Risky Extraction

Chapter 1

Seventeen years ago…

He rolled off the woman he’d met at the bar and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table next to him. After swallowing almost a third of the bottle, he held it out to the curvy brunette and tried to recall her name.

Another nameless girl he’d never see again once he left her place. He always made sure his casual fucks lived at least an hour from his apartment. It made it less likely to run into them again, and exchanging numbers was a hell no.

Settling back into civilian life wasn’t easy after his injury. The memories of the hell he went through with Ghost Squad continuously played in his brain if he didn’t have a distraction. The booze, pills, and women worked, but he couldn’t escape it when he closed his eyes at night. Brent relived that day in his dreams.

Virgil and Dale never made it back. They rescued Halima and Aya, but it cost two good men their lives. That was bad enough, but to make matters worse, Lieutenant Colonel Gibson didn’t seem to care about their deaths or the fact Brent and Axel were hurt.

They didn’t know the truth until they returned home and pulled into a debriefing. Titus sent them into hostile territory to rescue a woman and child, but it was off-the-books. He’d not only taken it upon himself to send Ghost Team over there, but he also funded the entire thing. Since he came from family money, he could easily afford it.

After they’d returned and the whole thing was exposed, Titus Gibson was forced into retirement. He never contacted Brent or any of the remaining Ghost Team again, and as far as apologizing, all they got was a generic letter with no actual signature. Brent assumed it was probably sent from the office, not from Titus.

The higher-ups covered for Titus, though. Brent’s and Axel’s records stated they sustained injuries during a training exercise and were medically discharged. If anyone investigated, the group was in a helicopter that went down. According to documents, Virgil and Dale died in the crash. It was a load of bullshit, but the military couldn’t allow anyone to know about the fuck up. Titus should be behind bars, but he was probably sitting pretty with his military pension.

At least Virgil and Dale got a proper military send-off, and their wives received death benefits. If the truth came out, none of that would’ve happened. Dale’s wife was pregnant and almost lost the little girl after she heard of Dale’s death. Thankfully, the sweet child survived.

The only thing Brent knew about Halima and Aya was they were safe. Axel inquired about it once but couldn’t get any answers. Wyatt somehow learned the woman and child were in Newfoundland.

Constant nightmares plagued Brent’s nights. Loud noises caused his heart to race and drag him back to that day. Back where he’d lost his innocence and the belief he could make a difference. There was a time when he thought Titus Gibson cared about the team. What a fucking joke. If Brent never saw the son of bitch again, it would be too soon.

He distanced himself from the remaining team members after they returned. Seeing them only made things worse because it reminded him of what they’d done together. He couldn’t tell anyone the depths of the guilt he felt because he survived, but Dale and Virgil didn’t.

When he returned to Alberta, he avoided communication with his family and would only contact them when one threatened to fly up to see him. They went through hell when they found out he’d gotten hurt, and he had to pull off some Oscar-award-winning acting to convince his parents, brother, and sister he was okay.

Brent didn’t return home to Newfoundland as they wanted. Instead, he spent his time in dive bars, drinking too much and doing shit he never did before. It’s where Brent met Snapper Horlick. The man was a mean son of a bitch when someone crossed him, but he treated Brent well. As far as he knew, Snapper was also a former soldier and knew what the horrors of war could do to a person.

Snapper wasn’t a huge guy, but he had a lot of large friends. Brent saw the man beat a man senseless for not saying thank you when offered a drink. Brent could swear Snapper’s eyes turned black, almost sadistic.

Brent’s back injury put him on a bad road, with three broken vertebrae and a concussion. The doctor prescribed painkillers to help with his discomfort, but he didn’t need them for his physical pain anymore. He used them to help him survive the emotional pain and mental anguish. Getting drunk out of his mind, popping a few pills, and having a random fuck with any woman who said she’d take him home was how he dealt with it.

All Brent had to do was flash a smile, show his muscles, say he was retired military, and women fell into his lap. If he didn’t want to make the effort it took to get a girl into bed, Snapper would find a willing partner.

“Hey, do you have any blow?” Brandi asked, or was her name Randi?

“Don’t do that shit.” Brent sat up against the headboard and took a swig of whiskey.

He tried Cocaine once but didn’t enjoy it. Plus, pills and booze were easier to get, and he didn’t have to suck it up his nose. Although if he wanted it, Snapper had connections.

“I don’t either, but I’ve always wanted to try it.” She straddled his legs.

He had to admit the woman had a killer body, and she was attractive but not enough to keep him there all night. He grabbed her around the waist and flipped her onto her back. She giggled, probably thinking he was about to give her another pounding, but Brent got up and pulled on his cargo pants.

