Page 97 of I Promise You
Because the last time I saw blood fall from someone’s nose, it was the worst night of my life.
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand, cold breathing down on it, and it all feels too fucking painfully familiar.
The reaper laughs low and condescending into my head, and I tighten my jaw, watching the blood fall into my hands.
Drip, drip, drip.
It’s demonic. My well-acquainted friend’s voice sends me into nostalgia, and I’m transported back to the time I first met Death.
“Chop Suey” by System Of A Down begins to fade slowly from my ears, as if the volume is being lowered to silence, and I’m back in Iraq.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I’m burning despite the brutal cold conditions.
My molars grind against each other. My brows narrow in with aggression.
This is the stress I’ve been trained to handle. What I will handle.
Both teams are at each other’s throats, arguing and going back and forth with each other, and I’m growing fucking tired of it, but I’ll listen while I decide the next course of movement.
“Paul, if we go east, it gives us more cover! More time to retreat once Kane pulls the trigger,” someone on his team hisses just loud enough we can hear him.
I’m sitting on a rock, bouncing my knee up and down while everyone stands, Paul’s team and mine facing each other.
“If we go west, it’ll make the best shot. We don’t have anyone on this team that’s made a shot that far before from the east. We can’t risk it. We’ll be letting Omar go if we choose your spot. A mission fucking failed, Aitu!” Paul snarls back.
Normally, I’d be the one taking the shot, but I’ve taken Kane underneath my wing, pressuring him to adapt under pressure so he’ll be one to eliminate the threat.
This isn’t going to be a topic of discussion. I’m in charge, and I know what I have to do. And it stops right now.
“Everyone, shut the fuck up,” I snarl. All eyes are on me. Everyone has their masks on, covered in black. Nothing but wide, frustrated eyes looking back at me.
“Executioners.” I look at my team, pointing to the other side of the woods. “Re-group,” I order them away from Paul’s team. Rooker, Kane, and Lopez retreat with nods. All whispers come to a complete silence. Kane spits and chewing tobacco lands on the ground.
Paul stalks toward me as I clutch my rifle tighter. Even through the obsidian night, I can see the conflict brew in the air. Every single operator strained with apprehension.
Friction looms between the teams, and this needs to end.
“Grim, you know I’m right,” Paul says, his breath leaving a white puff, his boots breaking more twigs on the ground with each step.
I look at him, my eyes narrowed, my mind running a thousand miles.
He is right, but his teammate is right, too.
“Just trust me, Grim. I know I’m making the right call,” Paul pleads, standing next to me. “And if I’m wrong... Well, you can kill me yourself. But I think my little sister and Mom will be slightly disappointed.”
I smirk underneath my mask, looking away from him and instead at my rifle.
I’m itching to grab a cigarette, but I decide against it.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask sternly, but my tone isn’t friendly or brotherly. It comes out authoritative and stern. I’m not talking to him like he’s my best friend, even though the decision I’m about to make says otherwise.
I need to get through his thick skull that this decision could not only mean a mission failed...it could mean our lives.
Killed in action.
“Yes.” He doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t hesitate. He’s confident, and my chest tightens. I inhale the cold, frozen air to ease the pressure, but it only returns with frost, making me feel worse.
I look at him, tormenting his brown eyes to see if he’ll break or change his mind, testing him.
