Breaking Free (Delta Force Strong Book 4) Page 14

  “I love you, Layla Grey.” He laughed. “And I’m asking.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she dropped to her knees in front of him. “And I’m saying yes.”

  Bull slipped the ring onto her finger. He couldn’t believe he’d found the woman of his dreams. And she’d agreed to marry him.

  Rucker, with Nora in the curve of his arms, leaned close to Bull. “Who said relationships don’t work when you’re a Delta?”

  Nora elbowed Rucker in the side. “Shut up and let them kiss.”

  Bull pulled Layla into his arms and sealed their love with a kiss.

  SEAL Salvation

  Brotherhood Protectors Colorado Book #1

  New York Times & USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  ELLE JAMES

  Chapter 1

  Jake Cogburn sat in the tattered lounge chair he’d scavenged on the side of the street after moving into an empty apartment in Colorado Springs. He hadn’t planned on living in an apartment, nor had he planned on sleeping on the only piece of furniture he could afford without digging into his savings. He’d put aside money to purchase a plot of land out in the middle of nowhere Colorado. On that land, he’d wanted to build a house.

  All those plans had been blown away, along with the lower half of his left leg, when he’d stepped on an IED in Afghanistan. Yeah, he had the money in the bank, but what good did it do him? On one leg, what could he accomplish? Working a piece of land and building a house took all four limbs.

  He poured another tumbler of whiskey and tipped the contents up, letting the cool liquid burn a path down his throat. Soon, the numbing effect set in. Jake could almost forget the phantom pain in his missing leg, could almost forget he’d not only lost a leg, but had lost the only family he’d ever had.

  As a Navy SEAL, his teammates had been his brothers. Every one of them would lay down his life for him, as he’d taken one for the team when his foot had landed on that IED.

  Medically discharged, having gone through multiple surgeries and physical therapy, he’d been dumped out into a civilian world that had no use for a one-legged, former Navy SEAL.

  What was he good for? His skillset included demolitions, tactical operations, highly effective weapons firing and hand-to-hand combat.

  Where could he find that kind of work in a civilian occupation? And doing all that balanced on one leg?

  Nope.

  He was all washed up. His only hope was to sit on a corner with his hat held out, begging like a hundred other homeless veterans roaming the streets of Colorado Springs.

  His free hand clenched into a fist. Jake had never begged for anything in his life. He’d fought for what he’d accomplished. From surviving the gangs on the streets of Denver, to forging his way through BUD/S training, he’d always counted on his mind and brute strength to get through any hardship.

  But now…

  Through the empty glass tumbler, he stared down at the stump below his left knee then slammed the glass against the wall. It hit hard and shattered into a million pieces that scattered across the floor.

  A knock sounded on the door to his apartment.

  “I didn’t put a dent in the damned wall!” he yelled. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Jake Cogburn?” An unfamiliar male voice called out from the other side of the faded wooden panel.

  “Yeah,” Jake muttered. “I’m not interested in buying anything.”

  “I’m not selling anything,” the muffled voice sounded.

  “Then get the fuck away from my door,” Jake said and tipped the bottle of whiskey up, downing the last swallow. The bottle followed the glass, hitting the wall with a solid thump before it crashed to the wooden floor and bounced.

  “Everything all right in there?” the man called out.

  “Who the hell cares?” Jake muttered.

  “I do.”

  Jake frowned. “I told you. I’m not buying anything.”

  “And I told you I’m not selling anything.” A moment of silence followed. “Would you open the door for a brother?”

  Anger surged through Jake. “I don’t have a brother. I’m an only fuckin’ child.”

  “Then how about a brother-in-arms? A fellow spec ops guy? A Delta Force man?”

  Jake barked a single laugh. “Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. The SEALs don’t operate out of Colorado. And as far as I know, there isn’t a Delta Force unit near here.”

  “Not active Delta Force,” the man fired back. “Look. A friend sent me to offer you a job.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” Jake said, then added muttering beneath his breath, “and I’m not fit for any jobs.”

  “You’re fit for the job he’s got in mind,” the man said. “Look, Cog, the only easy day was yesterday. Are you a SEAL or not?”

  Cog.

  Only the men he’d fought with side by side had called him Cog.