“Where are you going?” She cupped her breasts.

“Look, this was fun, but I gotta go.” Brent tugged his t-shirt down over his head.

“Oh.” She sat up. “When can I see…”

“You won’t,” Brent interrupted, then drained the whiskey bottle.

“I see.”

She was disappointed, no doubt, but that didn’t stop Brent. He yanked on his boots and stood up. It was an asshole move, but he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He’d never leave a woman unsatisfied in bed, but he wasn’t about to whisper forever in her ear when he didn’t see his life past the next bottle.

His phone buzzed on the night table, and he picked it up. When he saw the number, he rolled his eyes. Snapper was always making sure he wasn’t low on supplies. If only everyone gave that kind of customer service, although if Brent ever screwed him over, Snapper wouldn’t be so accommodating.

“Yo,” Brent grunted.

“B, my man,” A gruff voice replied.

Snapper sometimes sounded like he had an accent and hid it well, but now and then, it slipped. Brent couldn’t figure out why it sounded familiar. When anyone asked him, Snapper told people he was from all over,but his mother was French.

“I’m not your man,” Brent grumbled.

“Fuck, did Brandi not give you an enjoyable ride?” Snapper chuckled.

Nobody knew Snapper’s first name, but he kept Brent in pills and women for the right price. The women weren’t prostitutes, they simply didn’t mind opening their legs, and Brent wasn’t about to turn down available pussy.

“She rode me like an Albertan cowgirl,” Brent retorted.

“Excellent. I’m checking to see if you need any provisions.” Snapper was always willing to help.

“Nope, got lots.”

The sad thing was that Snapper and his crew were snakes slithering around people at the lowest point in their lives, Brent included. Snapper tried to make it look as if he cared enough to give his fellow soldiers whatever they needed. Brent could see himself heading down a slippery slope but didn’t want to admit it.

Snapper did seem to show Brent extra attention because he’d never known the guy to call any of his other clientele. One of Snapper’s delivery guys asked Brent once what he had on Snapper because the guy bent over backward for him. Brent didn’t know or care.

“Okay, my friend. Call me if you get low,” Snapper said, and Brent ended the call without a response.

With a half-wave to Brandie, he pulled on his jacket and quickly exited her shabby apartment. He practically skipped half the steps down to the main floor to make sure he could escape without the girl causing a fuss. They usually didn’t, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

The icy wind was biting at his skin as he made his way to his car. He shouldn’t get behind the wheel, considering he downed half a bottle of whiskey, and the beer he drank earlier had not left his system. He had better sense, especially knowing what happened to his father years earlier. The alcohol dulled the little voice in his head, and he jumped in the car to head back to his crap apartment in Calgary.

Pulling into his parking spot an hour later, he sighed in relief. He managed to get home without wrapping his car around a pole or getting nabbed by the police. Brent almost fell as he staggered into the apartment building. On the elevator ride to the second floor, he shuffled through his keys so he could get into his place quickly.

As he stepped off the elevator, he stopped. Someone he didn’t want to see stood with his shoulder against the wall, and Brent cursed under his breath. This was the last thing he needed—Axel Wright’s lecture on how Brent was screwing up his life.

Axel constantly harassed Brent about getting help for his post-traumatic stress. Brent did fine and didn’t need anyone to tell him what he already knew. Rehashing it every damn day didn’t help. The memories of seeing Dale blown to pieces not more than twenty feet away were etched in his brain.

“Where the hell have you been?” Axel questioned.

“Out,” Brent snapped as he fumbled with the lock on his door.

“Out boozing again by the smell. Snapper keeping you high, too?” Axel pushed off the wall.

“Did you come here to bust my ass? If you did, you can leave.” Brent threw open the door and blocked Axel from entering.

“You’re killing yourself, B. This is not the way to deal…” Axel began.

“You should throw that broken record away, Ax. It’s my life. Now fuck off.” Brent slammed the door.

“You forget who your real friends are, B. You leave me no choice, man. I’m going to have to take drastic steps,” Axel shouted through the door.

Brent rolled his eyes and flipped the bird to the closed door. Axel always threatened to “take action,” but Brent didn’t know or care what he meant. For over a month, Axel made that statement every time he dropped over. As far as Brent was concerned, Axel was blowing shit out of his ass.

He stripped off on his way through the apartment, leaving a trail of discarded clothes. He stepped into the bathroom completely naked, and before jumping into the shower, he zeroed in on the pills sitting on the counter. He ignored the warning to avoid alcohol when he took them because taking both helped him sleep.

The doctor limited the number of pills he prescribed, but Snapper always came through when Brent ran low. Vicodin wasn’t something he took every day, but he needed to get through an entire night without waking up in a sheen of sweat.

