From Trey #3 by Bryl R. Tyne

Excerpted from Trey #3 by Bryl R. Tyne


M/M/M Contemporary Action/Thriller

Trey wants his job.

Drew wants Trey.

Travon wants them both, but must avoid the law.

When boyfriend Drew and twice a month fuck buddy Travon decide to go in together on a local Las Cruces pawnshop heist, neither expects to find Trey working behind the counter. Funny, both Drew and Travon figured the accountant-degree-holding Trey to be a safe bet. Both are fiercely protective. None expected to meet.

With the loot bagged, the ironic love triangle exposed, and the cops on the way, what's there to do but drag Trey along for the ride?

Trey discovers sometimes choosing between the lesser of two evils is all but impossible.

Excerpt: 

It seemed no matter how diligently I performed my duties, how loyal or dependable I proved myself to be, I had no control over who my last three bosses hired or fired. Though I had a degree in accounting, when I landed this minimum-wage customer assistant's job, I took it because I needed work, needed to keep my mind busy, active. Besides, they paid shift differential—a whole fifteen cents. Even if this shop was on the lower eastside of town, I didn't mind my job. At least I had one—again.

Could've been worse, Drew reminded me, on the afternoons I slogged out his front door, dragging my dark cloud with me. I shook my head as I crouched to lockup the remaining Rolex cases. At least I had Drew . . . and yeah, I had the man right where I wanted him almost every day for the past six months, to be exact.

Bells jangled, announcing someone's entrance. I let my ring of keys snap back to my belt. Broom in hand, I met the late customer at the jewelry counter. "We're getting ready to—" Before me, on the other side of the counter, stood the one person I never expected to see on this side of town. "Drew?"

Why he wore sunglasses in the dead of night, I'd never understood, but he did it often. He lifted them off his nose and pushed them to his head as he stared. His mouth opening and closing like a starving goldfish, he tried to ask the one question I never wanted to hear—especially, not here, inside Jackie's Rings and Things. "What are you doing—?"

"I work here." Duh. I shook my head, not caring if I sounded like a PMSing bitch. "Don't rub it in, either."

I leaned the broom against the counter and strode to the end. Lifting the hinged door, I stepped under it and let it slam behind me. Well, I'd had Drew . . . as in, "It's been swell," and, "See ya later." Exactly the reason I'd avoided telling him about my new job. A man like Drew would never understand.

He wasn't one of those rich boys born with a silver spoon in his mouth. No. From what I knew of his lifestyle—his condo, his 2010 Dodge Charger, his ever-present bankroll—I was certain his mother had birthed him inside a bank vault. As soon as the—my boyfriend works in a pawnshop—sunk in, I'd be out of his life. There was no doubt in my mind.

Instead of the argument I'd expected though, Drew smiled—a half-hearted, odd kind of twist to his lips. He glanced behind him at the door, wiped the sweat from his forehead as he met my gaze again.

"Just say it," I said, a little creeped out by his unpredictable reaction.

He wrung his hands together, once again eyeing the exit over his shoulder. "I-I'm looking for a ring."

A ring? At eleven o'clock at night. "Okay. Just let me lockup first."

"No! I'll miss my ride . . . I know what I want." Drew stepped to the display case of sterling rings and pointed. "Right here, in tray number three."

Something told me I was a fool for getting my hopes up, but still, I complied, ever hopeful Drew had finally decided to commit. I returned behind the counter, unlocked the sliders, and pulled out the third tray of silver rings. "Which one did you have in mind?"

My daydream lasted all of two seconds, for as soon as I set tray number three atop the glass case, the door burst open.

Tall, dark, and ski-masked kicked it shut after he entered, and, aiming his pistol at me, shouted, "Hands in the air!"

I complied immediately, not a heroic bone in my body. He could have the entire fucking store for all I cared.

"Don't move," Drew whispered.

I glanced to Drew, who had yet to heed the asshole's order, then looked back to the rapidly advancing armed robber. Put your hands up. I mouthed the words, hoping Drew would see me.

Much to my surprise, he stepped between the robber and me, whipped around, reached over the display case, and caught me around the middle. In a flash, he dragged me across the counter and onto the floor, shocking me further by manhandling me onto my stomach and binding my wrists behind my back with what felt like strips of plastic. "What the fuck are you—?"

"Just keep quiet," he said, "and you won't get hurt."