  A frown pulled his brow low as he leaned forward in his chair. “Anyone can look up the SEAL motto. How do I know you’re the real deal?” Jake had to admit he was curious now.

  “You have to trust me.” The man chuckled. “It’s not like us Deltas have tridents tattooed on our foreheads like you Navy SEALs. My honor was forged in battle, just like yours.”

  Despite himself, Jake’s lips twitched. No, they didn’t have tridents, the symbol of their trade, drawn in indelible ink on their foreheads. But it was etched into their hearts. The grueling training they’d survived had made them proud to wear the symbol of the Navy SEAL and even prouder to fight as a team alongside the Delta Force operatives.

  “Who sent you?” Jake asked.

  “Hank Patterson,” the voice said and waited.

  A flood of memories washed over Jake. Hank had been his mentor when he’d come on board, fresh from BUD/S training. He hadn’t hazed him as the others on the team had. He’d taken Jake beneath his wing and taught him everything he knew that would help him in the many missions to come. Many of Hank’s techniques had kept Jake alive on more than one occasion. He owed the man his life.

  “Why didn’t Hank come himself?” Jake asked.

  “He and his wife have a new baby. You might not be aware that his wife is a famous actress. She’s going on set in a few days, and Hank has diaper duty.”

  “Hank? Diaper duty?” Jake shook his head. The alcohol in his system made his vision blur. “Doesn’t sound like Hank.”

  “Well, it is. Will you open the door so we can discuss his proposition?”

  Jake glanced around the pathetic excuse of an apartment and shook his head. “No. But I’ll come out in a minute. You can buy me a drink, and we can talk.”

  “Good,” the man said. “Anything to get out of this hallway. Your neighbors are giving me threatening looks.”

  Jake reached for his prosthesis, pulled up his pantleg, donned the inner sleeve, slipped his stump into position and pulled the outer sleeve over his thigh. He slid his good foot into a shoe and pushed to a standing position, swaying slightly.

  He smelled like dirty clothes and alcohol. But he’d be damned if he let Hank’s emissary into the apartment to see how low Jake Cogburn had sunk.

  Lifting his shirt up to his nose, he grimaced. Then he yanked it over his head, slung it across the room and reached into the duffel bag in the corner for another T-shirt.

  The sniff test had him flinging that shirt across the room to land with the other in a heap on the floor. Two shirts later, he settled on a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt that had been a gift from one of his buddies on his last SEAL team. The man had been a fan of one of the biggest bands of the seventies, a time way before he’d been born.

  Running a hand through his hair, he shoved his socked-foot and his prosthetic foot into a pair of boots and finally opened the door.

  The man on the other side leaned against the opposite wall in the hallway. He pushed away from the wall and held out his hand. “Jake Cogburn, I’m Joseph Kuntz. My friends call me Kujo.”

  Jake gave the man a narrow
-eyed glare but took the hand. “What kind of job does Hank have in mind. Not that I’m interested.” He shook the hand and let go quickly.

  “He’s started a business up in Montana and wants to open up a branch here in Colorado.” Kujo ran his glance over Jake.

  Jake’s shoulders automatically squared. “And?”

  “And he wants you to head it up.”

  Jake laughed out loud. “Hank wants this broken-down SEAL to head up an office?”

  Kujo nodded. “He does.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “I have a pregnant wife back in Montana. I only have a few weeks to help you lay the groundwork. Then I have to get back.”

  His head shaking back and forth, Jake stared at the man as if he’d lost his mind. “What the hell kind of business can a one-legged ex-SEAL manage? Does he even know me?”

  “He said he mentored you as a newbie SEAL a long time back. He knows your service record and thinks you would make the perfect man to lead the new branch.” Kujo crossed his arms over his chest. “He has confidence that you have the skills needed to do the job. And there’s no such thing as an ex-SEAL. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. ”

  Jake nodded. The man was right. “He knew me back then. But does he know me now?” Jake touched the thigh of his injured leg.

  Kujo nodded. “He knows about your circumstances, and he’s still certain you’re the one to do the job.”

  Jake shook his head. “What exactly will this branch of his business sell?”

  “We’re a service organization. We provide security and unique skills to our clients to protect them and/or take care of situations law enforcement or the military might not be in a position to assist with.”

  “Vigilantes?” Kujo held up his hands. “No thanks.”

