Page 1 of Only the Devil
Prologue
The darkness swallows me whole. Without the floodlights, I’m running blind, arms outstretched, trying to remember the layout. The hangar’s metal wall hits my palms first, cold and unforgiving. I feel my way along it, trying to control my ragged breathing.
“Jake?” I whisper.
My foot catches on something soft.
I drop to my knees, my hands finding fabric, warmth, the solid bulk of a body. My fingers trace up—cargo pants, broad shoulders, beard.
“Jake. Jake!”
My fingers skid through something tacky; I lift my hand.
Blood. How much blood?
“Please, please, please,” I pray, searching for the wound.
My hands find his chest, feeling for the rise and fall.
That’s when I hear the thuds.
Footsteps. Measured. Deliberate.
Not rushing like someone fleeing a crime scene. Walking like someone who knows exactly where their prey hides.
Trapped prey, meaning there’s no need for quiet.
The crickets go silent. Even the wind holds its breath.
This is all my fault.
What have I done?
Chapter 1
Jake
One month earlier
* * *
Rain drums on the windows, my beer’s sweating, and from the look on his face it’s clear that Hudson’s not here to celebrate. He walks in like he owns the place—tall, pressed, all sharp edges. Even in a dive bar on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, the man commands the room.
“I’ll take an IPA,” he tells Noah, who’s leaning against the bar. “Put it on KOAN.”
“Yes, sir,” Noah fires back, all clipped and professional.
This was supposed to be a pat-on-the-back beer after our first op, but Hudson’s posture says mission brief, not congratulations. I settle deeper in my chair, rain rattling the windows, and remind myself that at least this kind of job comes with a paycheck and no chain of command breathing down my neck.
KOAN’s pitch is simple: go where the government won’t, cut down corruption where influence puts people above the law, and take the jobs too messy for official channels. Remote when we can; boots down when we have to. It ain’t the Navy, but it’s still a fight worth showing up for.
We knocked out our first op two days ago. This little rendezvous reminds me of the team I left behind, and with that reminder, there’s an undeniable pang. My old team, they’re off fighting the real battles. The ones often fought in the dark, the ones that make a real difference. But every frogman taps out one day. My day just came a mite earlier than expected.
Sucks to say it, but I aged out of that world. Wasn’t the hearing, although artillery over the years did a number on it, leaving me asking “What?” way too often. Wasn’t the shrapnel so deep in my shoulder that it’s there to stay and makes for crap sleep any night after a shoulder routine. Nope. All it took was one perky young doc with attention to detail. Heart abnormality. Boom. Goodbye, Navy. The other offer on the table? Corporate-park security. I chose KOAN.
In what feels like a half-assed team-bonding exercise, I’m crashing in a rental with my new KOAN teammates, but we’ll be packing up this week and heading to our own places until we’re needed again.
Light rain drenches the brick sidewalk and pavement outside The Ugly Dog. The raindrops trickling down the glass panes lend a sense of satisfaction that I knocked out my long run this morning and can sit back guilt-free for a celebratory drink with my team.
