Page 161 of Promises in the Dark

I kept hitting him, feeling the bones in his face crunch under my knuckles. I wanted him to feel everything we’d gone through, all the pain, all the loss.

He grunted, but there was no emotion in his eyes, no regret. Just cold, calculated focus.

We rolled across the floor, neither of us willing to give an inch. I tasted blood in my mouth, felt the sting of split knuckles. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t fucking stop.

And then, pain. White-hot, searing pain in my side.

I looked down to see Pyro’s knife, buried to the hilt.

“Always too slow, Rogue,” he whispered, his face right up in mine. “Always one step behind.”

I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn’t work. The world was going gray around the edges. I could hear Red keep calling my name, frantic. The acrid smell of gunpowder. The taste of blood in my mouth.

And all around us, the sounds of more footsteps, more voices. Reinforcements, but for which side?

“Why?” I choked out, barely managing the word. “Why do all this?”

Pyro’s face loomed over me, his eyes wild. “Because sometimes,” he hissed, “you have to burn it all down to build something better.”

The last thing I saw was Red, her eyes wide with horror, reaching for me as I fell.

I’d failed her.

And then, darkness.

Chapter 42

_______________________

the first thing I felt was pain. Fucking hell, it was everywhere. My side burned like someone had shoved a hot poker through it, which wasn’t far from the truth.

The taste of blood filled my mouth as I came to, my head pounding like a fucking jackhammer on overdrive. My hand was slick with it, pressing down on the stab wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it just kept seeping through my fingers.

My head was throbbing, and every breath felt like shards of glass scraping against my insides. I tried to move, but my body felt like it was made of lead. Even opening my eyes was a fucking struggle.

The dim light of the abandoned mosque made my eyes ache, but I forced them open. Shit. We were all tied up—Red, Viper, Raven, and me. Fucking amateurs, all of us, walking right into this trap.

And then I heard them. Voices. Familiar ones that made me want to vomit.

“The shipment will be ready next week,” said a voice I recognized all too well. Our Captain. The bastard I’d trusted with my life countless times. “Make sure your boys are ready to move it quickly.”

“Don’t worry about my end, Cap,” replied the snake himself—Pyro. That backstabbing piece of shit. “We’ve been doing this long enough to know the drill.”

I forced my eyes open wider, fighting against the pain and dizziness. The scene before me was like something out of a nightmare. Captain Dickhead was having a fucking chit-chat withPyro, while a bunch of Taliban fighters stood around them like it was a goddamn meet-and-greet.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

My eyes locked onto their weapons—American-made M4 carbines, M249 SAWs, even some Javelin missile launchers. All stamped with U.S. Army serial numbers.

Everything clicked. The missing shipments. The documents Red and I had found, showing weapons deliveries that never made it to our boys on the front lines. That son of a bitch Captain Maggot had been selling our own fucking guns to the enemy.

As I scanned the group, my heart nearly stopped. There, standing among the Taliban, was a face I’d never forget. The same sadistic fuck who tortured me when I was captured, before the extraction team got me out and dumped me off at the base where I first met Red. His eyes met mine, and a sick smile spread across his face.

“Well, well,” the tali scum said, his voice crawling up my spine. “Look who’s finally awake. Did you miss me, American dog?”

Captain Fuckwit turned around, eyes narrowing as he saw me conscious. “Ah, Lieutenant. So good of you to join us. I was beginning to think Pyro here had been a bit too enthusiastic with his blade.”

Pyro just smirked, twirling a knife between his fingers. “What can I say? I enjoy my work.”

---