Soldier Mine (Sons of War #2)(3)

“You don’t know the size of your opponent?”

He shakes his head. “I mean … sorta. It’s kind of a blur.”

Okay, so not abuse at home. He’s clearly afraid of someone. I can’t imagine who, if he’s new to the area and the threat isn’t in his home environment.

Under my scrutiny, Todd steps back. “You’re going to report me,” he whispers.

“Nah.” I offer a smile. “You’re not the type to go bat-shit crazy.”

“How do you know?”

“I know the kind of person who hurts someone else.”

“They thought I was going to bring a gun to school or something in my last school.” He gives an irritated snort and tosses his head back to clear his eyes from the long, dishwater blond hair that keeps sliding into his face.

“You’re not that guy. But I don’t know why you want to know,” I add, sensing a timid thaw. “It might help me figure out how to help you.”

“You know.” He shrugs. “Just because.”

“Right.”

He says nothing but doesn’t leave either, shifting his weight between his feet, a physical reflection of his internal battle.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“I gotta go.” Todd starts away.

“Wait. Here.” I pull another business card out of my wallet and hand it to him. “In case you decide you wanna talk.”

He hesitates then accepts it. With a mumbled thank you, he trots off.

I watch him, torn between curiosity and pity.

My phone vibrates, and I see Brianna has texted me again. Still uncertain this is a good idea, I pick a diner nearby to meet and then head to my motorcycle. I’ve got enough time to run home and change into civvies before our rendezvous.





Chapter Two: Claudia


Five minutes might as well be a lifetime. By the time my brother Todd shows up a full seven minutes late, I’m fighting back anxiety and the urge to grab my stuff and run out of work to track him down. The moment he walks through the door, I feel my whole body relax.

“You’re late,” I tell him, hiding my worry the way I usually do.

He rolls his eyes at me and slings his backpack onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar of the diner where I’m a waitress. I automatically put out a glass of milk for him, along with a chocolate chip cookie. He’s holding something.

“What is it?” I ask. “Baseball card?”

“Business card,” he says with a shrug and pockets it.

“For whom?”

“Why are you always in my business?” he complains. “I’m fourteen. Give me some space.”

I wish he was ten again. Ten-year-olds are sweet. Add four years and they turn into hormonal, moody, cranky jerks incapable of a conversation that doesn’t involve eye rolling or deep sighs of misery or more than monosyllabic responses. My frustration with his teen years is quickly replaced by understanding.

It’s not easy to move as often as we do or to live the life we are now. The kid deserves some slack. “You can have space as long as your grades are good,” I remind him.

“They are.”

“Alrighty then. Hungry?”

“Hamburger.”

I put in his usual order with the red-faced cook manning the kitchen. The diner is small and quiet, one of the half a dozen restaurants in the sleepy business area of Glory Glade. It’s the kind of place that belongs on a greeting card: a cute downtown of meticulously maintained, historic buildings along streets lined with towering trees and surrounded by groves of traditional New England houses, each nestled into large yards with picket fences. It felt like home the moment we set foot in the town two months ago.

These kinds of places are out of the way, which is why I chose it. The only real danger is that everyone knows everyone else, so people tend to talk when there are newcomers. I’m hoping … praying the town is overlooked by the man – who we call The Monster – we’re running from, that maybe Todd can have a year or two to become normal again.

I make my rounds to check on the two regulars who visit the diner every day at this time before returning to Todd. He’s holding the card in his hands again and is staring at it. Unable to help it, I lean over his shoulder as I pass behind him.

Sergeant First Class Petr Khavalov

It’s all I catch before Todd realizes what I’m doing and places it face down on the counter.

“You’re not thinking about going into the military again, are you?” I ask. “You’re too young to make that decision.”

“I know.” He says nothing else.

I keep quiet and retrieve his hamburger, setting it down before him. “I can’t believe they let recruiters talk to freshmen.”

“He’s not a real recruiter,” he says and picks up the big burger. “He was a guest speaker in our history class today.”

“Oh. What’d he talk about?”

“War. And he only has one leg, Claudia.” Todd’s appearance brightens at the morbid words. “His other one was blown off and replaced by a bionic leg that has computer chips in it that makes it work like a real leg. He can also download it.”

“Download his leg?”

“His activity.” Todd rolls his eyes. “For his doctors.”