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Why didn't I keep last year's resolution?!

As the blood flowed across the warehouse floor, Thornton groaned. He pushed to sitting up, crying out in pain as the bullet ground against bone. Gritting his teeth, he used one hand to stanch the flow while the other sought purchase on the crate beside him; he levered himself to his feet.

He had to get away from here now, before General Wei or some other commander returned and sent him to a Chinese prison to await trail and execution for his part in attack on China. Bile rose in his throat as he staggered towards the open door, hoping Connelly had decided to keep on walking and not look back to see if his fellow American was following.

As he walked with faltering steps towards the dock, hoping the other small launch was still tied up there, Thornton recalled his resolution last year to get out of the Presidential protection business altogether and become a high price gigolo instead. It seemed a more innocent kind of whoring than he had done in his service career so far. Hell, he even had the expensive suit, courtesy of Fung.

He leaned heavily against the wall, using it to support him as he struggled down the steep flight of stone steps leading to the small launch, pausing for a moment to look down at himself.

A dark, wet stain had spread out across the Armani jacket and other stains blemished the well-fitted suit pants. He groaned, knowing the stains would never come out of the expensive material.

Why didn't I keep last year's resolution?!