Page 112 of The Merciless King

Suffering.

Human fucking misery.

I blink and open my eyes as their moans fill the air. I don’t know if I can do this. Tears and rage fight for dominance.

I have to.

I’m a fucking Marine.

I will save these women.

Step after step, I climb the stairs and find myself in a large room not unlike a prison. Behind the rusty bars are dirty, starving, and terrified prisoners. Most of them are barely able to lift their heads or stand.

As if they’ve given up hope.

Some of them watch me as I walk past their cells, and I take in their torn clothing and the smell of urine and defecation.

Salvatore stands to the side as I walk past.

“Go,” he says, waving me on. “Do your inspection. Then we must go.”

How can he just stand there and not care that these human fucking beings are dying? Suffering. Treated worse than animals.

I push down my emotions—it barely works—and refocus on who I am supposed to be.

The middleman. The trader.

What would someone want to know?

“When did they last eat?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the produce.

Produce.

Fuck I want to vomit at how these people think.

“Jerry.” Salvatore calls upstairs. “Did you feed them this week?”

One fucking bullet.

That’s all I’d need.

“Yesterday. No, Sunday,” Jerry calls back.

The face of a young girl lifts and she stares at me with fear and disgust. I want desperately to tell her she can trust me. Doing so would get us both killed in an instant.

I’ve seen faces like this before, but the fear immediately disappears when they see the US uniform. Today there is no flag on my shoulder. I am the enemy.

I look away and search for Amy as my body trembles with all the pent-up fury at what I am witnessing.

I wasn’t prepared.

I don’t know if you can be.

One way or another, I am getting these women out, and if Amy is here, then it’s a bonus.

“Help me,” one of them whispers when I’m a dozen or more feet from where Salvatore stands. My eyes flick to her and I have to physically hold myself back from telling her I am here to help.

That’s when I see her. Huddled in the corner, wearing a green t-shirt I recognize.

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