Holy Christ. One side of my face pressed to the floor, I closed my eyes and started to pray. Who in the hell had I been fucking these past six months—been considering moving in with? This sure as fuck wasn't the man I knew . . . thought I knew. My heart pounded in my ears. Hard-soled shoes came to a stop beside me, and I clenched my eyes tighter.

"Shut him up or I'll—oh, shit."

Oh shit, was right. I recognized that voice. Jackie's Rings and Things would-be bandit was none other than Travon Sanders, my mother's twenty-nine-year-old neighbor—my friend and twice-a-month fuck buddy. Well, soon to be ex-friend, along with Drew. I'd made up my mind, with a knee between my shoulders.

"You know him?" Drew asked tall, dark, and dangerous.

I could feel Travon's stare burn into my upturned cheek. "No, man—You?" He backed away, not waiting for Drew to answer. "Just looks like a guy I used to know."

That's right, motherfucker . . . used to know, you sonofabitch.

Drew released the pressure on my back and then stood, yanking me to my knees. "Get up." He pulled me to my feet as Travon helped himself to my keys and the store's valuables.

"Prick."

Drew backhanded me across the face; a second later, he winked. "I said, keep your mouth shut."

Fuck you. I spat at his face, missing by a long shot. He stared at me as if I'd lost my fucking mind.

At that point, I'd already decided I had indeed lost it. Who in his right mind would attempt to build a life with a career criminal while fucking an armed robber on the side? The only one I knew crazy enough to do either stared back at me from the glass of the gun display case as Drew shuffled me behind the counter and shoved me into the first open office.

"Stay here 'til I figure out what to do with you." He shut the door behind him.

"Bastards." Before I stuck my dick in anyone ever again, I was hiring a P.I. to run a full background check. This was ridiculous. What were the fucking odds?

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, Untreed Reads Publishing, Changeling Press, and Coming Soon to Amber Allure with TOUGH GUY. You can find out more about Bryl at: bryltyne.com

In Love and War by Lydia Nyx

I put this up as a free read on GLBT Bookshelf. When you're done reading the excerpt, click the links at the bottom to get the WHOLE thing for FREE!

This story takes place on the eve of advancement before the Greek-Roman battle of Heraclea in 280 BC. The main characters are Macedonian and part of the allied army of Macedonia who advance with King Pyrrhus of Epirus. I tried to be largely realistic pertaining to the sexual conventions of the time, which makes it a little less typical than most erotic fiction.

Blurb: On the eve of the Greek-Roman battle of Heraclea, General Karanos of the allied Macedonian army enjoys the hospitality of his old friend and once-lover Nikanor. Nostalgic for old dalliances, he quickly learns Nikanor has a new dalliance of his own: a beautiful, fierce young man named Amyntas. However, old passions are not so easily quelled--nor are new ones.

Excerpt:

Time passed and Karanos sunk deeper into the cushions of the couch, his limbs heavy with wine. The dancers sat upon the men’s laps and laughed, their voices tinkling with the music. A few tried to draw Nikanor’s attention but he waved them off. When Zeuxis finally rose and went to another couch Nikanor sprawled out, one foot on the cushions and the other on the stone floor. He wore a simple unadorned chiton without a cloak, no special dress for his farewell celebration. His feet were bare. Karanos felt a fondness deep inside him and smiled. Nikanor’s lack of convention made him ironically more appealing, to everyone. Nikanor stared at the ceiling, head reclined on the arm of the couch, his hands folded and resting upon his stomach.

One of the dancing girls came by, swaying her hips, and stopped beside Nikanor’s couch. She reached down and put a finger to his chest and Karanos heard her speaking lowly. Nikanor drew her down by the arm and whispered something in her ear.

Thetima spoke. “Women love my son, but he does not suffer them well.”

Karanos glanced at her, and then back at Nikanor. The girl suddenly stood upright, frowning petulantly, and moved away from him. Clearly, whatever Nikanor had said did not please her. Nikanor stared up at the ceiling again.

“He has no time for such pursuits,” Thetima said, never looking up. “Love for a woman is weakness. Do you love your wife, General Karanos?”

Karanos blinked, his cup hovering near his lips again. “I do. She has borne my son.”

“And does your wife understand your life? Your life of war and killing?”

“Of course not. But I do not ask her to. I would rather she not realize the truth of such things.”

“So I think Nikanor feels, that any wife he took would suffer.” Thetima gave a soft sigh. “He could not bear to expose her to it and yet he could not keep it from her. For it is who he is.”

Karanos thought on that. “I understand. But it is lonely without a wife. Even if they do not understand, at least they are there.”

