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We’re tired, thirsty, and focused on retrieving our friend, kidnapped off-duty in a routine stop on our way to a peace-keeping mission in Caracas.
Sawyer checks in from his point, and we watch as Taron creeps across the face of the structure, approaching the weathered wooden door. His gun is at his chest as he carefully reaches out and knocks.
Three sharp raps, and we wait.
Nobody breathes.
No response.
He looks to me, and I give a nod. I’m front and center, ready to cover him.
Nobody gets past me.
Nobody takes my men.
We’re brothers—no one forgotten, no one left behind.
My heart beats like a mallet against my ribs. As much as we’ve trained, this scene is entirely unpredictable. We hope to have the element of surprise. We hope his kidnappers believe we’re still in Los Cabos, but they could be smarter than we give them credit for. With low growl, I shake my head. Not likely.
These drugged-up gangsters dared to kidnap a Marine. The only thing stopping us from torching this whole place is my belief we can extract him without causing unnecessary casualties.
Taron’s jaw is set, the sleeves of his tan shirt showing from beneath the black Kevlar vest are stained with sweat, and his light-brown hair is wet. All our faces are scrubbed with camouflage, making the whites of our eyes seem to glow.
My breath stills. My cheek is pressed to my gun barrel, and the noise of cicadas rises like a chorus around us. It grows louder, a warning.
I shake off the thought. Taron is my focus.
The shadow of Sawyer emerges from the brush at the opposite end of the house. They’re acting on my orders, but we’re brothers. We’ve had each other’s backs since Day One. This is more than a rescue. Martin is family.
Taron moves away from the concrete wall, and my finger is ready on the trigger. The only thing standing between us and what’s about to happen is a wooden door…
He lifts his leg and gives the door a sharp kick, sending it flying against the wall with a blast that rattles the quiet jungle. His back is against the wall again, and he holds, waiting for a barrage of bullets.
None come.
Three heartbeats, three silent breaths—I give him a nod. He turns quickly, gun at eye level and steps through the space, swinging his weapon side to side. Sawyer is at his side, and I’m out of position moving forward to cover them.
“Marley!” Taron’s gun lowers, and he rushes forward. I’m at the door to see him whip the bag off our friend’s face, and it hits me like a sucker punch.
His head drops forward, bobbing like a top. I don’t understand his mumbles. A thick stream of bloody spit drips from his swollen lips.
Rage mixes with adrenaline. He’s been beaten almost to death, and cords of rope cut into his skin. Taron’s quickly slicing his restraints as Sawyer and I case the hut. It appears deserted, which puts me on guard for IEDs. The unfurnished room has no interior light, casting long shadows in the corners. With a muted thud, Marley’s knees hit the floor.
Taron bends to help lift him, and that’s when I see her. Green eyes shining like cat in the darkness.
“No!” I shout as she rushes forward, screaming, just in time for Taron to whip around and see the raised machete in her hand.
Light flashes off the silver blade, the blast of Taron’s pistol deafens us in the small space, and she drops like a stone, a bloody splatter like a megaphone fanning out on the floor behind her small body. Long, caramel hair fans around her head, and she looks seventeen.
“God, no.” He lets out a pained groan as the small gun falls to the floor.
For a moment, we’re unable to move, unable to look away from the girl lying dead at our feet. My eyes heat, but I squeeze them shut briefly, clenching my teeth against the emotion. Marley mumbles incoherent words. He’s barely conscious, beaten almost beyond recognition. I can’t even tell if he recognizes us. The machete is at his feet, beside the dead girl.
She would have slashed them both if Taron hadn’t done what he did.
Combat leaves no room for second-guessing. Hesitation is how you end up dead, cut in half by a teenager you’d otherwise overlook. A girl who never should have been here. Bastards using children to fight their battles.
“Get him out of here.” My voice is a gruff order. When Taron doesn’t move, I raise the volume. “I said GO!”
