BOOK ONE Gods of Desterrados: The Banished Ones

48 Homecoming

The weather was not as arid as it usually was, but it was still stifling under the mugginess that evening. 

The man stirred in his sleep underneath the mosquito net. 

Another woman came to him again that evening and even though he couldn't stop the stranger's motions against his body, he didn't entirely deny it as well. 

His well-used member was not protesting in the slightest.

He kept counting. 

He was now at 7,300 days. 20 long agonizing years without her. 

But there wasn't a day that went by when her face hadn't haunted his mind.

The memory of her body against his and her smile visited his dreams every night.

He often revisited the visions because it was an unescapable fact that time had stood still for him. 

He wondered if she still missed him.

Oh God, I miss her laugh. I crave that. And her fearlessness that made me want her even more. Shit, even her aggravatingly stubborn-ass nature that always made me want to choke the hell out of her at times.

He shouldn't have taken this last mission, but he could never handle seeing her in so much pain every time he tried his hardest to give her what she wanted the most.

Their son would've been 18 years old today.

I shouldn't have left you alone to suffer with the loss. But I was too damned afraid to see that look of disappointment in your eyes. 

I'm so sorry, baby. I never meant to hurt you.

His mind was still active, yet the rest of him refused to obey his brain's commands. The last thing he remembered were the insurgents closing in on him and his teams' separated convoy after the explosion, and then blackness.

His leg tremored as he looked down while the woman's moans became clearer. The man's eyes shut tight as he climaxed.

I can move!

His back arched instinctively and it woke up an innate ability in him. HIs resistance to the drugs they were pumping into him was no longer enough for him to remain paralyzed anymore.

Immediately, he began to plan his escape. He'd already recovered all his memories, and the gruff looking men in turbans remained ignorant to his newfound knowledge of who he was.

Somehow, he was being used as some kind of baby making machine for these fucked up terrorists. Although he had no idea where he was anymore, there was one thing that remained crystal clear in his mind. They were going to get the hell out of there.

No man left behind.

Picturing her in his mind was the only thing that kept him sane during his countless encounters with women ravaging him and his teams' bodies. It was definitely not consensual, but their circumstances could have been worse. They could've been captured by some crazy religious fanatics hell bent on doling out other types of torture.

In order to keep calm and in the present, it took all of his years of training to endure the mental isolation in his chemically and drug addled state. And every day he kept repeating the same mantra over and over. He would be remiss not to believe it.

The more he recited it over the years, the more he persevered.

Another woman was mounting him now.

As she continued moving her mouth on him to awaken his member, he continued his mantra.

My name is Lt. Trevor Connors and Eileen baby, I'm coming home to you tomorrow.