Please,I think, the words sloshing and tumbling inside my head, clunky and thick.Please, Tommy. Don’t give up on me. I’m here. I’m right here.
Darkness wraps around me, and in the distance, the sounds of battle continue to explode as if wrapped in a thick wool blanket, getting farther and farther away.
I open my mouth to call for him, but nothing comes out. It feels like I’m sinking into water. The last thing I see before the darkness envelops me completely is nothing at all.
20
Tommy
The trees press in on all sides of the compound like it’s alive: thick, rustling, full of shadows that move when I’m not looking. The smell of salt water and blood mixes in the chilling air, metallic and sticky in my throat. I’m streaked with blood, some of it mine, most of it theirs. My heart is a drum in my ears; every beat is her name.
We sent drones out when we arrived to canvas the area. There are far more buildings and thermal energy than we anticipated. As the images come back to my phone, I’m compiling a mental map of the island in my head, organized by her most likely location.
“Fucking asshole,” Vin grumbles, staring at the images with me as they come in. “Can’t believe we didn’t know about this place. How many secrets does the old man have?”
Vin’s focus is on the war, but the only battle happening in my head is the one to bring Giovanna home.
I point to the house I want to hit first. It’s smaller than many of them, but it has the most men on guard. If we don’t find Giovanna there, we’ll find someone who can tell us where she is.
When we kick down the doors, we’re hit hard with the smell of mildew and gun oil. Four men are posted up and waiting. Two reach for their weapons, but Vin and I drop them before they have a chance to aim. Another jumps behind a couch, and Vin unloads his weapon, exploding the cushions into a spray of feathers and foam.
The last guy tries to run. I catch him by the collar and slam him into the wall so hard his skull cracks against the wood.
“Where is she?” I hiss.
His eyes flick between me and Vin, shaking his head and muttering something in a language I don’t recognize. I press my gun to his temple and lean in so close I can smell his fear.
“Giovanna Marino. Where.”
When he doesn’t answer, Vin fires once into his knee. The man screams, his legs buckling beneath him.
“Tell us where she is,” Vin growls, his face a snarl. “Now.”
He keeps screaming, and Vin shoots him again, then steps back, disgust curling his lip.
“Waste of fucking time,” he mutters, shooting him in the head.
We move on to the next house on foot. Bombs go off somewhere behind us, a heavy thud that shakes the ground under our boots. Helicopters sweep low overhead, rotor blades chopping the humid air into a frenzy. Our men pour out, black shapes against the green. Their orders are simple: find Giovanna. If they don’t find her, ask where she is. If the men questioned don’t talk, kill them. If they do talk, kill them anyway.
Hours bleed together like smoke filling up a burning building. Each house is another nest of mute guards, anotherempty shell. We tear through walls, rip up floorboards, claw at the foundation like animals. She’s close. I can feel her. She has to be.
During hour four, one of the men we catch claims he killed her hours ago.
I don’t even realize my gun’s shaking in my hand until Vin rips it away from me and smashes it across the man’s face. His blood sprays all over us.
“Where’s the body?” Vin roars. “WHERE IS SHE?”
The man laughs through broken teeth. Vin hits him again. And again. The sound is sickening—bone, skin, breath all breaking. The man dies before he gives us anything.
Twilight falls, smearing the sky purple and black. Our men are slowing down, shoulders sagging, boots dragging. Some of them are dead already, scattered in the grass like forgotten dolls. My shirt is soaked, clinging to me with sweat and blood. My knuckles are split open, skin shredded. But I keep moving.
“Tommy,” Vin calls. His voice is raw from shouting. “She’s not here. If she was ever here, she’s gone now. We’re wasting our time. And if she’s dead—”
“Don’t,” I snap. My throat feels like sandpaper. “Don’t you fucking say it.”
Vin’s face is pale, streaked with grime and exhaustion. “We’ve been over every inch of this place twice—”
“Again,” I growl. “We do it again.”
