I stand, scanning the rooftops, alleys, and doorways. It’s empty. Too empty.
Reese’s breathing quickens beside me. “You think I imagined it.”
Something’s not right here. It might have been years, but I know Reese. She doesn’t lie, and she wouldneverfabricate a story.
“I think someone doesn’t want you to prove it.”
She blinks, eyes darting up to meet mine. “You believe me?”
“I do”
She exhales, a mix of relief and fear. “So, what do we do?”
I glance at the others. Damon shrugs, and I can practically read his mind.There’s nothing here… someone made sure of it.
“We pull out,” I decide. “Before whoever did this decides to finish the job.” Reese opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a look. “Now.”
She huffs, but she follows. Good enough.
The ride back to base is quiet. Jagger hums along to the static from the radio, as Gunnar bounces between staring at the horizon and shooting annoyed glares at Jagger. Damon is dozing in the back seat beside Reese. And my focus is on the rearview mirror.On her. She is staring out the windowwith one hand wrapped around the strap of the camera. The sunlight catches her hair, and for one dangerous second, she looks like she used to.Before I broke everything.
The last time I felt this sense of dread, the gut-deep certainty that something was about to go wrong, was the day everything went to hell.
I blink, and I’m back there.
Tugging at my belt, Jagger and I walk toward the two men and the sad set of blue eyes occupying the cot at the rear of the tent. The man between her thighs grunts, and my stomach turns when I realize he just finished. He pulls out and climbs from the cot, rolling off his condom and haphazardly tossing it aside. It lands beside three others on the floor as I pull my belt free from my pants. “She’s good and ready for you. Finally done screaming, too.”
“That true?” I ask. “Are you all out of fight?”
“We’ve been running her through all day.” He laughs. “Trust me, she’s all out of fi?—”
“Got any more?” I interrupt, outstretching my hand and glancing toward the discarded condoms on the floor.
Jagger swears we did it to save her.Maybe we did. But it didn’t feel like saving anyone. It felt like something broke in me that I haven’t been able to fix.
I glance at Reese again in the mirror, guilt clawing its way up my throat. Only, this is much darker and uglier. As years passed, the pain of what we did and leaving her behind diminished. But being this close to her again, my feelings are so raw it’s like I left her yesterday.
By the time we get back to base, the air is full of heat and dust, and it feels like I’m breathing through sandpaper. Everyone is quiet—tense and brooding. It’s the kind of silence that stems from exhaustion and unspoken frustration. No one says a word as we all climb from the SUV until Hawk gives a few clipped orders. He disappears toward the showers with Gunnar and Damon in tow. Jagger gets saddled with bodyguard detail, staying behind and leisurely leaning against the Humvee.
I haven’t eaten since dawn, and my stomach growls so loudly it earns a sidelong smirk from him. “What?” I ask, brushing sand from my sleeves.
He pushes off the truck, shrugging. “Didn’t say a damn thing. But judging by that noise, I’m guessing food is priority number one.”
“Smart observation,” I sass. “I’m starving. You coming or what?”
“Guess I’m your babysitter until the boss is done scrubbing off the desert.” He nods toward the mess hall. “Let’s go before you bite someone.”
I roll my eyes but follow him, the low hum of generators and distant chatter filling the air as we walk. The camp is winding down for the night. Soldiers cluster under floodlights, and leisurely laughter cuts through the static of radios. It should feel safe and familiar, but it doesn’t.
Inside the chow hall, the air is cooler, with the scent of something pretending to be beef stew permeating the air. A few soldiers glance our way, mostly at Jagger, because he’s the size of a damn wall with non-regulation tattoos trailing down his fingers, but no one pays much attention. We grab trays, get in line, and I pile on whatever looks edible as my stomach growls again.
We find a spot in the back corner, away from the main crowd. I sit with my camera resting against my thigh. Digging in immediately, Jagger shovels in questionable food like he is at a competition.
“You eat like a feral raccoon,” I say.
“If you eat it fast enough, you don’t have to taste it,” he garbles through a mouthful. “It’s a trick they teach you in basic training.”
“It would have to taste like something in order not to taste it.”
