Page 23 of Avenging Kelly

“So, the MP got pissed?” I speculated.

“Hell, yeah. I’d embarrassed the dick, so he’d accused me of hitting him and disobeying his order to return to my cell. I didn’t touch him, but nobody would listen to me. Those charges added years to my sentence. That’s when they offered me an opportunity to shave off time,” Kelly stated, looking toward the window in my room that faced the Sound.

The sadness that flashed across his face was heartbreaking. He’d thought he was getting out in a few months, but after the altercation with the guard he was looking at years tacked on. That would upset anyone, especially since it was just an accident.

My obligation to the Army was only for two years under its short-term enlistment option because of my multiple degrees in mixed martial arts. I was damn well ready to get out, and I wasn’t in prison. I could definitely imagine how he felt.

“Couldn’t you have fought it through the JAG Office or the Court of Military Appeals?”

Kelly shook his head. “Seriously? They say you can, but in my case, I’d get nowhere, and it would have been harder on me after I lost. I was still in the Army, and how often can a soldier be accused of disobeying an order and win the argument?”

He definitely had a point, so I nodded.

“Anyway, I signed up to take part in Operation Jackpot. They moved me to a special compound just outside the minimum-security camp, and I’d immediately undergone surgery to get the chip so they could track me like a fucking dog.” I could tell he was angry about it, and I didn’t blame him. I’d have been pissed, too.

“How’d they do it?” I asked.

“What? The chip? I have no fuckin’ idea. I was unconscious,” Kelly answered and then continued talking.

“There were no wires or fences around the compound because there was nowhere we could run that they wouldn’t find any of us. I had a room to myself, which I didn’t hate, and I began combat training immediately—not the training I had in basic, but something similar to what the Israelis teach their elite forces for hand-to-hand combat. Everyone wore a balaclava so we couldn’t identify each other. We weren’t allowed to speak. Only the instructor could, and we responded with hand signals,” Kelly explained as he made a few gestures I was familiar with. Many of the former military guys at GEA-A used the same signals when we were on jobs and needed to be in stealth mode.

Kelly explained some of the gruesome details about his first few weeks in the program. “When did the shots start?” I asked him.

“The second month. They were horrible at first. The pain was unbelievable, as the drugs seemed to rearrange everything under my skin. The Gambler said it was the muscles growing and the bones hardening, but I really don’t know. The only thing I figured out was that I’d never be the same,” he explained.

For the next hour, Kelly gave me somewhat vague details about his training. Sleep deprivation. Bare-knuckle boxing. Fighting to the death a few times. It was like something out of a fucking dystopian novel, but, god help me, I believed him.

“You realize this shit sounds like something in a fucking movie, right? Tell me about Poker Chips,” I asked him, studying his reaction to confirm for myself he was being honest with me. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him; it was just that it all seemed too crazy to imagine.

Kelly closed his eyes for a second before he stared into mine. “It’s what I imagine crack or meth is like the first time you try it. I felt as if I could fucking fly from the highest mountain, London. I ripped my fucking metal cot from the concrete floor where it was bolted after a month of treatments. After three months, I could uproot a fucking tree with my bare hands,” Kelly stated.

“And you think that was because of Poker Chips?” I had to ask.

Kelly stood from the bed and began pacing the room. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been strong. I used to wrestle in high school, and I worked out while I was in Mosul to keep from going crazy with loneliness. I didn’t really make friends because there was a job to do, and I liked my work. I kept my head down because it seemed smartest.”

I sensed a but, so I asked, “Did you bulk up quick?” I’d been in and out of gyms my whole life. Muscle mass created so quickly wasn’t from lots of hard work. There was always a chemical involved.

“Yeah. I know steroids are a key ingredient, but there has to be more to it. After about four months, it was time for my first mission. Here’s the weird thing—I don’t remember anything about my first kill except that I was cold all the fucking time,” Kelly answered.

“Nothing?” That seemed really odd. Surely, he’d remember taking a life, even if he was in a steroid-fueled rage.

Kelly shook his head, his expression filled with the same confusion I’d imagine one would feel about something like not remembering committing a murder. “When I was brought back to camp, I went through a debriefing that concluded with a hypnotherapy session and a sedative that knocked me out for about three days. It became routine after every mission. I don’t know who I killed or why. I just know I’m supposed to be good at it.”

“Who told you that you were good at it?” I questioned.

“One day, The Gambler left my file up on her computer when she left the exam room to take a phone call. I read through it, but I remembered nothing that was described in my therapy session files. Apparently, I’ve killed a member of an Arabian royal family who was blackmailing a high-powered American businessman; a Russian scientist who was creating some biological weapon to kill American diplomats in foreign countries; and the head of a Colombian smuggling ring. I remember none of it,” Kelly stated—or maybe he was confessing?

“Okay, let’s see if the chip is really dead. Dress warm. After we get confirmation that the chip is fried, we’re getting out of here,” I instructed.

Much to my surprise, Kelly slid between my open legs, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead. “Thanks for believing me, London. I don’t think your friends do, but I’ll figure out how to prove to you all I’m not a liar, and I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

With that, Kelly rushed out of my room and down the hall, leaving me with a lot of shit to think about. As I was about to go to the head to relieve myself, Dallas slipped inside and closed the door. “What the fuck was all of that?”

I shrugged. I was having a hard time processing the information myself. “How much did you hear?”

“I heard him going off on kills he’s allegedly made but has no memory of doing. Brother, I gotta tell you I’ve heard nothing about any of that shit,” Dallas stated.

He made a point, but hell, we didn’t hear about everything the government was up to, did we?

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