Delta (Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue #5)

Chapter 1

Dylan

Ten Years Ago

The steady drip, drip, drip is slowly driving me mad.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t eaten in—I don’t know how long.

Or the dehydration.

Or the putrid stench of the dead bodies decomposing on the floor of my prison. Even now, it sears my throat and lungs, burning me up from the inside. At least, I can’t see them or stare into their dead eyes. This pitch-black hole we were thrown into ensures that.

No, I can’t see them.

But I can feel them.

Death surrounds me.

They used to moan in agony. Used to plead with God for mercy.

Until, one by one, they fell silent. Leaving only the drip, drip, drip.

How long until I join them too? Why haven’t I already?

I’ve begged for my life to be taken. Pleaded.

Yet, here I remain. Wrists chained in front of me, trapped in a cell of death, ready for whatever nightmare they have planned for me next. The upside to all the pain? Anything new they do is just background noise.

As they torment me, I let my mind drift back to home.

Back to her.

Blonde hair. Sun-kissed, freckled face. Eyes so blue that they make me want to swim in them forever.

My love.

My Emma.

Would she even recognize me if she saw me now? Would she see past the animal I’ve become to the man I used to be?

I’ve been bound so long that I don’t even know what it feels like to be unchained. I’m a creature in a cage. A shackled monster. That’s what they’ve made me.

Light assaults me when the lid covering my prison is opened. It burns my eyes, so I have to close them tightly, listening only to the yelling above in a language I can’t understand.

Slowly, I try to open my eyes, but the moment I do, tears fill them. The light is so beautiful. Is this it? Am I dead?

Even before those thoughts can fully form in my mind, the light is momentarily blocked by two bodies rushing down the stairs toward me.

I grip the hilt of the blade I found when I was feeling around the cell for something to fight with. I’d pulled it off of one of the dead—then promised to use it to get justice for us all.

Even if it’s the last thing I do.

“Get up,” a man orders in a thick accent. I don’t know his name, but I know he loves to play with fire. I have the burns to prove it.

I don’t listen. Get closer.

“I said get up!” He raises a rifle at me. Does he not know that I don’t fear death? It would be sweet relief for me to leave this world. Doesn’t he realize just how dangerous that makes me? After all, a man with nothing to lose is hardly a man at all.

The buttstock of his rifle slams into my cheek. I barely feel the pain—though I taste the blood. Instead of letting him intimidate me, I tilt my face up.

And smile.

His dark eyes narrow on me. “You do not hold the power here, American,” he growls. “Or have you forgotten?”

“We don’t have time for this.” The second man—one I don’t recognize—rushes over and grips my arm to rip me up to my feet. With all the weight I’ve lost, it’s not a struggle for him to do.

Together, they drag me out of the hole, my legs slamming into creaky wooden stairs as I go completely limp.

Once we reach the top, they throw me to the ground.

All around, chaos reigns. Alarms are screeching, and armed men are running around, shouting orders.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I can still hear it.

Why can I still hear it?

“Let’s go,” the second man orders as he tugs me the rest of the way out of the hole.

“No!” With a feral roar, I slice out with the blade.

The man yells when it catches his arm.

“Idiot!” The butt of a rifle is slammed into my gut, and I fall forward, gasping for breath, but I don’t remain down long.

Someone yells, but my gaze is focused only on killing the man in front of me.

On killing him, just as he killed my friends.

On killing them all.

The man raises his rifle and fires.

Two bullets.

One.

Two.

They tear through me, and I fall backward—down, down, down—into the hole. The knife stabs into my side, but as soon as I catch my breath, I roll to the side and tug it free, the pain nothing more than a pinch compared to everything else my body has been through.

I can’t feel much of anything anymore…except this thirst for vengeance. This desire to watch my enemies burn. Not even bullets can stop me now. Not after what they’ve done to me.

Two men descend into the hole again, shadows that momentarily block out the sunlight once more.

I can’t see their faces, but it doesn’t matter because they’re all the same.

Monsters masquerading as men. Threats that need to be eliminated.

The world will be safer without them here.

Isn’t that why I went through all of this?

Why my men were cut down? Because we were sent here to stop these monsters from committing genocide.

I remain still, waiting for my chance as one moves to my cuffs. Bad move, enemy. They think I’m dead. They probably want the cuffs for another member of the living. But they won’t get that chance. I won’t let them do to someone else what they did to me.

The cuffs fall off my wrists, clattering to the ground. Summoning what little strength I have left, I lunge to my feet and slash out with the rusted blade.

“Dylan!” someone yells, but I don’t recognize the voice. “Stop!”

I can’t stop. Don’t they see that? They’ve turned me into exactly what I was always afraid of becoming—a killer. I slash out again, and large hands grip my arms. I’m slammed to the ground, face-first, a knee between my shoulder blades.

“Let me go!” I spit. “I’m going to kill all of you!” I thrash beneath them, but within seconds, all the energy leaves my body, and I fall still. Breathing is a struggle; it has been since well before this moment.

Honestly, I’ve been struggling to draw breath since I left home.

Since I left her.

“We need to get him out of here,” a man says.

“I’ll cover you,” another replies.

Their tones are strained, tense. But they don’t have the accents my abductors have. Does that make them different? Or are they merely here to take away what’s left of me?

I’m flipped onto my back, then lifted and draped over a shoulder. The man carries me toward the steps, and I don’t fight it. Instead, I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift back to the small shred of humanity left in me.

Golden hair.

Soft brown eyes.

Freckle-dusted skin.

Maybe this will finally be the end for me. Maybe I’ll finally find peace—if that even exists. I’m beginning to believe it was all a lie. But as I drift away, letting myself come to terms with what will likely be my last moments, I picture her face.

And in my imagination, I get the chance to say goodbye.