BREAKING CHAINS (BOOK 8 OR THE SEAL TEAM HEARTBREAKERS) RELEASES MAY 13TH and an Excerpt
BREAKING CHAINS will release May 13th. This book has been one of the hardest for me to write. It is about Derrick Armstrong the most troubled member of the team. It has been a very emotional journey for me with this team. And it is bittersweet to write this one.
It is the last book for this SEAL team but there will be others following with a new team under the SEAL Team Heartbreakers umbrella.
BREAKING
CHAINS (BOOK 8)
Ex-Navy SEAL Derrick Armstrong walks out of the
Miramar military brig with a dishonorable discharge, a criminal record, and no
prospects. The odds are against him being able to build a normal life after
prison, but his training as a SEAL keeps him going.
Ella Bailey is struggling financially to raise her seven-year-old son alone. Life has dealt her some hard blows and when Derrick steps between her and another one, she’s both grateful and wary. She views men as obstacles to avoid, but she’s drawn to Derrick, and sees something special in him.
Derrick’s kept his past a secret. When Ella’s ex-boss is found dead and the cops question them both, he realizes, whether he’s done anything or not, he’s living on borrowed time. When they train their sights on Ella instead, he moves to protect her, and in the process exposes his past.
Ella Bailey is struggling financially to raise her seven-year-old son alone. Life has dealt her some hard blows and when Derrick steps between her and another one, she’s both grateful and wary. She views men as obstacles to avoid, but she’s drawn to Derrick, and sees something special in him.
Derrick’s kept his past a secret. When Ella’s ex-boss is found dead and the cops question them both, he realizes, whether he’s done anything or not, he’s living on borrowed time. When they train their sights on Ella instead, he moves to protect her, and in the process exposes his past.
Will she kick him to the curb or will she allow
him to build a life with her and her son?
ASIN:
B07PT98HZK
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An Excerpt from the book:
Iraq 2011
Goddamn Cutter. He’d taken the Iraqi
kid’s side against him. That ungrateful little turd hadn’t given a shit that
they were saving his bacon, getting him out of a dangerous area of the city. He
hadn’t even wanted to return home. He’d take off again first opportunity he
got, and they’d be chasing his ass down again. Damn him.
So he grabbed the little shit. So what? There were worse
things a kid could suffer. He knew all about them.
Derrick braced his feet against the turbulence that rocked
the CH-47 Chinook. He turned to Brett, unable to stifle his fury. “We’ll be
facing him down the barrel of an AK-47 in less than a year. He’s probably
working for al-Qaeda already.”
Brett pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe the asshole had
a headache. Serves him right.
The Chinook bounced and Derrick swore. With anger still
riding him, he only half heard Greenback’s complaint about the ride and Bowie’s
smartass remark.
Brett leaned close, and Derrick tipped his head so he could
hear him above the whomp-whomp of the propellers. “You need to talk to Hawk
about what happened or we’ll be up to our necks in shit. The kid’s bound to
talk.”
Fuck that. “It’s his word against ours, Cutter.” Or was it? Was Cutter turning on him?
Cutter’s jaw tightened. “I want you to put in for some
counseling, Strong Man.”
Jesus Christ, he couldn’t believe it. Brett was
turning on him. His teammate. His brother. Blood rushed into Derrick’s head and
his heart hammered inside his ears. This was happening more and more lately.
More and more lately he could feel his anger crawling around under his skin
looking for a way out. It took all his control not to punch Brett in the face.
“That little bastard spent twenty minutes pissing on us and our country, and
I’m the one who needs counseling? That’s bullshit.”
“Did you get another letter from Marjorie?” Brett asked.
The change of subject gouged at his control. “What the fuck
does that have to do with anything?”
“Every time you get a letter from home you get fucked up. If
her letters make you—”
He shoved his face close to Brett’s. “Leave it alone,
Cutter.”
Marjorie said she loved him, but she was busy with her work,
up for a promotion, all sorts of other shit. Every time he got a letter from
her, she wrote about all the things she was doing without him. Then he started
thinking about what else she might be doing… Just the idea of her being with
some other guy… His pulse skyrocketed and his breathing with it.
Jesus, he wanted to go home. Everything would be fine once
he was home.
“Ten minutes out.” The controller’s voice came over the
bitch box.
“COM systems on,” Lieutenant Hawk Yazzie ordered.
