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“If you’re looking for help, don’t bother. The room is soundproof,” Skinner offers.
Cooper drops to the floor, his face white as he clutches his chest, where the bullet that entered through his back tore free.
“I figured that out all on my own, dickhead.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dillon orders.
I shrug and do as he asks, my eyes on the man I once calledfriendlying in a pool of his own blood. I won’t say I’m immune to it. It’s taking everything I have not to reach for him, but Salem is counting on us to get her out of here. Cooper made his choice, and I’ve made mine.
“So, what’s the plan here, guys?” Oz asks casually, crossing one of his legs over the other at the knee. He leans forward, and even though I keep my eyes on the guy in front of us, I know Oz is palming the gun he keeps strapped around his ankle.
“We wait for the boss.”
“And who exactly is the boss?”
He doesn’t answer, and honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised. He knows not to give away too much information.
“Alright. How about an easier one? What happened to Alejandro?”
No answer again.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me shit. But I don’t know how in the loop you are or if you’re, like us, being used for a purpose before you become expendable.”
“He’s right. They’ll kill you, too, once they are done with you. You’re not US soldiers.” Oz cocks his head, studying them.
“Oh, you were once. Of that, I have no doubt. But, like Zig and me, you’re a little rougher around the edges than you used to be. I’m guessing you did a couple of tours. Saw a lot of shit you wish you could unsee. Did a lot of shit you wish you could undo. Praying to make it through so you could head back home. Only, home isn’t what it used to be because you aren’t who you used to be. The nightmares plague you. The guilt eats away at you. And for what? All you did for your country? Nobody will even remember you when you’re gone,” Oz states.
The guy facing me hasn’t said a word, but his jaw locks tight.
“You favor your left leg. I’m guessing you were injured over there. Shot, perhaps. Or a roadside bomb. Hard to come home and work a nine-to-five when around every corner you’re still waiting for a team of insurgents to attack,” I add, rubbing salt in the wound.
His grip on his gun doesn’t falter, but his eyes flare with anger.
“Now you’ve become just like the very people you were hunting.”
“She is a threat to national security,” Skinner spits out.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
He looks at Dillon, who looks even more uncomfortable than he already does.
“Let me guess. You want to offer us a deal. Let you go, and you’ll work out some kind of deal for us. Give us a job or some shit,” he mocks.
“No. I won’t offer you a job because I don’t trust you. And I refuse to have a man at my back who would just as easily put a bullet in it as he would protect me from one. That was Cooper’s downfall.”
“Then I don’t see what you can offer us.”
“How about redemption?” Oz asks.
Both of them look at him now as I slip my hand into my pants pocket and slide my hand around the handle of my hunting knife.
“You know the US government has trained soldiers at their disposal, so why are you here?”
“Same reason you agreed to take the job—red tape,” Skinner answers with a shrug.
“No. We took the job to rescue a woman kidnapped by the cartel, whose leader is a madman. We went in so a political war wasn’t declared. You’re nothing more than crowd control.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. You’ll both be dead before the sun comes up. Why the hell would we align ourselves with you?” Skinner snarls.