“Is she here?” Thetima paused in her threading. She held a shell up to the light and examined it. “Is your wife here to ease the loneliness?”

Karanos did not speak.

“Of course she isn’t.” Thetima rested the shell on the cloth again. “She is not here because you would not expose her to it. And so you are lonely, when you sought not to be. This is the problem Nikanor knows full well. He could only ease his loneliness with one who understands his life. So it is with many men of Macedon. You lay with each other to share wisdom, but it is not only that. ”

Karanos was surprised to hear her speak so.

“Do not look so startled.” She glanced up at him, her eyes as calm as a windless sea. “Long have I been in the midst of men. Long have I heard tales and jests when they thought it did not matter if I heard, for I was only a woman. I do not fault you for it. You must take your peace where it is offered. I know of men and their ways.” She drew a small pouch from her side and from it, dumped a pile of glittering glass beads. “Loneliness must east itself where it may.”

Karanos wished for more wine in his cup.

“You desire my son,” she said.

It was bold of her to speak of such a thing and he had to restrain himself from chastising her, for she was not his mother and it was not his place. Nikanor sat up suddenly on his couch, placing both feet on the floor, and leaned down to retrieve his cup near the leg of the couch.

“I know men your age do not desire one so old as my son.” Thetima began stringing the beads with the shells. “I know this desire only arises from a need for understanding and companionship. But you have a past with him, one that you do not speak of.”

“Why do you say this!” Karanos was finally unable to withhold his outrage. “Do you seek to shame me?”

“No, my intention is not shame. It is a warning.”

Karanos frowned, studying her profile. “A warning?”

Suddenly, a draft passed through the hall. It made the lamps flicker and the fire burn brighter for an instant. Karanos felt a warm tingling on his arms and wondered how much wine he’d truly drank.

“How long has it been since you last saw Nikanor?” Thetima asked. “Five years? Six?”

“Too many.”

“Things have changed a bit since then.” She glanced up.

Karanos turned to see where she was looking and his gaze fell upon the doors. They had just opened, accounting for the draft. A young man entered the hall. He wore a deep blue chiton that fell to mid-thigh, pinned twice at the shoulders so they peeked through the resulting gaps, narrow and golden. His legs were long and lean, bronze as the rest of his skin, the laces of his sandals lashed to the knee. He wore his hair long like Nikanor’s, though it was darker and straighter. Around his neck hung a shelled necklace similar to the one Thetima wove. He was Amyntas, son of Timandros, and Karanos had known him as a boy. Thetima cared for him after his parents were stricken down by typhus and in letters to Karanos, she often spoke of his growth. He was going with them to see his first battle.

“Amyntas!” Karanos lifted his cup, though it was empty, to the youth in greeting. Amyntas nodded in return. The firelight on his skin and in his eyes made him glow like a bronze-cast sculpture.

“So potent he is,” Thetima murmured. “Do you not feel it?”

“What do you mean?” Karanos asked softly.

“He is young, and full of power. He is also as the lion that adamantly guards its territory. Beware, Karanos. Study well before you assume old dalliances. He was but a child when last you saw him. He is a child no more.”

The other men greeted Amyntas, and he them. Nikanor made no sound or move. He remained lounged on the couch, tugging idly at a lock of hair. Amyntas came near him and stopped. Karanos gazed upon Amyntas and wondered at Thetima’s words.

Clear they became when Amyntas fell elegantly upon the couch and draped his long, sleek legs decisively across Nikanor’s lap. He held his hand out for a cup from one of the serving girls. His eyes fell on Karanos, and though his smile was friendly, his gaze was fierce.

As fierce as a lion’s.

Get the entire story free on GLBT Bookshelf or on my website!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookself

Maximum Exposure: Available in ebook + audio

 

Maximum Exposure

By Jenna Byrnes and Jude Mason

 e-book ISBN: 978-0-85715-267-1

audio ISBN: 978-0-85715-202-2

Genre: M/M, contemporary, exhibitionism

Publisher: Total E-Bound

E-BOOK BUY LINK

AUDIO BUY LINK

A secret pleasure denied could be the end for long time lovers Rob and Max, or will mistrust do it first? 

Rob Jenkins is worried. The relationship he’s been in for six years has become a little stale and not very intimate. He loves Max more than anything, but the man’s sexual fetish of ‘doing things’ in public never interested him.

While Max is away at a two-week business conference, Rob concludes that in order to save their relationship, he needs to make some choices. He surprises Max with a weekend visit and the offer to play a ‘game’. Will the sexy scenarios be enough, or will they merely expose the flaws in their relationship?

