After being taken prisoner by a Taliban Warlord, can Sam Stone hold on long enough to get his best friend back to his family and find love in the arms of Abbas, the handsome, blue-eyed Arab?
Sam has secretly been in love with is best friend and fellow Marine, Benoit, for quite some time and would not hesitate to die for him.
The macho Marine, Benoit, is shaken to his very core when he and his best friend are taken prisoners and made to do things that he would never have done, especially with Sam, who he knew had feelings for him.
Abbas tries everything to gain his families freedom when an unexpected man comes into his life that he starts having deep feelings for almost immediately.
Sam Stone has been secretly in love with his best friend and fellow Marine, Benoit, for a long time. It’s only after they were captured by a Taliban Warlord that he realizes that he would readily give his life to get Benoit back to his family. But it is Abbas, the Westernized Arab who steals his heart and helps Sam and Benoit regain their freedom. Now Sam has to learn to find true love and help heal not only himself, but the two men he loves deeply.
Warning: This book contains material that may be offensive to some: graphic language, military
situations, P.O.W scenes, adult situations and other situations only meant for an adult audience
“Mayday, Mayday, Black Hammer is hit; I repeat: Mayday, Black Hammer is hit. We’re going down.” Bucky’s voice may have seemed calm to an outsider, but those who knew him understood he was anything but calm. “Mayday, Mayday. Black Hammer’s current location: thirty-three Lat by seventy Long. Repeat. Mayday, Mayday.” Bucky choked out as the cabin of the helicopter quickly filled with smoke.
Samuel J. Stone looked at the other five members of his team. “Fuck,” he mumbled, wondering if perhaps they weren’t going to make it out of this one. He yelled at his best friend Benoit. “After all the fucked-up shit we’ve been through, I’m not gonna fucking die splattered on the side of some mountain in this hellhole.”
“Vasquez, get that damn door open,” Stone yelled across the cabin to the other Marine.
“Gettin’ it, Stone,” Vasquez answered his lieutenant.
Stone opened the opposite door, letting some of the thick smoke billow out of the burning helicopter. He and his fellow Marine, Benoit, looked out the open door. They could tell they were going down fast.
“We’re still too high to jump,” Stone yelled at the others trapped in the flaming bird.
“If there was anywhere to fucking jump to,” Benoit yelled back.
Even with both side doors open, the cold winter wind whipping through the cabin, the acrid black smoke continued to surge in, making their eyes burn, their chests constrict with the lack of breathable air. There was a bitter taste in Stone’s mouth from inhaling the foulness of burning rubber and jet fuel.
Using hand signals to keep from yelling to be heard, Stone motioned for Vasquez and the two others to use the door they had just opened to escape through, while he and Benoit and the new kid, Saundersen, would use the one opposite.
The high-pitched scream of the rotor motor was loud enough to pierce the ear-protection headphones, making it nearly impossible to speak. Each man could barely hear Bucky still calling out a Mayday over the radio, through the headsets.
It was the scratchy wool of the blanket covering him that woke Stone. His skin was raw where the cattle prod had burned him. He tried to sit up, but his sore muscles wouldn’t let him…at first. He pushed himself up eventually, fighting through the pain. He looked around in the nearly dark room, the only window bricked up except for about three inches at the top, letting in just enough light for him to see the dingy room he was in.
The thin, ratty mattress he’d been placed on was lying on a dirt floor. There was no furniture or anything else in the room, only the mattress, the thin wool blanket, and the Marine. The door was wooden, but Stone could tell it was thick, and newer than what one might expect. He had the feeling that he wouldn’t be able to break through it, especially in his current condition.
Stone was trying to clear his head of the cobwebs when he heard a scream. Instantly, he knew that voice. He knew that they now had Benoit, and more than likely were subjecting him to the same treatment that he himself had suffered at their hands. Covering his ears, he tried to block out the nightmarish sound, and the pain in that voice, but there was no way for him to do that completely. With every scream, he felt Benoit’s pain as if it were his own.
Stone sat there, his hands over his head, rocking back and forth on the dirty mattress, when a shadow fell across him. Immediately he froze, not daring to move, waiting to see what other horrendous fate had befallen him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the shoes, then the pants with the neatly pressed crease, and he instantly knew who it was.
The Arab man stooped down, his electric blue eyes seemingly lighting up the room, taking away the dimness, as he looked at the still-naked Marine, the ratty blanket not quite covering his large body. A well-kept, masculine hand reached out and cupped Stone’s chin, lifting his head slightly. Stone was struck by the sadness in this beautiful man’s eyes, and yes, there was concern there also. The warmth of his hand soothed and warmed the brutalized American.
There was a distinguished beauty to this man’s face. The nose was graceful and straight; his thick, dark eyebrows framed his astonishing eyes. Stone could see himself kissing those plum-ripe lips. He ached to feel the roughness of that morning beard against his own, were it another time, another place. There goes that need to fuck and procreate again, Stone sighed.
Shifting his balance, the Arab sat next to Stone on that unsavory mattress that smelled of mold and bad body odor. Sitting close, their bodies touching from ankle to shoulder, Stone’s skin absorbing the warmth of the Arab’s body through the wool blanket, making him acknowledge for the first time how cold he was. Carefully, the Arab wrapped his arm around the naked shoulders, his hand pressing Stone’s head to his shoulder, warming him even further.
Stone stiffened. This could be a trick. The Arab could be playing the good-cop-bad-cop routine with him while trying to get the information that his compatriots wanted. As soon as they got what they wanted, they would kill not only Stone, but Benoit as well, and Stone was not willing to let that happen if he could stop it. Stop it at any cost.
“I will not harm you, Samuel J. Stone.” The deep, rich voice whispered close to his ear. The British accent mixed with that of his Arabic ancestry, Stone now noticed. “I wish you no harm. I am as much a prisoner as you, maybe even more so.”
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Max Vos is a classically trained chef with over 30 years of food service experience. After retiring in 2011, Max found himself with time on his hands and was urged to turn his talents to writing. ‘Cooking English’, a short story, now part of his anthology collection, Inappropriate Roads, is now available. My Hero was his first novel, which turned into an international best seller. Max now has a total of six completed novels, which are listed on his website, along with the entire Memories Series. My Hero: The Olympian, the sequel to My Hero was released late last year.
Grand prize: $20 Dollar Amazon GC and a Ecopy of P.O.W. by Max Vos
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Books by Max Vos
My Hero: The Olympian
The V Unit
A Christmas Memory
A Christmas Memory 2
A Christmas Memory 3: Home Sweet Home
A Valentine’s Memory
A Spring Break Memory
Available in French
Hawk ‘n’ Harley
Rentrer a la Maison
Available in Italian
Il Mio Eroe
Andare a Casa