Seeing what was left of his buddies inside that Hummer never left him. Not even for one night. Jason didn't think it ever would.

Chapter 25

Jason snapped back to reality and found himself staring at Heller, but not being able to say anything. His mind was racing but nothing else was happening. This guy knew far too much about his background. He knew stuff about that day no one else did, not even the few close friends Jason still had.

He blurted out, "How the hell do you know about th..", but stopped himself short. This guy obviously had the kind of connections where finding out details about your military record was going to be child's play. This guy had lots of connections. It also confirmed for Jason that Heller wasn’t just some random old guy with a crazy story to tell.

"Heller, I've tried to live with what happened for the last 5 years of my life. I've had the whole vet counseling routine, PTSD treatments, and a couple of years of heavy drinking just so I could forget about it. You're like one of those people you meet in life who leaves a trail of sadness behind them wherever they go."

Jason paused angrily. He didn’t want to talk about conspiracies, “gifts”, or the past for a split second longer. "I've had enough of your shit for one night. Get out.”

Heller slowly opened the door of the taxi after shoving a small bundle of notes into Jason’s hand. He grabbed his small bag and calmly got out onto the sidewalk. Jason could see in his face that he understood just how angry he was, and that pushing this whole thing any further was a bad idea. No matter how dangerous Heller might have been, he was still an old man, and a frail one at that.

"In fact, I have no idea why I should give a damn about anything you've said!" Jason ranted. "Why the hell should I care?"

Heller stopped mid-stride, turned around, and said, "Why the hell should you care, Jason? That's an easy one to answer."

Jason just sat there, waiting.

Heller's eyes narrowed to a slit and with just a hint of a smile, he murmured, "Your father, Jason. That's why."

Bill Heller turned around, stepped inside the front door of the clinic, and disappeared from sight seconds later.

Jason sat very still in the darkness that seemed to be crowding around him.

"My father?"

Jason Armstrong returns in the second book of this series, Driver Chronicles. Book 2 – The Council, which is available right now on Amazon.com. Woohoo!

Amazon US

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T23PG32/

Amazon UK/Ireland

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00T23PG32/

Amazon Canada

http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00T23PG32/

If you want to stay updated on the release dates of future books, please go check out Niall’s Facebook page here -> Niall Roche Books or https://www.facebook.com/niallrochebooks

Alternatively, you can head over to his blog here: http://niallroche.com/ and add your name to his mailing list. At least that way he can email you when new books become available, or bore you senseless with whatever has popped into his that day.

Driver Chronicles – Book 2 – Chapter 1

The first punch woke Jason up like a smack addict waking from a cold-turkey dream. He felt like he'd been drowning inside his own head, caught in the middle of some horrible nightmare, and he'd only just surfaced for air. His mind still wasn't focusing the way he'd like it to, so reality at this point in time was a little bit fuzzy and a whole lot confusing. He knew he'd taken a beating, but he was having a lot of trouble remembering who was beating him, or even why they were doing that.

You see, being punched in real life is pretty much nothing like how it is in the movies. Movie punches are traded in multiples, with no one really getting hurt; you see some guy getting socked in the jaw twenty times, and he gets right back up again. But being punched in real life by some guy, with even just a little bit of anger toward you, is like having a small explosive set off inside your skull. Then, after the explosion comes the dull throbbing as your body tries to cope with the incredible amounts of pain coursing through your nerve endings. You're usually seeing stars and hearing bells shortly after being punched by anyone who knows what they're doing when it comes to actually throwing a punch in the first place. You can always tell the difference, too, by the way.

He wasn't any stranger to brawling, so he knew that whoever was working him over knew what they were doing. He could taste blood in his mouth again; it had that weird coppery taste to it that you can't really understand unless you've ever tasted it. Jason knew he was dealing with at least one complete badass here, and he was anxious to find out who they were and exactly what he'd done to grab so much of their violent attention.

All he could tell by glancing through the fog over his eyes was that he was in a very big room, with a very bright light source hanging over his head. The ache in his wrists also told him that someone had tied him up pretty good, and maybe even used some handcuffs to keep him still. Yup, he could feel them biting into his wrist. Handcuffs also meant these guys weren't amateurs, which wasn't exactly the best news in the entire world.

It's always a tough thing to guess exactly how big a big, dark room is, even if you haven't had your ass repeatedly kicked by a group of strange men just before you go playing that particular guessing game. He listened for anything that might give him a clue to where he was, but all he heard was empty space. Lots and lots of empty space.

Jason filled his lungs and yelled out, "Hello!?" as loudly as he could. This was partly in the hope that someone would answer him, and another part of it was trying to figure out how big this room was. He closed his eyes to listen. Okay...this place was obviously some kind of giant cave based on the fact he heard no real echo. There was also the chance he was in a prepared interrogation room, which meant these guys were professionals.

He suddenly became aware of movement to his right and turned his head quickly enough to see someone's fist slam into the side of his face with just enough force to hurt him, but not actually break his jaw. The same figure then moved silently back into the shadows as quickly as it appeared. His head swam a little from the sucker punch, but he hadn't passed out. Good. He had a feeling he'd passed out several times already though. In fact, he was sure of it.

“He's a tough sonofabitch, I'll give him that,” a voice said from somewhere in the shadows. Another voice seemed to grunt in approval, but that was the end of the conversation between them.

“Who the hell are you? What do you want with me?” Jason asked.

“Who we are isn't important, Mr. Armstrong. We know who we are, and we also know exactly who you are, too.”

Shit, these guys know my name, too. This wasn't just some elaborate mugging or college prank then. This was the real deal. He was officially being tortured, but not beaten to death. He counted his lucky stars for that right now. He was also thanking those same lucky stars that his night vision had taken the time to adjust to the room, allowing his eyes to focus on a single figure standing just within the arc of the light from the overhead lighting. His arms were crossed and a ski mask covered his features. You could tell, even in the dark, this guy was built, and more than capable of taking care of himself. Jason knew the mystery man wasn't alone though, because he could hear other feet shuffling around in the room from time to time.