Red. Deep, dark, bloody red is the veil of my vision at the mention of these motherfuckers drugging Berkleigh. Holy shit, I have never—not fucking ever—felt this much boiling rage before in my entire life. Not even when I found Berkleigh curled up on my front porch bloodied and soaking wet. And fuck knows that night I had dreams of murders. Lots and lots of murders.
“A picture of what?” I don’t dare get excited because if it’s a picture of the guy’s shoe it’s not going to help me, is it?
“The license plate.”
Holy shit. Even if the quality is crap or it’s just a partial, the DOGs have all the equipment we need to find the van and its location.
Julie takes out her phone and within seconds, I have a blurry, side-swiped view of a New York plate right in my face. We can work with that.
“I did good, didn’t I?” I grin at Julie’s proud face, one I’m sure was pretty and healthy before she started slowly killing her body and mind with heroin.
“You did really fucking good, Julie.” I take her phone and send the picture to a burner phone that will be destroyed and replaced as soon as that picture comes in. The message is short and clear.
Find this fucking black van.
Forty minutes. That’s how fucking it long it took for me to be on the road again and heading for Berkleigh.
During that time, I was on the phone with headquarters getting a team ready. Without knowing what I’m walking into, I figured it was the smarter option to go with backup. To thank Julie, I fed her and got her some supplies to help her clean up. Not that it’ll do any good. What she needs is rehab, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
I did find her parents’ contact number and called them to let them know where they could find their daughter. Maybe they’ll come help, maybe they won’t. I did what I could, now it’s in their hands.
Once I reach the team’s meet up point, about five miles away from where the van should be, I pull over and check on Cary.
Still out for the count, so I press my finger against his carotid and feel neither happy nor sad that his heart hasn’t stopped beating. Soon enough, he’ll be dead anyway.
The helicopter circles above me before landing on a patch of greenery off the beaten path. Two of my brothers hop out, all decked out in their top-of-the-line gear, ready to take down some motherfuckers. Even though I can’t see their faces behind the dark goggles and face masks, I can recognize them by their stature and mannerisms.
Hawk stays at the command of the bird, ready to take off as soon as we all jump in. Hollywood and Bones are the first to reach me, and just by the sound of their voices, I know they’re grinning like fucking goons behind their masks.
“Using company time and resources for personal needs now, are we?”
I ignore the jab and snatch my layered gloves from Hollywood.
When I left the house, I thought about the weapons but wasn’t exactly preparing to rope down from the bird. When Bones called as I was driving to our meeting point, he gave me the lowdown on the terrain where the van was sitting. With the canopy and the lack of clearing on the border between Pennsylvania and Delaware, well, we didn’t have a choice besides fast-roping. Hence the gloves. My boots are good to go.
I’m experiencing some sort of out-of-body experience where my movements are dictated through muscle memory so my mind can stay focused on my end goal.
And that is Berkleigh. Always Berkleigh. From day one, it was her.
I didn’t always used to be this way, at least not in my earliest memories. The little girl next door used to make me feel safe, wanted, and accepted, even though none of those things applied in my household.
My parents loved each other to the point of toxicity and my presence was more an annoyance than a blessing. Berkleigh, though…my Sweet Bee always knew how to make me forget that life at home was pure hell.
And that’s where my mind is when I load the helicopter. It’s where it stays on the way, locked on big blue eyes and long blonde curls down the little girl’s back while hunting down insects at the river all those years ago.
“Ropes out!” Hawk gives the order and my mind closes the shutter on Berkleigh and opens back up to this moment. This second where I’m about to get my girl and kill every single motherfucker down there.
Hollywood throws out the thick braided rope as we cinch our gear and sling our weapons over our backs. This is it. The moment of truth.
Below, the rotor wash makes visibility next to nothing with tiny storms of dust and leaves whipping around like tornadoes the closer we come to the ground. We’re far enough away that power lines aren’t a worry. The tree branches, however, are another story.
From inside my helmet, I hear Bones. “Let’s go get your woman!”
I grin but there’s nothing happy about it. It’s sinister as fuck as I picture the blood running down my face as I slice open throats and dismember body parts.
Going down one at a time, spaced out evenly so we don’t kill ourselves in the process, I hit the ground and crouch, my rifle in my hands and my eyes scanning our surroundings to make sure we’re alone.
The fading sound of the helicopter as it flies away tells me we’re all down safely, and seconds later, I feel my brothers in formation.