Excerpt From: Maximum Exposure

Rob Jenkins climbed into the back seat of the yellow cab and took the first deep, calming breath since he’d gotten off the plane in Chicago. Collecting his suitcase had been a nightmare, as the crowd of meandering travellers at Midway Airport seemed determined to get in his way at every turn.

All the time he’d been dodging kids and dazed adults hurrying from one place to the next, he’d had Max on his mind. Their fights, the lack of intimacy plaguing them of late and his own refusal to play naughty with the man he loved. He shifted uncomfortably, remembering the last time Max had tried to get him to ‘show off his goods’. They’d been at one of the local clubs, drinking and partying it up after a long week of work, when Max slid a hand into Rob’s pants, giving his cock a stealthy squeeze. Of course, Rob had gotten an erection. But fear of discovery and ridicule had cooled his ardour almost immediately. Max had been upset, and the evening had ended with them in silent accusatorial anger and frustration.

The cabbie interrupted his thoughts. “Where to?” he asked in a heavily accented voice.

Rob looked up and saw the man’s dark eyes in the rear view mirror. “The Mason Arms on Michigan Avenue.”

He knew the ride would take about twenty minutes in good traffic. He’d thought about the flight from Indiana, the taxi ride and his other plans a million times before finally deciding to join his lover. Being away from him for the whole two weeks of Max’s conference seemed like a bad idea right now.

“You attending that big software convention at the Arms?” The cabbie made small talk as he pulled into traffic, smoothly accelerating.

“Meeting a friend.” Rob wasn’t in a talkative mood and hoped his clipped reply would shut the guy up. It did, and Rob fell back into his thoughts about Max and the argument they’d had before Max had left—another misfired sexual episode, another denial on Rob’s part—a fiasco extraordinaire.

He shuddered. He knew something had to change. Max needed those risqué moments Rob kept denying him.

They’d been together for six years, long enough for things to become a little dull sometimes, but they could get through it. Spontaneity wasn’t always an option when they both worked long hours, Max on computer software development and Rob on photo shoots. He also knew the roadblocks he’d tossed in the way added to the tension, and he regretted each and every one.

I’ll do better.

The cab jerked to a stop then lurched ahead, dragging him back to the present. Rob glared out the window just as the cab pulled into the long, curved driveway leading up to the front of the Mason Arms. His stomach clenched.

Max.

——

E-BOOK BUY LINK

AUDIO BUY LINK

The Game in Spain by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: In Madrid, Spain, during Carnival, gorgeous Spanish gymnast, Alejandro Salvador, leads his trainer, Gabriel, and his ex-boyfriend Sebastian on a wild and sexy chase through the streets. Promising the one who gets to him first gets him as their prize, he thinks he runs the game he's playing. Little does he know, the two men, both in desperate lust with him, will realize competition isn't necessary when they can have twice the fun working together.

Excerpt:

"Why did you come?" Sebastian asked accusingly.

"He left me a letter." Gabriel placed his hand defensively over his jacket pocket. "He kept talking about the Carnival. He told me to come."

"He left me one too." Sebastian put a hand on his hip pocket. "I'll be in Plaza Mayor—"

"Catch me if you can," Gabriel finished. "Get here first and I'm yours. I wondered what he meant by that. Then I saw you at the airport. I should have guessed."

Sebastian snorted. "He's certainly got some brass, doesn't he?" He looked up and down the alley again.

"Yes, he certainly does." Gabriel adjusted his mask from slipping down on his sweaty skin.

"Maybe we should go this way," Sebastian said, pointing to the opposite end of the alley. "He might be down there."

"He's probably laughing at us," Gabriel said. "With that sexy little laugh of his."

As if on cue, the exact sound Gabriel described issued from above, and they both looked up.

Alejandro stood on the balcony above them, leaning on the railing, smiling sweetly. "Are you tired?" he asked, turning something over in his fingers.

A key.

"Or did you get lost?" The blue eye mask rested atop his head, his dark hair pushed up in wild clumps. His eyes sparkled, his face glowed.

Gabriel eyed the key in his hand, flashing in the light.

"Alej!" Sebastian said beseechingly. "You got us here. Are you going to keep playing with us?"

Alejandro looked thoughtful, a smile on his lips. He stood up. "Sixteen," he said.

"What?" Sebastian asked.

Alejandro flung the key into the air; it fell, twinkling in the light, and Alejandro disappeared before it hit the ground.