Derrick adjusted his throat mike, his attention on the other
five members of their team. Thanks to the noise from the props, the chances of
any of them hearing his discussion with Brett were slim to none. Greenback was
trapped in his own thoughts, his face emotionless. Derrick had seen him like
that before every mission. Flash had been in a weird mood for days, seeming to
be off in his own world, too. Maybe he was also having dreams.
Hawk looked over the map one last time, folded the
schematic, then tucked it away. Bowie and Doc were giving each other shit, as
always.
He jerked as Cutter squeezed his shoulder.
“Forget about the shit that happened this morning and get
your head in the game. Everything else needs to stay on board this chopper.”
For the first time, Derrick’s trust lay on a shaky edge that
threatened to crumble. “As long as you have my six, we’re good, Cutter.”
Cutter nodded, his eyes steely.
Brett was a vault about most things, but Derrick bet he’d
talk to Hawk about that damn kid as soon as the mission was over. He’d be
worried about repercussions to his career if he sat on it.
A vein began to pulse at Derrick’s temple and he rubbed at
it. But what about his own career?
Brett had a family. All Derrick had was the team. He
couldn’t afford to lose them.
“Fall in.” Hawk’s voice came across the COM.
Derrick dragged his thoughts back to the mission, but the
anger simmered under the surface like a fever that wouldn’t break.
Everyone took their position, one behind the other.
Wind whipped through the cabin as the bay door lowered. A
crew member threw out the rappel rope while another manned the machine gun
mounted at the bay door.
The Chinook couldn’t hover in one position too long, otherwise
they’d draw attention.
Hawk gripped the rope and stepped off the platform. Darkness
swallowed him. Greenback, Bowie, Doc, and Flash followed, then Cutter. The rope
slid through Derrick’s gloves like butter, and as soon as his boots hit the
ground, he dogged Brett’s footsteps while they double-timed away from the drop
site.
Ten minutes later they regrouped and started the mile-long
trek into the town.
The darkness was so intense it had a texture to it. Without
their night vision goggles they would have been blind. The almost inaudible
whisper of cloth brushing cloth was the only sound as they spread out but kept
each other in sight.
He knew when they were getting close to town because the air
hung stagnant and hot, clinging to the rank smell of raw sewage as though
reluctant to let it go. They fell into single file again and hugged the shadows
while they leapfrogged through the battle-scarred area. Electricity had been
knocked out, and the darkness was both a comfort and a threat. The high-pitched
squall of a baby close by carried to them. The hum of an engine followed from
the east.
Through his night vision goggles, Derrick homed in on Hawk’s
hand signals. They’d reached their destination. The building housing the
al-Qaeda armory sat in the midst of similar structures housing families. The
mission was to collapse the armory inward to keep from taking out the buildings
around it. Although if the terrorists were really harboring any kind of
explosives besides C-4, it might make things interesting.
They split up and searched for cover. Three of them would
enter from the east, three from the west.
Derrick hunkered down in the shadows not far from Brett. On
the periphery of his mind he worried at the earlier situation, gnawing at it
like a piece of tough steak. What would Hawk do if Brett told him he’d roughed
up the boy? He just grabbed him and scared the shit out of him, didn’t smack
him around or anything, but he’d threatened to. Hawk had already chewed his ass
about his temper. What if he lost his place on the team because of the Iraqi
guy’s son?
His breathing went ragged on a rush of rage. They were
trying to help these people throw off the terrorist assholes, help them build a
better government, and what did they get? Nothing but grief.
To try and relieve some of the pressure, Derrick clenched
his fists until his knuckles hurt. He needed to concentrate on what was in
front of him. But it was like peering through a green fog to see through the
night vision goggles. He had to get his shit together.
His vision cleared when he heard clicks over his COM system.
Hawk was inside the building and he reported no movement. He drew a deep
breath.
The idea that something might be wrong with him flitted
through his mind, but he stomped it flat. He’d deal with this shit once he was
back home.
They were close. They just had to get through this mission
and they’d be home in a few weeks.
He forced his attention on the top of the building. Through
the blurry green goggles, he watched the guards wander from corner to corner.
At the first hint of a gap in their surveillance, he hunched over and shot out
of the shadows, silently crossing the distance between the alley he’d hidden in
to the lower level window he’d targeted to climb through.
An itchy feeling between his shoulder blades dogged him like
someone had him in their crosshairs. It drove him into the shadows close to the
building. He quickly slid the window up, slung his assault rifle across his
back, and wiggled inside. For a few seconds he rested on his hands and knees,
allowing the itchy feeling to ease and his breathing to calm before he rose. He
clicked his COM, drew his service weapon, then in four easy strides reached the
door and cracked it open.
