you okay,” a voice calls out on the radio.

I wipe the dirt from my face, ignoring the ringing in my ears.

“Yeah,” I cough. “I’m good. What the hell happened?”

“A bomb went off. Zoe’s going to investigate the scene.”

“And Jordan?” I ask.

Hesitation and silence fill the air, and a pang claws through my heart. Before my Captain gets a chance to answer the question, I already know what he’s going to say.

“What happened to Jordan?” I demand.

“He’s dead, Ezra.”

I clamp my hand over my mouth, careful not to let any of the civilians see the sadness on my face.

“No,” I whisper. “Please, no.”

“Maya, I need you to gather any intel that you can. I want to find the fucker that set off that bomb!”

I brush a tear from my cheek and then quickly take a breath.

Now is not the time to cry or get angry or do something stupid. It is not the time to try and avenge Jordan’s death.

He won’t have wanted that anyway.

“Copy that, Captain Bard.”

Next to me, an older lady is crying out for her grandson. She is clutching her wrist in her hand, her body covered in ash and soot.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” I ask.

The woman turns to face my direction, her eyes riddled with fear.

“My grandson, David, he was with me, and then the blast went off, and I lost him—”

“Ma’am,” I interrupt, holding out my hands for her to take. “Why don’t you tell me what he looks like so I can try to find him?”

She nods softly.

“Okay.”

I drag my feet along the rubble, holding onto the lady as I do so. I call out to David, listening out for any sound that can indicate that the little boy has heard me.

“David! David! Where are you bud? My name is Ezra Maya, and I am with the army. I am here with your grandmother—”

“Nana.”

“I am here with your Nana. And she’s very worried about you.” I crouch down, brushing away the rocks, “if you can hear me, honey, please call out.”

I trot along the gravel surface, careful to shield the woman from the dead bodies on the ground.

“Come on.”

We continue calling out for the young boy, asking other scared civilians if they have seen a five-year-old small child with blonde hair and green eyes, wearing a Paw Patrol hoodie. They all claim to have not witnessed the child, instead insisting that I get the cut on my forehead checked out.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “But thank you for the concern. I appreciate it.”

When we stop at the end of the block, I see a blurry figure in my peripheral vision. I saunter over, motioning Nana to do the same.

“It’s him!” she screams. “It’s my David!”

She points to the clear vision, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The boy does not appear to have been harmed. Thank you, universe . Nana is screaming and crying, holding her arms out for her grandson to fall into. David quickly comes over, tears in his eyes.

“Oh, darling, I was so worried,” Nana cradles the boy to her body.

“I’m okay, Nana. Just a little dirty.”

Nana chuckles, kissing the tip of the boy’s nose, and I smile, my heart not as broken as it had been not too long ago.

“David, this is Ezra. She helped me find you. Why don’t you give her a hug?”

The young boy holds onto Nana’s legs, peeking his head out from beneath her. He clutches a tiny stuffed monkey in his hands.

I crouch down, opening up my arms. The boy is reluctant, but after a gentle shove from Nana, he runs over to me.

“This is the best hug I have ever gotten,” I say, brushing the hair out of David’s eyes.

“Doesn’t he give the best hugs,” Nana asks.

I nod.

“He sure does. Now, David, why don’t we take a quick look at you to make sure there are no boo-boos?”

I check out the child’s arms, legs, torso, and face, making sure that there isn’t any glass or deep cuts on his skin. All I can find are some bruises and scratches, but nothing that needs desperate medical attention.

“And, Nana, I think that you should get checked out too. Just for safety reasons.”

“Oh, no,” she throws her hands up in surrender, shaking her head. “I am okay. A little dirty, but otherwise, I am fine. I just want to get David home.”

“I understand; however, you both should be looked at by a professional.”

“But—”

“No buts,” I say. “This is far too important.”

Nana picks up the small boy, who lays his head on her shoulder.

“You know, you’re just like my son, Joey. He’s also very persistent.”

“Sounds like my type,” I laugh.

“He’s very handsome.”

I smile.

“I’m sure he is.”

I wave as Nana and David drift away, their bodies becoming nothing but blips in my vision. I then drop my head into my hands and allow the sobs that I have suppressed to make their grand entrance into the world.

During

JOEY

“Ezra, look at me,” I say.

“Joey.”

“Ezra,” I say again. “Look at me.”

When her eyes meet mine, I cup the side of her face with my hands. She shudders.

“Don’t turn away,” I whisper. “Even though I know you want to.”

“Of course I do,” she says. “You’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” she answers, “Like you want to kiss me.”

“What would you do if I did?”

“You can’t,” Ezra says. “We can’t.”

“Nothing’s stopping us.”

Ezra clicks her tongue, trying her hardest to find a valid reason as to why I shouldn’t crash my mouth onto hers, tasting every inch and crevice of her sweet, soft lips.

“I don’t like you,” she lies. “There. There’s a reason.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

She shakes her head.

“You’ve hurt me.”

I brush my lips over her jaw, whispering into her chin.

“I know I have. I hate myself for it. And I will spend my entire life wearing that guilt around. But, Ezra, I need you. I need to know what you feel like. What you taste like. What gives you pleasure. I am going crazy right now.”

I slowly drag her shirt down, revealing the lash marks.

“You occupy every piece of my mind,” I kiss the spot right above her breast. “I dream of you. Day in. And day out.”

“Joey,” Ezra moans.

“I have tried to stop thinking about you. Because I know it’s wrong. I don’t deserve you,” I let my lips travel down her skin. “But I just can’t stop.”

Ezra arches her back, leaning into my touch.

“The thought of other men getting a taste of you…”

“My god, Joey,” Ezra cries.

My hands trail up and down her body, grazing every inch of her. I smile against her skin as she weaves her hands through my hair.

“Joey, stop,” Ezra says.

I remove my lips from her breast, gazing up at her. “Is everything okay?”

“You asked me something a long time ago—”

Caleb.

“Look, if this is all just some strategy to get me to talk—”

“Ezra,” I place my finger over her lips. “The specifics don’t matter. They aren’t important right now.”

“Just promise me if we do this, that it is because of desire and nothing else.”

I kiss her lips.

“I promise.”