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 in front of 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!”
He struggles to lift Marley over his shoulder, and Sawyer steps forward to help him. I’m the last one to leave the hut, giving it a final sweep before I turn, in time to see Taron hit the ground and then cry out in pain.
“Mother—” He rolls to his side, blood soaking his lower back from where he landed on a broken sapling.
“Patton, stop!” Sawyer yells, and I see the trip wire.
How we missed it coming in is anybody’s guess. Sawyer hoists Marley onto his shoulders. He’s strong as an ox from working on his family’s peach farm back home. I throw my rifle over my shoulder and lean down, grabbing Taron’s arm.
“Can you walk?”
His face is scrunched in agony, but he manages to nod. “Get us out of here.”
My jaw is tight, my brow set, and I force the determination we need to finish this rescue mission. Our ATV is down the hill, hidden in the brush, and we follow Sawyer, Taron leaning heavily on me.
His blood soaks through his clothes onto mine, dripping down to his pants. This injury might send him home, and Marley’s worse. We’re all worse on the inside. We saved our man, but we’re all scarred by what we left behind.
It’s too late to change it. We’ll deal with the scars later.
When the fighting stops.
1
Raquel
Present day
A hot breeze whips through the streets of downtown Nashville, sweeping my light brown hair off my shoulders and throwing my black blazer open. I catch it, holding my bag and clutching my phone to my ear, hanging on my sister Renée’s words like the voice of God.
“Make friends with Sandra. She’s a good ally.” Renée is encouraging, but my stomach is in knots. “Don’t ask too many questions. If something doesn’t make sense, wait and ask her later.”
“I can’t ask questions on my first day?” The orange hand appears at the crosswalk, and I take the opportunity to straighten my blouse. “What kind of mind reader do they think I am?”
“Trust me, Patton Fletcher doesn’t have time to teach you how to do your job.” She sounds like she might be quoting him.
“I’ve never even met Patton Fletcher.”