Page 6 of Scarred Sunrise

Chapter 3

The knockon the door came at midnight as Smithy lay staring at the ceiling of his room. Curling up, he came to his feet, and slid a t-shirt over his body. He already had trousers on, half expecting this to be the night when his life would end. He could feel it on the air, almost taste the tension on his tongue.

Pulling the door open abruptly, he frowned as one of the men under his command stared back, his back ramrod straight. “What is it?”

“Sir, there are three men at the gate who say they’re from headquarters.”

“And?” he asked feigning impatience, not wanting the man to catch any hint in his tone that he was on alert.

“They aren’t on the log and but said you sent for them.”

Smithy’s neck tingled with a warning. “Fine, I’ll come now.” Turning, he went to his locker and withdrew the gun he kept there. With a deft hand, he slid a K-Bar into the pocket on his leg, making sure the man watching him didn’t see it. Spinning, he walked past his subordinate and strode down the long corridor towards the exit. The floodlights on the training area also captured the main gate. A gatehouse held two guards with high powered automatic rifles.

As he drew closer, he saw three men in black clothing, all were tall and built, but a deadly air flowed around them. From this distance, he couldn’t make out their faces but as he got closer, an inkling of memory touched his brain and the way they stood, their countenance, seemed familiar.

The first man turned, and Smithy almost missed a step as he recognised the man. He’d been at Nate’s stag do and wedding. Simon, Stoner, and Ice were ex-parachute regiment and had served with Nate. That didn’t explain what they were doing here, though. Had Rhea Winslow captured them or was this something else?

Smithy had turned his phone off after sending the last message, not wanting to hear the guilt from his friends. They would never understand his decision to stay and take his chance at ending this hate-filled group—even if it cost him his life. Rhea Winslow couldn’t live, and he was in the best place to end her here tomorrow.

He knew it was a suicide mission, but some things were more important than one life, and deep down, he recognised that it was what he deserved.

Simon faced him, his back straight, an air of command about him which Smithy recognised. This man was quiet, said little but heard everything. He had a watchfulness that Smithy had seen in other soldiers.

“Commander, we have an urgent message for you.”

“Where is your clearance?” Smithy fought the knot in his belly, trying to figure out if they were with him or against him. Had Fortis sent them to extract him anyway? It was something he should have expected.

“Here, sir.”

In one practised and efficient movement, the three men moved. Simultaneously the pops of weapons firing went off beside him, and then the guards and the soldier who’d knocked on his door fell to the ground dead.

“Fuck,” Smithy bit out. “Now every fucker in the place will be out here.” Seconds later, the alarm began to blare.

“Time to get you home, Smithy,” Ice said with a grin.

Smithy knew he was enjoying this. The thrill of the rush that came with the chance of getting killed was a high for some but not him. Shouts behind him had him making a split-second choice, and his heart sank, knowing that he’d have to leave without finishing the job he’d begun. Yet, behind that came the relief that he’d get to see the woman he loved again, even if he couldn’t be with her.

Spinning on his heel, he saw men running towards them with their weapons drawn, a split second of hesitation showing in their eyes as they saw him. He fired warning shots at them, not shooting to kill. His debt was already so heavy with the lives he’d taken he could hardly keep his head above the river of the blood threatening to drown him.

Ducking his head, he ran with the men there to rescue him towards the outer perimeter gate. He had no idea how they’d got past that gate without clearance, but now they were sandwiched between the enemy and the fence.

“Head over there. Zack and K are waiting,” Simon snapped out and pointed. He spoke into his comms unit then quickly handed him an earpiece.

Smithy popped it in his ear as they ran for the fence, the sound of their boots resounding in his ears before Zack’s calm voice replaced it.

“Move towards the left of the fence line by the trees. We have you covered from there, but you need to get past the dogs.”

As they skirted the floodlights and returned fire, overhead and out of sight, a sniper was taking out targets. Seeing the fence, he moved quickly, the others close behind him as he made for the razor wire barrier. As he stepped within touching distance, he heard a growl and a figure stepped into the light.

A gun in her hand, Nazareli Holt faced him with a calmness that was unusual for a woman of her age. He knew she was only in her mid-twenties, and the bond she had with Rhea Winslow made her a dangerous opponent, yet he sensed she still had good in her.

“Going somewhere, Smithy?”

The rottweilers were growling at her side, teeth bared, drool dripping as if they could almost taste his flesh on their tongues.

“Don’t do this, Naz. Just walk away and let us go.”

The beautiful woman tipped her head to the side, her dark hair falling like waves around her face, the indecision in her eyes clear for him to see. Smithy knew now was the time to push, to probe that hesitation.