I crouch beside the outer wall and ignore the way my arms are growing heavier by the second.Shit.I reach into my side pack and pull out my pill bottle, tossing six capsules into my mouth and crushing them before swallowing the bitterness.
A rush of adrenaline flares through my blood and a hopeful grin draws over my lips. I grip my MK-17 and press it against my chest securely as I run into the clearing in front of the building, ready to shoot anyone who isn’t on my squad.
A quick sweep over the area confirms that no one’s here.
I need to get help. Where is our squad? I try the headset again as I limp along the path we took to invade the hideout. No response. Are we all that’s left?
Anxiety starts to build in my chest and makes each breath feel like it carries no oxygen. It takes ten minutes to reach the camp. The second I see the tents torn to the ground and the vehicles, equipment, and crates gone, I fall to my knees and slam my fist against the ground.
A dry scream rolls from my lips as I pound my hand a few more times into the dirt. How long were we out? Did they think we died?Fuck!
The sun bears down onto my back as I quickly traverse the terrain back to the hideout. Sweat collects around my temples and I can no longer tell where I’m hurt because everything is soaked beneath my gear.
As I reach the burning vehicles in the clearing, voices roll from above. My eyes trace to the large red-toned boulders, and I drop behind the bones of a Humvee that’s still billowing smoke.
I lift the scope of my rifle to my eyes and find the source of the voices. Four men dressed in brown clothing that blend in with the sand are pacing at the summit. They’re arguing about something. I hear the words “flash drive” tossed around a few times. It seems like they know exactly why we invaded their building.
I take a deep breath and hold it as I line up my scope to one of their heads. The man turns toward me. His beard is thick and wraps around his entire jawline. He looks so familiar that it strikes a chord deep in my mind, paralyzing me for a moment.
A hand presses down on my shoulder before I can take the shot.
My heart skips a beat. I know it’s not Mori. The weight is off, and this palm has a cold press to it compared to Mori’s caressing touch.
I slowly lift my face from the rifle and look up.
The young man staring down at me has sandy blond hair, maintained with a fade cut and styled to the side. His cheekbones are sharp, almost as chiseled as his jaw. He’s handsome, wearing an expensive suit, navy blue with gold cuffs at his sleeves, and an onyx watch.But more pressing, I know him. I’m certain of it.
My face must betray my confusion because he grins coldly at me, brows lifting in the center like he pities me.
“Hello, Emery.”
18
EMERY
How do you know my name?”My voice is a mere whisper, yet it seems louder than everything else in the world right now.
The man doesn’t reply. Instead his dark eyes lift above me, and before I can react a burlap sack is thrust down over my head. In the next breath I’m hit across the side of my head with the butt of a rifle.
My muscles go limp, but against all odds, I remain conscious. I play the part though, if they’re going to hold me hostage, it’s best if there’s a chance I might pick up some details if they believe I’m out cold.
The man catches me and easily lifts me up in his arms. He doesn’t toss me over his shoulder like I thought he would. He keeps me against his chest. The familiar motion brings a stillness to my heart. I close my eyes and focus on the scent of a storm passing through pines. It’s comfort. Haunting in a way that feels like danger.
Who the fuck are these people? Who is he?
I sink my teeth into my lower lip and remain as limp as I can in his arms.
“Where’s the other one, Reed?” the guard who bagged my head and hit me asks gruffly. His name stirs the back of my mind, placing puzzle pieces on the board but I can’t find their place quite yet, like a dream you can’t quite remember and it’s just out of reach.
Reed adjusts me in his arms as he starts walking casually. My visibility is low, but I can make out that we’re heading to a large van.
“He’s either dead or in the back field. Scour the land thoroughly. Greg wants him too.” Reed’s voice is deep and sends shivers up my spine. A sense of evil rolls off him.
“Roger that.” Then I only hear the sound of his footsteps in the dirt as he walks away on the dry terrain.
Reed is quiet and steady as he steps into the van. After we’re inside, I lose the sense of where we are. It’s too hard to make out things through the burlap mesh, especially once the van starts moving.
The scent of gunpowder is still thick in the air, and Reed’s gloved hands are cold against my arm where my tattered uniform bares my skin.
