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Locking eyes with the man in charge, I slowly, carefully wrestle my rifle to the ground and put my hands behind my back.
My other men follow my lead, thank fuck.
I want to believe it’s a temporary setback.
One bad misstep in a battle we’re bound to win, but why the fuck is it so silent?
I smell thick smoke in the distance, a roaring fire over the wall that tells me their chopper must be down.
Just too fucking late.
“Do not move,” the henchman snaps again, keeping his gun trained on me.
“Asshole, we won’t,” I throw back. “You want to get this over with or what?”
For a grim second, he just stares at me.
This isn’t new. I’ve been taken prisoner before, and I’ve never been afraid.
Now, though, there’s a reason my blood ices over.
Now, I have Delia, and it guts me with a rusty knife to imagine her grief, her pain, her heartbreak if I let these devil fucks put me in the ground.
A few gunshots start up again in the distance.
A man screams. No telling which side he’s on.
“Well? We surrender!” I bellow again, wondering why he’s taking his sweet fucking time. “Are you just gonna stand there jacking off all night, or are you gonna—”
I never get to finish that sentence.
They’re swarming us, all two dozen men at once, darting in like stinging hornets on a warpath.
Even the pile of Kevlar I’m encased in can’t soften the bone-breaking blows of their weapons falling all over me like brute clubs.
Even the agonized gurgle in my throat can’t match the anguish I feel at those big brown eyes flashing in my head before everything I am flashes black.
Delia.
Delia, forgive me.
19
Green Heartache (Delia)
24 Hours Earlier
“Dad, I...” I lick my lips and swallow thickly. My hands are clenched in my lap and I’m staring at a stranger across the kitchen table. “Before you say anything, I want you to know we never meant things to happen like this. I don’t know what she’s been telling you, but—”
“Cut the crap.” His hand moves through the air like a knife, silencing me. “Evie didn’t need to explain anything. I saw it all. The way you were...tangled with him, defiling our home. Jesus Christ, Cordelia. Your own stepbrother?”
Gut punch.
Dad’s face softens, but I realize a second later it’s only because he’s so disgusted.
Not because he has any empathy.
He can barely even look at me.
