To my husband, my “ALEX”… without you, this book would not have been possible.

I love you!


Playlist

Headstrong- Trapt

Change Clothes- Jay Z ft. Pharrell

Yeah- Usher ft. Lil John & Ludacris

Blurred Lines- Robin Thicke ft. Pharrell and T.I.

Man in the Box- Alice in Chains

You Send Me Swingin’- Mint Condition

Tainted Love- Marilyn Manson

Linger- The Cranberries

Closer- Nine Inch Nails

The Ghost of You- My Chemical Romance

Every Rose Has Its Thorn- Poison

Better Than Me- Hinder

Blurry- Puddle of Mud

Bat Country- Avenged Sevenfold

Fuel- Metallica

Radio/Video- System of a Down

Fall For You- Secondhand Serenade

Comedown-Bush

Lady Lay Your Body- Carl Thomas

Suavemente- Elvis Crespo

Shameless- Garth Brooks

Machinehead- Bush

Daylight- Maroon 5

Gorilla- Bruno Mars

Promiscuous Girl- Nelly Furtado ft. Timbaland

Bodies- Drowning Pool

To Make You Feel My Love- Garth Brooks

The Pretender- Foo Fighters

Nothing Else Matters- Metallica 

Chapter 1

Alex


"Shots… shots… shots…shots…" It was all I heard as I threw back tequila shot after tequila shot. My head was pounding with every chant that left those fucker's mouths and I knew at any second I was probably going to puke every ounce of that shit up, but through the incessant bangs in my head, I told myself not to give these assholes the satisfaction. I would keep that shit down if it killed me.

"Come on Staff Sergeant select, throw em' back, motherfucker." God, I loved my brothers, but half the time, I hated them.

Like now.

Finding out I was selected to pick up Staff Sergeant in the Marine Corps was not only a reason to celebrate; it was a reason to get downright trashed. These guys, my brothers in arms, promised me, from the second I received the good news that tonight would be the night that I cleaned the bar out, and by the looks of things, they weren't lying.

Coyotes was jam packed. Not only was it a Friday night, but with selection news being thrown around, and being stationed in the fucking boonies of Twentynine Palms, everybody had a reason to come out and party. This place was the Marines hang-out. There was always the Enlisted Club--or E-Club--on base, but fuck it, we were too restricted there, and these fuckers wanted to kill my liver tonight, so out in town we went.

The usual suspects had packed the bar. As always, there were the boot, or new Marines who waited every payday to come blow their pay checks on alcohol, only to have to sit in their lonely ass barracks rooms playing Call of Duty and other simulated war shit when they ran out of money. Who was I to stop them? They hadn't seen a lick of combat and wanted to live it through their television screens. Have at it.

Then there were the military groupies, tag chasers, or whatever name you felt like calling them. Yes, they exist. All they want to do is fuck anything in uniform in hopes that they can land themselves some benefits and a stay at home gig. They scour military hangouts in military towns, and in Twentynine, any bar is a military hang out. Normally, I steer clear of these 'ladies', but occasionally, my weakness prevails and I end up giving in, but I always protect my shit. Babies with one of these types would be my worst nightmare come true.

Tonight they were all over the place. Tiny mini-skirts barely covering the cheeks of their ass, pieces of material used to cover tits, and plenty of make-up, hoping to attract some dude in need of a quick fuck, with hidden, long term consequences. Most of them, in this town anyway, were divorced from another Marine and hung around in hopes of nailing another one. They disgusted me to no end, but hey, sometimes I just needed a quick lay and if they were available, why not?

Then, there were the guys like me; the single Marines who had been around for a bit, letting loose and having a good time. Even if that fun meant I might end up in the ER getting my stomach pumped. I didn't care, I was moving up the ranks faster than I could have ever imagined.

When I set out to join the Marine Corps, it was out of sheer luck that I got in and it changed my life for the better. My career in the Corps was owed to my recruiter, who worked tirelessly for me, pulling so many fucking strings for me, and making sure that I knew that his name was on my shit and that he would find me if I ever embarrassed him. I knew then that I had made the right choice and that I wanted to uphold the Marine Corps mantra of Honor, Courage, and Commitment. I've poured every ounce of my being into my career, volunteering for combat deployments, leading Jr. Marines, mentoring, and now, teaching.

Being an instructor at the School of Communications was not my dream assignment, but I took it in stride, because like anything with the Corps, they assign you where you're needed and I knew that. Although it wasn't what I wanted, it was where I was needed; so when the orders were passed down to me, I packed up, shut my fucking mouth, and did what I was told to do.

Picking up Staff Sergeant in just six short years wasn't on my list of goals. I knew it could happen, but I never expected it to happen. Now that it had, I was beyond fucking thrilled and needed to party the way these assholes had intended for me to do, because it was worth it. The pain and suffering I would feel in the morning was well worth the bullshit I was putting my body through tonight.

"This night is to Sergeant Alejandro Cruz, Staff Sergeant select," Riley shouted, throwing back another shot. I took another, but winced as the burning liquid made its way down. I was damn near sure that after fifteen of these little shits, my insides were being singed with every drop that went down my throat.

