The buttstock of his rifle slams into my cheek. I barely feel the pain—though I taste the blood. Instead of letting him intimidate me, I tilt my face up.
And smile.
His dark eyes narrow on me. “You do not hold the power here, American,” he growls. “Or have you forgotten?”
“We don’t have time for this.” The second man—one I don’t recognize—rushes over and grips my arm to rip me up to my feet. With all the weight I’ve lost, it’s not a struggle for him to do.
Together, they drag me out of the hole, my legs slamming into creaky wooden stairs as I go completely limp.
Once we reach the top, they throw me to the ground.
All around, chaos reigns. Alarms are screeching, and armed men are running around, shouting orders.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I can still hear it.
Why can I still hear it?
“Let’s go,” the second man orders as he tugs me the rest of the way out of the hole.
“No!” With a feral roar, I slice out with the blade.
The man yells when it catches his arm.
“Idiot!” The butt of a rifle is slammed into my gut, and I fall forward, gasping for breath, but I don’t remain down long.
Someone yells, but my gaze is focused only on killing the man in front of me.
On killing him, just as he killed my friends.
On killing them all.
The man raises his rifle and fires.
Two bullets.
One.
Two.
They tear through me, and I fall backward—down, down, down—into the hole. The knife stabs into my side, but as soon as I catch my breath, I roll to the side and tug it free, the pain nothing more than a pinch compared to everything else my body has been through.
I can’t feel much of anything anymore…except this thirst for vengeance. This desire to watch my enemies burn. Not even bullets can stop me now. Not after what they’ve done to me.
Two men descend into the hole again, shadows that momentarily block out the sunlight once more.
I can’t see their faces, but it doesn’t matter because they’re all the same. Monsters masquerading as men. Threats that need to be eliminated. The world will be safer without them here. Isn’t that why I went through all of this? Why my men were cut down? Because we were sent here to stop these monsters from committing genocide.
I remain still, waiting for my chance as one moves to my cuffs. Bad move, enemy. They think I’m dead. They probably want the cuffs for another member of the living. But they won’t get that chance. I won’t let them do to someone else what they did to me.
The cuffs fall off my wrists, clattering to the ground. Summoning what little strength I have left, I lunge to my feet and slash out with the rusted blade.
“Dylan!” someone yells, but I don’t recognize the voice. “Stop!”
I can’t stop. Don’t they see that? They’ve turned me into exactly what I was always afraid of becoming—a killer. I slash out again, and large hands grip my arms. I’m slammed to the ground, face-first, a knee between my shoulder blades.
“Let me go!” I spit. “I’m going to kill all of you!” I thrash beneath them, but within seconds, all the energy leaves my body, and I fall still. Breathing is a struggle; it has been since well before this moment.