The hall was clear. He stole out of the room and moved east
toward the area he was to wire. At the sound of footsteps coming his way he
darted into one of the rooms and eased the door shut. The space was empty but
for four pallets on the floor where the terrorists were sleeping. The room
smelled of old sweat and gun oil.
Two men argued in the Kurdish dialect of the region, their
voices growing louder as they closed in on his position.
Every muscle in his body tightened. He jerked his K-bar free
and rolled back against the wall behind the door. If they entered the room, he’d
have to take them out as soundlessly as possible.
Their voices dwindled away as they turned a corner, and his
tension eased. The heavy beat of their feet sounded hollow as they climbed the
stairs. He cracked the door, looked both ways, then eased silently back out of
the room.
Voices came from the top of the stairs, and he pulled back
against the wall until they moved deeper into the building, then hustled across
the back hall. His target was the southeast corner of the building’s interior
wall. They wanted to knock out the supports on the main floor and collapse the
structure inward, so he should have entered the building from the back, but
there were no windows low enough to gain entry.
His booted steps sounded loud even though he placed each
foot as carefully as he could. Standing outside the door to the room he was
supposed to rig with explosives, he took a breath and listened for any sound
behind the barrier. Everything remained still.
He opened the door, slipped in to one side, and shut it.
Aside from a table, the room was completely empty. He released his pent-up
breath, holstered his sidearm, set his assault rifle to one side, and shrugged
free of his pack, removing the C-4 and blasting caps and setting them out in an
orderly fashion.
Five minutes later he had the room rigged to blow. He
glanced at his watch and set the timer. Shouldering his pack again, he swung
his assault rifle up and cracked open the door.
As he checked the hall for hostiles, a dark, unwanted
thought crept into his mind like a bad dream. Without Brett, there’d be no
inquiry into what happened with the kid.
He and Brett went through BUD/S together. He’s
my best bud. He has to keep his fucking mouth shut about
the kid.
But he knew Brett, knew he wouldn’t. Rage and fear pulsed
inside him like a second heartbeat, and a mist of sweat slicked his skin.
God, he was tired.
How many nights had it been since he slept? He’d lost count.
He was a SEAL, and sometimes he had to get tough to keep
going. He had to keep going. Tough…
Sometimes you had to get tough in order to get info. That’s
what he’d go with.
But which one of them would they believe?
He couldn’t lose his place on the team! He might be
transferred to another, but these guys were the closest thing to family he had.
Derrick went through the schematic of the building in his
head. He knew where Brett was. He had to talk to him. Brett needed to see
reason.
He eased out into the hall, shut the door, and moved
stealthily in the direction of the northwest corner.
The trip back through the building was surprisingly easy.
Security was surprisingly lax, but the al-Qaeda were in the heart of the city
surrounded by sympathizers. Why bother with a guard at the door?
This was the room where Brett was supposed to be. What if
he’d already finished rigging it to blow and bugged out? He hadn’t heard his
clicks on the Com.
If Brett was gone and working his way back to his cover,
he’d deal with him later. He’d try to reason with him again. If he was still
here… He turned the knob and ghosted into the room.
Fast and slick, Brett drew his sidearm and pointed it at
him. Recognition lit his eyes, and, after a moment of tension, relief followed.
He shoved the pistol back in its holster.
Derrick put a finger to his lips and pressed his ear to the
door. He signaled all clear and for him to hurry.
If Brett talked to Hawk…
He’d spill his guts. Derrick knew it.
He couldn’t let Brett take away his place on the team. He
just couldn’t.
His girl would think he was a loser. She’d leave him. And
she had to stay. She was all he had.
His father’s voice, derisive, bitter ate away inside him,
“You’ll always be nothing, boy. Fucking nothing.” He shook his head to rid
himself of the voice permanently embedded in his brain.
He waited for Brett to set the timer.
Derrick stepped toward him, reaching for the anger that
propelled him here to this room. Panic and regret echoed back.
Brett was turning on him, he knew he was. Had he told the
others what he’d done?
Being a SEAL was everything. Without it he’d be nothing.
He’d have nothing. The pressure inside his head intensified until it was
unbearable.
He gripped his rifle with both hands. Sensing his movement,
Brett shifted to the side and started to look up. With a half-growl, half-sob,
Derrick brought the stock of the weapon down against his teammate’s temple.
Brett slumped sideways to the floor.
The numbers on the timer raced on.
Keep MAY 13TH IN MIND. THAT WILL BE RELEASE DAY!!
READ ON,
Teresa Reasor
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