Gabriel and Sebastian scrambled wildly and collided as they both tried to catch the prize. The key bounced off Gabriel's fingertips and tinkled on the stones. They both dove forward. A mad scuffle ensued, the two of them pushing at each other, Sebastian's elbow digging painfully into Gabriel's ribs as he tried to force him down. Gabriel yelped and pounded his fist between Sebastian's shoulder blades. Sebastian shoved him and knocked him off balance, and scrambled away a second later with the key in hand.

"Fuck you!" Sebastian laughed triumphantly. He raced to the door of the building.

Gabriel shot after him in a surge of fury. Sebastian fled through the door and slammed it behind him. Gabriel yanked the handle but the door had locked. He ripped off his mask, the cold air chilling his hot face, and looked wildly up at the balcony.

"Goddamn it!" He flung the mask down.

It wasn't over, though. He wouldn't concede so easily.

After a furious minute of pacing and calculating, he reasoned the balcony hovered about eight feet off the ground. Alejandro Salvador held the position of Olympic-bound Spanish gymnast, beguiling the world with his coy charm and impeccable skill, but Gabriel had trained him, at least, in the skill department. The bars of the wrought iron railing were spaced far enough apart to grab. Gabriel looked around and spotted a metal trashcan with a lid. He sat atop the lid to test the can's strength, and the metal didn't give. He pushed the can over beneath the balcony.

Gabriel walked backward, pushing his sleeves up. The alley wasn’t very wide, but he could get enough speed if he took off quickly. His back pressed against the wall opposite the balcony, he took a deep breath. His muscles were plenty warmed up from chasing Alejandro.

The trashcan lid buckled when his feet hit it with so much force, which didn't give him quite the height he wanted, but his momentum propelled him. He caught the bars with both hands, glad they were smooth so he had a strong grip. He swung a leg up and wedged his heel between two of the bars, applied all his upper body strength, and used his foot to push. Once successfully up, he had only to vault over the railing. He hadn't lost a bit of grace since his own days on the bars.

"You're about to get a big surprise," he muttered as he crossed the balcony, muscles burning, heart thudding. He stopped and took a moment to compose himself, pushing his sleeves down and running a hand through his hair. Then, with shoulders squared, he yanked open the balcony door.

On the other side was a hotel room—airy and lavish, with high, rounded windows and a marble-tiled floor. A huge bed sat in the middle of the room, with a dark oak headboard and posts without a canopy. Lamps in the corners chased shadows up to a cavernous, molded ceiling. The room possessed a lovely, old-world charm, but a different Spanish charm interested Gabriel.

Alejandro stood near the bed . . . with Sebastian. Sebastian had removed his mask and it dangled from his hand; his colorful hair hung around his face. He looked horrified when he saw Gabriel. Alejandro just smiled, his dark eyes twinkling.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Sebastian asked.

"Talent." Gabriel stared him down. "You're just his promoter. I'm still a gymnast. I didn't need to take the stairs."

"Well, well." Alejandro folded his arms, his voice a soft lilt. "This is interesting. What shall I do now?"

Gabriel and Sebastian glared at each other, gazes locked fiercely, but after a long moment they both softened with a knowing, shared frustration. They'd come all the way to Madrid, chased Alejandro through the streets, fought over the key to his room, and sacrificed their pride to get to him first. Both were tired and worked up. Both had a right to the prize.

"You know," Sebastian said, "he has put us through a lot."

"Quite a lot," Gabriel replied.

"It wasn't very nice of him."

"No, it wasn't."

Alejandro looked between them, wariness in his eyes. Gabriel and Sebastian moved in.

"What . . . ?" Alejandro looked from one to the other and gasped softly when Gabriel pulled the mask off his head. He tossed it to the floor. Sebastian ran his fingers through Alejandro's sparkling hair. The glitter showered down his back and fell like gentle rain to the tile.

"This is what you wanted," Gabriel whispered in Alejandro's ear. Alejandro smelled like the Carnival, like the cool evening air.

Sebastian caressed a finger beneath Alejandro's chin and turned his face to him. Gabriel grasped the opportunity to kiss the silken skin of the Spaniard's neck.

"You wanted both of us," Sebastian said. "You can't decide, can you Alej? That's why you played this game."

"And what a lovely game it was," Gabriel murmured against his neck. He nibbled at the tendon there. "But we're in charge now."

Alejandro seemed overwhelmed but not resistant. Sebastian slid an arm around Alejandro's slender waist and Gabriel gripped the bottom of his shirt. He tugged the fabric up over his smooth, flat belly and caressed him. Gabriel felt his abdominal muscles pull in, quivering.

