Roarke stoodon the balcony overlooking the Persian Gulf from his apartment in Kuwait. Salt hung heavy in the air. The thick dampness clinging to the breeze promised another rain. It was 5:44 a.m., and he needed to fucking sleep.
His brain was still wired from last night’s mission. He rested his elbow on the railing and pinched the bridge of his nose. Stopping the weapons shipment into Syria had been a must. But dammit to hell and back, he hated that civilians had been hurt and killed in the process.
Memories of innocent screams flooded his mind. “Fuck,” he wheezed.
Ring,ring
It could only be one of his team members. He took his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Troy “Viper” Evans, second-in-command.
He answered even though he could easily pretend he was asleep. “Yeah?”
“Still up?” Viper’s sullen tone matched Roarke’s.
“Kinda hard to sleep.” Rain droplets pattered on Roarke’s bare shoulders, but he didn’t go inside yet. “Need something?”
“Just checkin’ up on you. That shit wasn’t your fault.”
He swiped his hand over his face. He was too tired to hide his guilt. “I’m team lead. It was a hundred-percent my fault.”
“Couldn’t be avoided. We either bombed it or let those weapons get into the wrong hands.”
Apprehension rippled over his shoulders. Their line was secure, and they’d bowed out of Syria in record time. Still, they needed to be abundantly cautious, even during their one-month break—especially during their break.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m heading to bed.”
“All right.” Viper clicked off.
Roarke stalked back into his apartment. Leaving the sliding glass open and the screen shut, he flopped onto the bed in his boxers and closed his eyes.
Six years ago, his sergeant, Tye Benson, had set him up with a contact. Tye had put a bug in Roarke’s ear about outside work. He’d been vague about the details.
The call from Norton West, retired Navy SEAL, came half an hour later. He’d offered Roarke a position: team lead of an unofficial task force. Everything had moved at rapid speed. Roarke had helped pick his crew and named their unit Phantom Ops—no boss and zero oversight. Only the best of the best. The deadliest ex-military soldiers available for hire to the highest bidder.
Norton’s words rang in his head:You’ll get paid out the ass, have all the freedom you want, but you won’t exist on paper. You’ll act as a civilian. You go down, you go down alone. None of this shit’s going to be legal, but a lot of it will be government work. They just need to keep their hands clean.
It was a future he hadn’t asked for but had taken with both hands. After nights like last night, all his demons came to feast on his heart and mind.
Pressure mounted on his chest. Events like this brought back too many emotions. The guilt was like toxic gas in his lungs, making each breath sting. It wasn’t just the memory of the screams and the innocent lives sacrificed that ate at him.
He was also haunted by the two most important people from his past. One was dead. And he hadn’t looked after the other, like he’d promised—didn’t even know where the fuck she was.
Falling back on his word was the ultimate failure.
Screams from outsidejolted Laine awake. Sunlight spilled into the large window, telling her it was morning.
Emmy rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Mommy, what was that?”
Another frantic scream split the air. “One second, honey. Stay here.”
Alertness filled her daughter’s face as she reached for her stuffed rabbit, the only thing she had from home, and hugged it to her chest. Had Laine known they’d be trapped here, she’d have packed every stuffy and blanket her daughter owned.
After slipping out of the bed they shared, she went to the window and parted the blinds. Farad, Cameron’s cruelest guard, dragged Fatima, Cameron’s wife, across the yard. He gripped her arm ruthlessly, his brow pinched with anger and disgust.
Stopping before the gardens, he threw her to the ground. Her tunic flapped in the wind as she struggled to sit up while scooting away from Farad. His mouth moved rapidly, likely hurling insults in Arabic. The only words she could hear and understand were equivalent toslut.
“What’s Farad doing to Fatima? She’s crying!”
Laine spun around and cursed herself for being so distracted she hadn’t heard Emmy get down from the bed. She scooped her daughter away from the window and carried her to the bedroom door. “Find your sister, okay? I bet Nour has some delicious breakfast waiting for you.” Their housekeeper and cook had a spread waiting each morning.
