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He was dead before it hit the floor.
“Ambush!” I dove to the floor, fighting the urge to pull Jorey to safety. He was gone, though.
When faced with death, there was a moment when the inevitability of it hit you. You realized that everything you thought you cared about didn’t matter. It was the immaterial things, the intangible, that you wanted to keep with you in the afterlife.
My mother, who had given up everything for us, my brother—or who he was before we lost him—those were the things I wanted to remember. I hoped she knew how much we’d loved her. I promised myself right then and there that if I got out of this, I’d figure out a way to give her the care she needed and change the fate awaiting me back home.
I just had to survive this shit first.
The first wave of men came out of nowhere and, without hesitation, took out Franklin.
Fuck.
The way they killed my team said a lot. Jorey was a loose cannon, more likely to set us all on fire than to make up a plan. Franklin was next because he was our medic. If we got hurt, we were as good as dead, and Stowe was already injured.
This wasn’t an ambush. It was an assassination.
Grabbing Stowe, I pulled him out of the room we’d been holed up in, knowing there was almost nowhere we could go. The old school building was practically rotting around us. We hadn’t cared before because it was meant to be a rest stop before we took out our target and got the hell out of dodge.
“Not going to make it, man,” Stowe huffed. The wound in his leg obviously hurt, and when I looked down, I cursed at the blood trail it left.
“You don’t have a fucking choice. I’m not going back alone.” I was practically pleading, even as I could see the writing on the wall. Stowe was already dead, even though he was still breathing. We both were.
“If you don’t leave me here, none of us are coming home. Jorey and Franklin, they deserve better than this. Bring us home, brother. Give us the burial we deserve.”
Life was unfair, I already knew that, but nothing would ever beat this. The moment I watched another brother disappear forever.
“Whatever it takes.” It was the promise we’d made to each other years ago, when our team was first formed. I’d just never imagined I’d be the last one to say it.
Footsteps pounded through the room beyond, and I knew my time was up. Quickly, I helped Stowe to the floor, kneeling to hand him his weapon. “You gotta tell my girl I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break my promise.”
“I’ll tell her.” I’d fly to Wisconsin, where I knew his girlfriend of four years was waiting for him to be done with this tour so she could finally get the engagement ring he’d been hiding for years. Stowe had promised her this was his last tour. He’d been right in the worst way.
“I know you will, man.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and I did the same before yanking him into a hug. It wasn’t something I had consciously thought of before, but everyone deserved a hug before they died. Stowe should know that someone in the world cared that he’d existed. He held me tight, pounding my back once, twice, three times before he shoved me away.
“Don’t die because of this. I’m telling you to go so you can live for all of us.” Survivor’s guilt already weighed heavily on my heart, so I didn’t say anything, but Stowe knew. “Whatever it takes to survive, Nate. Now, go.”
I went.
I was barely out the door before the gunshots started, each one ringing in my ears. Stowe never yelled, never cried out. He just kept saying it over and over again.
Whatever it takes.
They found me just as I was exiting the last hallway, ten steps from the door. Guilt-ridden or not, I fought. I cut. I sliced, I hit, I kicked, I bit. I did everything I could to make sure I survived so someone could be sure Stowe and Franklin and Jorey made it home. I didn’t fight for me. I did it for them.
They deserved better than to die in this shithole.
My arms were tired, my legs heavy, my soul weary and dark. I thought it would go on forever. That I’d never be free.
Then I heard her voice.
“Come back to me, Nate.”
My angel. It confused me. There were no angels where I’d been. Only the blood on my hands and the echo of long-lost gunshots.
“Open your eyes, Nate.”
It was a command, and I followed it. The first thing I saw were imploring brown eyes. The second, my bloody hands.