"Don't," Alejandro said weakly. He turned his face to Gabriel as Sebastian nuzzled the other side of his neck.

Gabriel slid his hand up, gripped the collar of Alejandro's shirt, and tugged the fabric aside. He slid his teeth over his bare shoulder. Alejandro gasped.

"Don't?" Gabriel asked. "Are you sure that's the word you want?"

"I don't think it is," Sebastian said. He traced Alejandro's trembling, glistening lips with his fingertips. Alejandro opened his mouth, eyes slipping closed, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Gabriel whispered, "I think the word you want is . . . ."

"Si," Alejandro gasped. He titled his chin up as their mouths explored his neck, his shoulders, his collarbone.

Buy it at Noble Romance Publishing!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

War Torn by J.M. Snyder

Now Available from JMS Books LLC!

War Torn
by J.M. Snyder

Buy the e-book today OR buy the paperback!

BLURB:
In a not too distant future, the island of Manhattan has been commandeered by rebels aided by terrorists who have set themselves against the U.S. government. The Brooklyn Bridge, now fallen into disuse, stands as a sort of "no-man's land" between the island and the military that patrol the Hudson River. When the rebels bomb the Bridge, the nation is plunged into what might become a second Civil War.

Captain Jace Rickert is a grounded pilot whose Army lover, Second Lieutenant Tomas Tait, is sent on a routine reconnaissance mission. When Tait disappears and the military can’t stop the impending war to find one missing soldier, Rickert takes matters into his own hands.

EXCERPT:
When I open the door Alden whirls into my house like a dervish. "Are you seeing this?"

One look at his wild eyes and I'm awake. "Seeing what?"

I watch him fumble with the remote, and then the TV's on, a cacophony of noise that fills my house like the dread bubbling within me.

"Al? What's --"

"It started," he says, stopping at the first news channel he finds. A windblown reporter covers one ear and talks into a microphone, his words staccato bursts that explode in my mind. Bombing began last night...

In a daze I walk over to the TV, mesmerized by the images of blood stained men in camouflage and fatigues, stretchers and weapons and my God. Oh, my fucking God.

I wrest the remote from Alden's hands. "Bombing where? Turn it up, Alden, I can't hear it. What did they hit? Turn it up!"

"It is up."

But I still can't hear it, I can't hear anything and all I can see is blood. "It started last night, sometime after midnight, caught our camps off guard. They say almost a hundred dead, a few dozen missing, and that's just the beginning. Jace --"

He starts to flick to another channel and I punch him in the arm, hard. "Stop it! Jesus, just let me hear it, okay? Don't go changing channels just yet. I don't know the whole story --"

"They say --"

"Shut up!" I push in front of him until the TV fills my entire world.

What about Tomas?

I want the reporter to stop talking about the casualties and start naming names, even though I know they don't do that on national television. I want to be there, at the Bridge, amid the blood and the dead and the dying, I want to know ... "Jesus." There's nothing else to say. "Where the fuck is he?"

Behind me Alden answers, "I don't know."

With one hand I wipe my face, surprised when my palm comes away slick with sweat. "Tomas," I whisper, but it's more of a sob and when my deep voice breaks that's it, I can't deal with this. I can't handle not knowing.

Sinking to my knees on the plush carpet, I tell myself the sting in my eyes is more sweat, not tears. I'm not crying because I don't know anything yet, and I'm not going to give in until I know what's happened. Please, I pray. I'm not sure who I'm praying to or what I'm praying for, but I'm not going to stop until I see my boy again. Please.

Alden makes me a strong cup of coffee; even though I can taste the brandy lacing the brew, I drink it down without a word. Together we sit on my couch and watch the TV, changing channels during commercial breaks and learning nothing new, nothing at all. Outside activity has picked up -- we can hear large transports rattle past my quarters, heading for the barracks and the squads ready to join in the fight. Choppers fill the skies, the heavy beating of their blades drowning out the TV when they fly overhead.

On every channel it's the same thing -- different voices but the same images, the same words. American forces were bombed shortly before dawn ... shelling hit the middle of our military camps ... those at the center dead, dying, or wounded and not expected to survive ... the death toll over a hundred now and rising as rubble is cleared away and more bodies found ... For the hundredth time, I ask, "What about Tomas?"

"I don't know," Alden says. "I'm sorry, Jace, I just don't know."

Buy your copy today!