Page 16 of Finding His Redemption

“Like the psychotic rooster?”

“Worse.” Boone unlocked the door and pushed it open. “These dogs have been through hell. Abused, abandoned. A lot like the men who come here.”

Jax stopped at the threshold, pulse suddenly loud in his ears. The whole place looked like a prison block.

Because it was.

Smaller cells. Same story.

“Hey.” Boone still held the door open. “You good?”

No. Not even close.

But he nodded anyway.

Boone led him down the line of kennels, past a few curious eyes and hesitant wags, until they reached the very last one. Far corner. Out of the way. Forgotten.

She was curled tight, muzzle to tail, wedged so deep into the corner it looked like she was trying to disappear. Blue merlecoat, patchy and dull. Bones jutting from her hips. Muzzle scarred and scabbed.

She didn’t lift her head when they stopped. Didn’t growl. Didn’t move. Just watched with eyes that said she’d already made her peace with whatever came next.

Boone crouched beside the cage. “This pretty girl came in a few days ago. The fuckers who had her lost their farm to foreclosure and left her in a cage barely big enough to turn around in, and I don’t suspect they were too kind to her before that. Most likely, she was a bait dog for fighting. Nobody’s been able to get close to her. Lila, our vet, had to sedate her with a tranq gun just to examine her.” He raised his hand toward the kennel’s latch, and the dog flinched so hard she banged her head. Her lips peeled off her teeth in a snarl.

Boone’s jaw tightened, and he lowered his hand.

Jax crouched beside him and studied the dog. “Why me?”

“Walker thinks you can get through to her. Called you kindred spirits.”

Jax almost laughed. Kindred spirits. Meant they were both fucked, didn’t it? His eyes stayed on the dog. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s usually right.”

The dog inched further away, as if hoping to melt straight through the wall. She was all desperation and sharp angles, a broken thing feral enough to bite and fragile enough to shatter if pushed too hard.

He shifted back on his heels. “What’s her name?”

“Echo.”

It knocked the air from his lungs, and he flinched. The name cracked something open in his mind. Something that he’d spent the last thirteen years trying to forget…

“RPG incoming!” he shouted, but it was too late.

The explosion tore through the air, sending a shockwave that knocked him backward. He scrambled to his knees, repositioning his rifle as his ears rang with the sound of the blast. Smoke and flames consumed the compound, obscuring his team from view.

“Echo One, report!”

No response.

“Echo Six is down!” Mack’s voice, strained and panicked. He was the only other one of their six-man team who had stayed back to provide overwatch and act as Jax’s spotter. “Three is—oh, fuck!”

Jax’s breath hitched as he scanned the carnage below through his scope, finally finding Echo One, Shane, on the ground, rolling, trying to put out the flames engulfing him. Echo Three—Alejandro—was just… gone. Echo Four, Zeke, was obviously dead, his face peeled off his skull by the explosion. Further out, Echo Six, Rylan—young, eager Rylan, the newest member of their team—was sprawled out, unconscious, blood soaking into the dirt around him, a ragged pulp of flesh where his arm had been moments ago.

“Six is still alive! I’m going in for him.” Mack broke cover, sprinting toward Rylan, but he didn’t even make it halfway before bullets tore through him. He staggered a few more steps and, through the scope, Jax saw the spray of blood and bone as a final round blew past the protection of Mack’s helmet. The big man collapsed forward into the dirt and didn’t move again.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He couldn’t lose them. Not like this. He took his eyes off his teammates—his brothers—long enough to call in the Quick Reaction Force for an exfil. “Hang on, guys. QRF is inbound. Hang on. Help is coming. Fuck!”

His rifle barked again and again, picking off hostiles with one well-placed shot after another. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how many he dropped, more kept coming.

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