TAG by Shari J. Ryan Read Free Book Online

thought of my horrible past in the past.
    I click send, which brings me back to the rest of the unread emails. Most are spam. I delete all of them except the last one—the one that has gone unread for the past year. Krissy’s last email to me. I can’t read it. I don’t know if I can handle what she didn’t know was going to be her last words to me. Even thinking about clicking read forces a burn behind my eyes. I have spent the last year crying whenever no one was looking. Every time I feel like my tears are drying up, something else pops up that reminds me of her. I still can’t read this. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    TANGO
    I’M SURE we won’t be here long, so I’m not going to think twice about the fact that this room is meant for a miniature person. The ceiling is angled, and I can’t even stand up straight in most corners of the room. I haven’t seen the other bedroom, but I’m assuming it’s twice the size with a full height ceiling.
    Unfamiliar with this area, I pull my phone back out and open a map. I’m sure she’s starving and when a woman is hungry, things only go south from there. And this chick would probably prove that theory correctly in the worst way possible. My truck won’t be dropped off until later, so I need to find shit in walking distance. Although, I’m guessing she wants to stay locked in her room, and if that’s the case, I’ll grab a pizza and leave it at her door. On second thought, knowing my luck . . . she probably doesn’t eat pizza. I’m sure it has too many calories. Ugh. What have I gotten myself into?
    I pull open my bag and straighten the neatly folded pile of clothes, knowing they’ll be staying like this until I need them. I guess I could have told her not to bother thoroughly unpacking. Although she’s been on the run long enough, so she probably lives like I do. And if she does, I’m sure she knows living out of bags doesn’t get old. It’s actually comforting—knowing I can pick up and leave at a moment’s notice.
    I take off my shirt and toss it onto the bed as I reach into my bag for a clean one. My hand sweeps against the small picture frame I’ve kept in here since I left for the Marines, and it makes my heart ache. Last time I looked at this I was in Afghanistan. The picture reminded me of what I was fighting for—my motivation to make it home. But now it’s the reminder that I still have one person who knows I’m alive and loves me—my motivation to keep pushing forward, even knowing I can’t see her again. It’s moments like these when I stop and realize what has happened over the past few months. How did I end up here? I had such a promising career. I was a lifer in the Marines. I wasn’t great in school, but I excelled with everything I touched in the military. It felt like my destiny, which made combat easier to accept. I was doing what I was placed on this earth to do. But now that I’ve been discharged, I have no direction. I have no real plan. I’m just crossing the days off as they go by. It’s easy to be strong when resilient people surround you. Having no support, though, it’s weakening.
     
    CALI
    My stomach snarls with hunger, reminding me I still haven’t eaten anything since the slice of microwaved pizza I scarfed down last night. Maybe I can sneak out without the hulk noticing.
    I pause when I pass by his room. He’s hunched over his bag folding clothes. A man folding his clothes? That’s different. All I know is he’s preoccupied.
    I continue down the hall, concentrating on not making a scuffing noise with my feet. He probably has bionic ears too, though. All of my previous bodyguards seemed to.
    I twist the knob on the front door and pull, but the door doesn’t give. My focus is drawn in a line upward from the doorknob, noting three deadbolts. One even has a keyhole on the inside.
    Motherfucker. He actually locked me in. He’s the worst one yet.
    Not a bodyguard , my ass .
    “You