  “Not vigilantes,” Kujo said. “More a security service for those in need of highly trained special ops folks who know how to handle a gun and run a tactical mission.”

  “Again,” Jake said, “sounds like vigilantes. No thanks. Besides, I’m not fit to fight. The Navy told me so.” He turned to go back into his apartment and find another whiskey glass.

  Kujo stepped between him and the door. “Can you fire a weapon?”

  Jake shrugged. “Sure. Nothing wrong with my hands and arms. But I can’t run, jump and maneuver the way I used to before…” He tipped his chin toward his prosthesis.

  “You still have a brain. You can compensate,” Kujo raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a job?”

  Jake’s chest tightened. “No.”

  Kujo’s chin lifted a fraction. “Then, what do you have to lose?” He stood with his shoulders back, his head held high—the way Jake used to stand.

  What did he have to lose? He’d lost everything that had been important to him. He couldn’t sink any lower. His brows furrowing, he stared into Kujo’s open, friendly face and then shrugged. “I have nothing to lose.”

  Kujo nodded. “Trust me. I’ve been there. Hank Patterson brought me out of the hell I’d sunk into. Life has only gotten better since.”

  “Well, you have both legs,” Jake pointed out.

  “And you have your hands and mind, one perfectly good leg and a prosthetic device you can get around on just fine from what I can see.” He frowned. “Are you going to stand around bellyaching or come with me and start a new job I think you’ll love.”

  “I’m not bellyaching,” Jake grumbled.

  “But you’re wasting daylight, and I have another place I need to be before dark.” Kujo stood back. “What’s it to be?”

  For a tense moment, Jake stood fast. After weeks of wallowing in the hovel of an apartment, getting out seemed more difficult than staying with the familiar.

  “Why did Hank choose me?” he asked.

  “Based on your past performance as a Navy SEAL, Hank thought you were the right person for the task he had in mind. He trusts you, your work and your integrity. The job won’t always be easy…” Kujo grinned. “But the only easy day…”

  “Yeah, yeah…was yesterday.” Jake impatiently waved Kujo ahead of him. “I’m coming. But don’t take that as a yes. I have yet to decide whether I want to work for Hank.”

  Kujo cocked an eyebrow. “You have a better job offer?”

  Jake wanted to tell the man that he did, but he couldn’t. “No.”

  “Fine. Come with me. We have another stop to make before we seal this deal and kick off this project.” Kujo nodded toward the interior of the apartment. “Got a go bag?”

  Jake glanced back. “Not since I left the service. Why?”

  “We’ll most likely stay the night where we’re going. Maybe longer. Grab what you need for a couple of days.”

  Jake returned to his apartment, grabbed the duffel bag out of the bottom of the closet and stuffed a pair of jeans, socks, underwear, some T-shirts, a jacket and his shaving kit into it. He returned to his apartment entrance where Kujo waited.

  The other man stepped outside and waited for Jake to follow.

  Jake carried his bag through the door and pulled it closed behind him. “Where are we going?”

  “To a ranch.”

  His feet coming to an immediate halt, Jake shook his head. “Why are we going to a ranch? You didn’t say anything about a ranch.”

  Kujo drew in a deep breath and let it go slowly, as if he was holding back his own impatience. “Bear with me. I’ll fill you in when we get there. Just suffice it to say, your job will be important to someone.”

  “Who?”

  Kujo grinned. “Whoever needs you most.”

  “That’s kind of vague, if you ask me.”

  “It’s the nature of the work,” Kujo said.

  “Just what exactly does this job entail?” Jake asked.

  “Don’t worry.” Kujo led the way down the stairs of the apartment complex and out to a shiny, black SUV. “I fully intend to brief you on your position and the nature of Hank’s organization. But first, I’d like to get out of here and up into the mountains.”

  Jake climbed into the SUV, silently cursing his prosthetic when it banged against the door. Once in his seat, he buckled his seatbelt, wondering what the hell he was doing and when the hell he’d get that drink Kujo promised. Thankfully, he hadn’t committed to anything, which was his only saving grace. What kind of job could Hank have in mind for a one-legged, former Navy SEAL?

  About the Author

  ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of books including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories. Learn more about Elle James at www.ellejames.com

  Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter | BookBub | Amazon

  Or visit her alter ego Myla Jackson at mylajackson.com

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