Sergeant Christopher Riley, or Riley as we called him, was one of the guys I had known the longest. I'd met him in boot camp and instantly hated him. He was loud, goofy, and always in my space. I'd grown up fighting guys like him. But after our brawl in bootcamp one night, after the lights went out, I grew to respect him. He was a skinny white boy, too pretty to be a Marine, I thought, and even though I kicked his ass, he held his own and made me work for it. After that night, we actually forged a friendship, eventually becoming roommates.

"I don't think I can take much more. Fuck, you guys are killing me," I stammered out, half drunk, half mortified. I did not want to bitch out, but I was beginning to feel the effects of my limits being reached and it wasn't shaping up to be pretty.

"Fuck that. We're clearing this place out tonight," Jensen yelled, shoving another shot into my face.

Brandon Jensen, Jensen for short, was one of the first guys I met when I checked into the Comm School, I instantly liked him, making him my roommate as well. He was a lot like me. He loved the Corps and it was evident in the way he carried himself. He, unlike a lot of the guys I had run into over the course of my six year career, believed in the rules and regulations and set out to uphold them at every turn. I quickly realized that looking at Jensen was a lot like looking at myself, only he was taller, part Mexican with some black mixed in, and probably a little better looking than I was. Chicks seemed to flock to him, and while I caught my fair share, Jensen was like a pussy magnet. They lined up, but he was always selective, which made me respect him even more.

"Don't pussy out, Cruz. You've earned this shit," Smith chimed in, patting me on the back.

"Yeah. Plus, you're paying for this, so you better drink up," Newsome threw out, causing me to turn my drunken gaze on him.

Part of me wanted to lunge across the table at him; another part wanted me to sit my ass down since my head was spinning out of control by this point. All liquor and no food was making me feel like a lightweight. I hated it, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep up the tough guy charade.

"Don't pay him any attention," Jensen said, helping me into a seat and shoving a beer into my hand, "he's paying tonight. He just doesn't know it yet."

I sat back in the chair and sipped the beer in my hand. Being overly intoxicated to the point of almost blacking out, or so I felt, left me no other choice but to become a bystander in this very crowded bar.

Smith and Newsome were two peas in the same pod. Caleb Smith and Andrew Newsome were both from some small, podunk town in Nebraska and joined the Corps together. After being sworn into the buddy program and going through bootcamp, Marine Combat Training, and Comm School together, they were separated but finally made their way back to one another in the form of Comm School instructors. They were a couple of bullshitters, but pulled chicks just like the rest of us. Their beach boy looks had me believing they were from California or Florida when I first met them, but alas, they convinced me they were from Nebraska and we've been friends ever since.

"Check out those girls over there," Riley goofily pointed out. He wasn't near as wasted as I was, but he was still completely fucking awkward.  I tried my hardest to focus in the direction that he was pointing in, but all I could make out were a couple of groupies. Riley laughed and smiled, hitting me on the shoulder asking me if I wanted one.

"Fuck no," I quickly responded, throwing back more of the beer. There was no amount of alcohol that could make me want to get inside of anything he was pointing at. One of them had a tattoo that I could have sworn had the rank and last name of another fucking guy. Groupie if I ever saw one.

"You good here man?" Jensen asked. Some random Asian chick was wrapped around his arm, standing behind him.

"Yeah. I'm good. Go on."

With Jensen's caramel brown skin, and those pretty boy green eyes, women were always on his ass. He didn't discriminate, and unlike sorry ass Riley, Jensen's chick looked respectable.

Some Jay-Z song came blaring through the speakers and while I bobbed my head, humming lowly to the words, two chicks I had never seen before caught my eye as they sauntered out onto the dance floor. They didn't look like groupies, but you could never be sure. One was a well-built Latina, long thick brown hair, full pouty lips, sporting a warm golden complexion. She had a bangin' ass body, and while her jeans hugged in all the right spots, it was her friend that caught my eye. The long legs on this fucking blonde beauty were on full display. Thoughts of throwing those damn things around my waist and pounding my way into her were beginning to consume my mind, making me suddenly sweat. Sweating like a fucking pig. Was it the alcohol or my dreams of fucking the shit out of Blondie that had my shirt soaked and was making me lose all of my bearings? She danced with her friend, swaying those petite hips, making me think of a million and one ways that I could use them for my satisfaction.

Her smile lit up the room, the innocence behind it smothering me, and at one point, I believe she turned her head and looked at me, making my cock twitch beneath my jeans.

I bit down on my bottom lip… hard. After gulping down the rest of the beer I was holding, I rubbed my sweaty hand over my close cut hair, then adjusted myself as nonchalantly as I possibly could, which meant I was overly obvious with it, but I didn't give a fuck. Blondie looked at me and made me all sorts of uncomfortable, and I needed relief.

"What the fucks got you in a trance, Alex?" Jensen asked, coming back to the table.

"Nothing. Where's your chick?" I asked, trying to take my eyes off the only female in this bar that had ever made me lose myself.

"She went outside to check on her friend," Jensen responded, narrowing his eyes and following my line of sight. "Why don't you go and talk to her?"