After a quick shower, he tossed back a pill and then flopped down on the bed. His head fell to the side, and his eyes locked onto the picture on his nightstand. His team took before they left that day, but nobody knew what they would face or they wouldn’t be grinning like fools. He flipped over onto his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t take long before he fell into an alcohol and drug-induced sleep.

The loud banging had to be a dream because there was no way someone would be beating on his door and not expect a punch in the face. He tossed back the blankets and pulled on a pair of boxers. He stumbled and had to take a second to clear the cobwebs from his brain before continuing to see who was about to get pounded into the floor. When he yanked open the door, he cocked his fist but dropped it immediately.

“Dad?” Brent’s brows furrowed.

“You look great,” his father didn’t bother to wait for an invitation and stomped into the apartment.

“Thanks, Dad.” Brent pulled his hands down over his face to ensure he was awake.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” his father replied.

Brent’s heart picked up as several scenarios ran through his muddled thoughts on what would cause his dad to fly across the country. Was someone sick? Dead?

“Yeah, I figured that out. Why are you here?” Brent asked.

“I flew in from Newfoundland an hour ago because I got a call from Axel.” His father glared at him.

“You got here pretty fast.” Brent was going to kick Axel’s ass.

“He called me almost eighteen hours ago. After he left here yesterday,” his dad said through gritted teeth.

If that was true, it meant Brent had slept for that long. He must have been out of it when he got home. He didn’t miss how his father scanned the messy apartment with disappointment written all over his face. Brent couldn’t blame him. The place was a shitty mess.

“Get dressed. We’re going to a meeting,” his dad ordered.

“Meeting?” Brent wasn’t alert enough for this.

“An Alcoholics Anonymous meeting or a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. By the looks of you, we probably need to go to both. Get some clothes on.” His father crossed his large arms over his chest.

“You came to Alberta to take me to a meeting? Pretty sure they still have them in Newfoundland,” Brent grumbled.

“At least I’m taking you to a meeting and not planning your fucking funeral,” his father snapped.

“You’re out of your mind. I don’t need…” Brent didn’t get a chance to finish when Axel stepped into the apartment.

“I told you I’d take drastic steps.” Axel leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

“You called my dad? Had him fly across the country?” Brent stared at his friend.

“Yes, because you’re one bottle away from killing yourself or someone else. I know about the pills, too,” his father retorted.

Max Adams wasn’t a small man, and Brent knew from experience his father wouldn’t take no for an answer. Arguing would only give Brent a bigger headache than he already had.

“This is ridiculous.” Brent threw his arms up in the air.

“Ridiculous or not, you’re getting your ass dressed and coming with me.” His dad picked up Brent’s clothes scattered on the floor and tossed them at his son.

“You need to clean up too.”

“I’m…” Brent didn’t get a chance to argue.

“Get fucking dressed now, Brent. I didn’t tell your mother why I had to come here but don’t push me. Do you want her to see you this way?” His father knew Brent’s weakness.

He didn’t want his mom to know what a screw-up he was. He wouldn’t be able to handle seeing that disappointment in her eyes. His mother had been through enough when his father almost drank himself into an early grave. It was the first time he’d seen his mom break down when they walked into the hospital, not knowing if his father would survive wrapping a car around a pole and nearly killing someone else.

“No,” Brent grumbled.

“Well, get dressed, and for the love of God, brush your teeth. You stink.” With that statement, his father turned and headed into the small kitchen.

An hour later, Brent sat in a large room with a pounding head, drinking shitty coffee and listening to people’s struggles with addiction. With everything he heard, he realized the stories weren’t much different from his. Then someone stood up and made him sit up straight. Axel stepped in front of the podium and locked eyes with Brent.

“My name is Axel, and I’m an alcoholic. It’s been thirteen months since my last drink…”

Brent’s mouth opened, and he almost dropped the paper cup. He hadn’t known Axel drank. His friend spent most of his recovery from a leg injury in Ontario with his sister and only returned to Calgary six months earlier when his sister moved there for a job.

Axel’s deep voice echoed in the room, and as Brent listened, he glanced to his left. His father gave up drinking ten years earlier after that accident almost took his life. It was a wake-up call for his dad.

Brent took his dad’s hand, letting his emotions take over for the first time in months. Tears stung his eyes, and he dropped his head as Axel finished his story.

“I need help,” he whispered.

“That’s why I’m here, son.” His father wrapped an arm around Brent’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m here.”

If anyone could help him, it was the man next to him. His dad wouldn’t give up until Brent was back on his feet, and that was precisely what he needed. He hoped he could do it.