Chapter 1
Bradford
“Let’s get him in there,”I gesture to Turner to grab the feet as I hoist the upper torso. “One, two, three…”
“Fuck, this guy’s a big one,” Turner grunts, making a face as he strains.
I ignore the comment as we lift the heavy fucker into the back of my truck. As the body thuds against the metal, a cool drop of moisture hits my cheek. I peer up, the moon covered by clouds.
“It’s gonna rain,” I grimace, glancing around the parking lot. “That’ll work in our favor for clean up here, but it’s gonna make them slick when we get out to the farm.”
“Yeah, we need to get this going,” Turner mutters as he hops up and into the bed of the truck. He grabs the guy’s ankles, pulling him deeper into the bed with the other three.
I glance down and notice the guy’s cheek slide along the edge of the tailgate. Before I can react, the jerk from Turner’s final pull scrapes flesh off the man’s face, more blood pooling in the bed of my truck, and consequently dripping to the ground.
This is so fucked up.
The horror of the moment starts to creep in, but I force myself to suppress it. I’ve handled corpses plenty of times beforeand not all of them were villains. Many were Marines I loved and cried for countless times.
Good people die, too.
And they die because there’s too many damn bad people in the world. We always shy away from killing for the sake of morality, but, well…
Morality’s a bitch.
I joined the Marines decades ago because I wanted to protect all the good people from the bad people—and now? I don’t know where I fall in the realm of good and evil. I don’t even know what defines which.
Am I monster, too?
My eyes flick to Turner as he jumps out and then rolls the bedcover shut, distracting myself with my newest recruit. He’s a fucking wreck, worse than most.
But nottheworst.
“You good?” Turner asks me, his dark brows furrowed beneath his baseball cap. He wipes his hands on his jeans, leaving behind a streak of crimson.
“Yeah, why?” I say, reaching up and locking the bedcover.
“You look a little pale.”
“Meh,” I blow him off, “It’s just the cold settling in. Let’s get moving.”
I glance down once more, noticing the rain, that’s now falling steadily, helps to rinse off the tailgate. I breathe out a sigh of relief. This whole thing got way out of hand, and the worst part of my fucking job is that I’m responsible for the clean-up now, too.
Because Cade is MIA. Again.
Fuck, I have to find him.
But that’s a task for another day, and one that cannot and will not involve Turner. Cade isn’t like Turner. He lacks the empathyand the heart. He can dismember a body with a chainsaw, and never think twice about it.
He’s fucking dangerous. And a drifter.
And I need to get him back under control.
I shove my hands into my pockets and head for the driver’s side of my truck, sliding in and getting a blast of heat to my face. I wince at it, and then shift the vent lever to blow it elsewhere.
“I didn’t mean to make this big of a mess…” Turner’s voice trails off as I roll forward, leaving this shitshow behind. “The dude slit her throat.”
“Yeah, and he probably would’ve regardless of your inability to hold your fire,” I reason, my voice monotone. “No sense in making it a bigger deal than it is. We have to just deal with what we have.”
