Page 4 of Dangerous Chaos

“A Keeper?” Rip asked as the team jumped to high alert.

Cane put a hand over his ear to hear Killion as he came through the comms. “You got a helo flying over. It’s ours. We’ll find him.”

As the helicopter flew over, the Dirty Dozen began to move for cover.

“It’s ours. You’re good,” Ronan said, realizing they hadn’t heard Killion’s notice. “You were saying?”

“Yeah.” Hen nodded. “I thought it was an extraction detail. We held the fucking line for them to get in and out. Dammit.”

“Who the hell was it?” Coy demanded, his anger growing over his missing longtime friend.

“I’m sorry, guys. I don’t know who it is. Just know it’s one of yours. Seen them before,” Bozz said as he signaled for his team to round up and prepare to exit.

“Who, Bozz?” Cane demanded. “Who grabbed him?”

“One of yours, that’s all I know. A woman.”

3

Wit satin the back of an unfamiliar vehicle with a black hood over his head and his hands bound behind his back. Neither the scents of the vehicle nor the way they drove was familiar. An operative of his caliber noticed those things. All he could put together was that it was a larger vehicle, trucky wheels based on how it took the rougher roads and tossed him around, and that it was new based on the chemical smell.

He did recognize one thing – the softness of a woman. It wasn’t a scent, or sound, or even how they drove. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it other than he just knew. A gut feeling. Something he felt in his soul.

The silence from his captor was deafening, but everything else rang loud and clear. They were traveling at a high rate of speed – maybe eighty, ninety. He counted the seconds between each turn so he could find his way back –– or out of wherever they ended up. He noted the sounds around him like the sound of a salted road, the muffling whir as they traveled through trees, and the brief sound of children playing on a playground or at a school. God, he hoped they would end up far from the kids. He could handle a lot of shit but not kids getting caught in crossfires, and he knew those crossfires were coming.

“Hey, how ’bout we play a road game,” he said out loud. “Might make the trip go by a little faster. You ever played the alphabet one? You gotta be the first one to find something that starts with whatever letter you’re on?”

He waited for a response –– of any kind –– but didn’t even get so much as a swerve to knock him around the back or a brake check to shut him up. Interesting.

“I’ll go first. Letter is A. Now if you see anything that starts with the letter A, you just call it out,” he said to no response. “Well, shoot. There ain’t nothin’ in this hood on my head with the letter A. How ’bout we take it off and make it fair? I swear it’s not cheating, and I won’t tell a soul you bent the rules.”

Nothing. Not a single reply.

“Aight. I get it. You’re tryin’ to surprise me. I looove me a good surprise. You know, when I was little, my mama always surprised me with dessert. The real surprise was what she put in it. That woman couldn’t cook to save an opossum.” He laughed. “You know one time she made me cinnamon rolls but didn’t have any cinnamon, so she used black pepper instead. Said it had the same bite as cinnamon. You believe that?”

Nothing. Telling stories, ridiculous as they were, was Wit’s superpower. It broke down barriers, weakened the enemy, and charmed new friends. Whoever had his life in their hands at the moment was neither. His attempts were failing, which meant he was falling into dangerous territory. An operative is only as good as his training and circumstance, and his state of affairs was coming up bland. He’d have to fight his way out but do it blind because whoever had him wasn’t giving a damn thing away.

“You know you really fucked up, right?” he said, switching his approach to menacing. “Do you know who I am, who I work for… what I’m capable of?”

He paused as they turned down a gravel road, and the little bits of light that were once leaking through the black hood were gone. It was dark, and though they’d been traveling for some time, it wasn’t long enough for the sun to go down. No, trees and the landscape canopied their location and choked out the light. The air became musty and cool. They were moving farther and farther off the grid, and it was then, at that realization, that Wit had real worry.

He didn’t like dark places or closed-in spaces, and with the absence of those tiny strands of light, that was exactly where he was, and it was beginning to suffocate him. He needed to keep it together, be able to fight, and not let the demons of the past own his present and be his final demise.

“You’re going to die. You know that, right?” he threatened. “You don’t need to worry about the army behind me coming after you at this very moment. You need to worry about me.”

He paused for a response, and the vehicle began to slow. Either his threats were effective or they’d reach their final destination. He prepared himself for both.

“The devil doesn’t scare me, and neither do you.” Wit revealed more than a threat. He revealed a past that went far beyond his service record and rested at his very core. The evil that built him, molded him, made him the lethal weapon he was today. No training made a monster, only the kind of life he grew up in did.

They slowed more as they crossed a bridge –– a wood bridge –– and the sound of a trickling stream filled his senses.

“I’ve danced with the devil himself and brought him to his fucking knees. Let that sink in,” he warned. “I’ll do the same to you. I look forward to watching you suffer until you take your last breath. I crave it like you’ll be craving air. You picked the wrong devil. I hope you’re ready to die.”

Making these threats was a great risk but one worth taking. Wit knew he would either scare them into submission or to the point they made mistakes. If not that, then he was, at the very least, going to piss off whoever this was to the point they reacted in haste and took the upper hand. He didn’t need to see them, have his hands freed, or carry a weapon. As long as he could stand, use his legs, and move in any capacity… he was just as dangerous as he was fully equipped.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he questioned. “Wondering if I’m for real or just full of shit. I can assure you it isn’t the latter, but you go ahead and evaluate the risk – take it. I fucking dare you.”

The road they were on was growing less and less travelable. There were deep pits every few feet all around, he felt the roots of trees that had broken the surface as they drove over them. They were either completely off road or on an abandoned strip of road that hadn’t been maintained. He didn’t care. The more rural, dark, and thick with nature, the better. He could survive the wilderness and use its offerings to defend himself. He was a survivor and a survivalist.

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