Page 1 of Promises in the Dark

Chapter 1

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Iwas alone, at least for now.

My eyes burned like hellfire, my skin was on fire, and the air was so thick with smoke I could barely breathe. Felt like I was chewing on that shit. I couldn’t see, couldn’t fucking breathe, and I was pretty sure I was gonna die. Honestly, I couldn’t give two shits if I did.

Darkness. That’s what I remembered. It was cold, dead, a black hole of all the fucked-up shit in my life. Like a bad acid trip. It wrapped itself around me, digging into my skin like a snake, and I fought back, but it was like trying to swim through a tsunami. Fucking pointless.

My ribs were screaming in pain, felt like someone lit my chest on fire. Every breath was a struggle, every second, a battle to not completely lose it. I could feel the darkness crawling inside me, like poison in my veins. It was a constant fight to hold on, to not let the abyss swallow me whole.

I tried to shift, but the chains dug into me, reminding me I was locked down. Some sadistic bastard thought it’d be really funny to put a bag over my head, blinding me. My chest ached so bad I knew I didn’t stand a chance in hell if shit went down.

Footsteps. I heard them coming, but had no way of knowing if it was my own guys or the psychos keeping me tied up.

I yanked at the ropes. No give. Whoever did this wasn’t playing around.

My heart hammered in my chest like a machine gun, each beat slower than the last. Fucking torture, waiting for something to happen—either I’d be saved or shit was about to go south.

Then the door creaked open, and I couldn’t see a damn thing, the bag over my head keeping me blind and disoriented. But I heard them—the scrape of boots on concrete, the low murmurs in a language I didn’t understand but didn’t need to. Whoeverthese assholes were, they weren’t here to offer me a goddamn cup of tea.

Then came the sound of a chair scraping across the concrete, and the air around me shifted. Someone was close. Too close. My pulse hammered against my skull, and every instinct in me screamed to move, to fight, but the ropes biting into my wrists and ankles had other plans.

Suddenly, a rough hand yanked at the bag, the fabric scratching against my skin as it was torn off. The light hit me like a punch, blinding me for a second. When my vision cleared, I saw them—four assholes standing there, and the second I got a good look, I knew I was royally fucked.

Four of them stood there, no masks, no bullshit to hide behind. These weren’t some wannabe tough guys trying to scare me. No, these were the real deal—Taliban fighters, and their faces told me everything I needed to know. Their beards were scraggly and uneven, their clothes stained with dirt, sweat, and God knows what else. But it was their eyes that got me—cold, dead eyes, like they’d already made peace with whatever they had to do to me.

One of the bastards stepped forward, a grin splitting his face, crooked and jagged like a shark smelling blood in the water. Half his teeth were missing, and the ones left were more yellow than white.

His hand moved to his belt, pulling out a knife that gleamed under the dim, flickering light. It wasn’t some clean, shiny blade—it was old, worn, and probably had more than its share of blood on it.

He stepped back, his grin widening as he twirled the knife in his hand like he was about to carve into his favorite meal. I tried to shift, to move, to fucking dosomething, but my ribs screamed in protest, and the ropes held firm.

The fucker with the knife tilted his head, smiling like he’d already won. And maybe he had—for now. But he didn’t know me. He didn’t know what I was capable of, and if I got out of this alive, I was going to make sure he never smiled like that again.

The sick bastard chuckled. “We’re gonna have some fun.”

Before I could move, the cold blade was pressed against my cheek. It bit into my skin, making my whole body lock up. The fucker’s grin widened, his eyes locked on me like I was a piece of meat. He slowly dragged the knife down my collarbone, sending a wave of terror ripping through me. My throat closed up, but I forced myself not to panic.

That terror quickly turned into rage. I’d been in this kind of shit before, and I was still breathing. I locked eyes with him, letting him know I wasn’t breaking.

The fucker looked surprised, but then he grinned even wider. “Looks like we’ve got a tough one here,” he said to his buddies, who laughed like a pack of fucking hyenas.

He pressed the knife to my throat again, eyes cold and dead. The blade cut into my skin, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to give this prick the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

“You’re not scared of dying, are you?” he growled, voice like gravel.

I didn’t say shit. I just glared at hi m, my neck muscle twitching.

“Good,” he muttered. “We like it when they struggle.” The blade left my throat, and his fingers pressed down on a scar I hadn’t even noticed before.

He leaned in close, his breath stinking like something crawled inside him and died. “You’ve been through this before, haven’t you?”

The others laughed again, their voices as grating as nails on a chalkboard. He sneered, breath hot and rancid in my face. “Ican see it in your eyes—you’re thinking of how to get out of this alive.”

I fought the urge to puke from his stench. My head was spinning with all the shit I could do to try to survive. But fuck, I was tied down, my ribs were busted, and the air was so thick it felt like I was breathing through a straw. Every breath burned, my mind racing to stay focused.

“You’re gonna tell us everything we wanna know, soldier,” he hissed in my ear, hot breath on my skin.

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