Page 4 of Broken Love

“This isn’t right…” I mutter. “Intel said there were at least a dozen men here.”

“Maybe they’re all inside?”

“They’d have regular perimeter patrols. There’s supposed to be an entire armory in there. This doesn’t make any sense.” I look up as we reach the rear of the warehouse, noticing the crushed roof along the back wall. “This place has already been hit…”

Fox scans the damage himself. “Think we’re too late?”

“Shh—” My ears perk to a sudden, rhythmic sound. “Do you hear that?”

He lowers his gun and tilts his head, raising his ear higher into the air. “Is that music?”

I remove my helmet so I can lay my ear against the hard, stone wall. “American music…”

“These guys certainly have a thing for pop culture.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Calling the kettle black, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up.”

I exhale a soft laugh but quickly stop. Now isn’t the time to tease Fox about his movie star crush.

I push my helmet back on and stand up to keep moving around the warehouse.

“Hello?”

We pause and turn back to the singing wall. The music’s volume dims.

“Hello?!”

Fox knocks on the stone. “Hello!” he greets.

“Oh, thank fuck.” The man laughs. “English-speaking people!”

I stare at Fox with confusion. “Are you all right, sir?” I ask.

“I’m doing much better right now.”

This must be the American journalist being held captive inside the warehouse.

“We’re here to get you out, sir. Sit tight,” I tell him.

“Oh, believe me, honey — I’m not going anywhere.”

I flex my jaw and Fox’s lips curl once again.

“Is there anyone inside with you?” Fox asks the wall. “Any guards or other prisoners?”

“Nope. It’s just me.”

I holster my sidearm and we move around the building to find a place to dig away rocks that won’t cause the rest of the building to collapse on the guy. Although, after hearing him call me honey, I don’t think it’d be the worst loss the world has ever known.

We start rolling debris out of the way, constantly glancing over our shoulders in case someone is looking to sneak up on us, but no one shows up. Whatever this place was used for, it was abandoned a long time ago.

Something definitely isn’t right here.

Finally, a hole forms and light shines through to the other side. The man’s laughter echoes through it as he crawls out with a small messenger bag on his shoulder and he collapses against the sand at our feet.

He’s just a damn kid, no older than myself or Fox. His hair is dirty, along with his skin and clothes. There’s a smear of dried blood wiped along his forehead beneath a pair of filth-covered glasses.

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