Prologue
Iraq, 2015
Riding in the supply truck along with three other members of his team, Airman Russ Quinlan was becoming uneasy. Something wasn’t right about the way this mission was unfolding. The intel provided had guaranteed the insurgents were contained in another quadrant, so why was he worried?
As they drove past the location where he’d been told the ambush was supposed to happen, Russ realized the assignment had gone terribly wrong.
One minute, Russ was glancing at the driver as he slowed down, and the next minute chaos ensued.
Russ watched in horror as Tack went flying through the air while Sarah Benton seemed to fall through the bottom of the truck, which was no longer there.
The thrust from the explosion suddenly sent Russ backwards, leaving him lying flat on the ground beside the road, unable to move.
Russ was in a daze, his mind abruptly going blank. The scene around him was so horrific, he nearly lost it.
He was suddenly being dragged over sharp rock through the wreckage and hoisted into a vehicle where every member of his team, except for Sarah, had already been loaded. Brian was probably in the best shape, since he’d been sitting in the back of the truck, but Tack appeared to have lost most of an arm. Unconscious and covered with blood, the supply truck driver was in the worst shape, since he was missing both legs, and probably wouldn’t survive the trip to wherever they were being taken.
There were at least a dozen men holding them, Russ realized, and even if he had the strength, he wouldn’t be able to get away.
The truck they were traveling in unexpectedly jerked up and down, and Russ couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
* * *
. A fist was pounding at his face, and Russ awoke abruptly to discover he was standing partially upright with heavy metal cuffs wrapped around his wrists. The cuffs had been attached to chains which were cemented into the stone wall he was leaning against.
Russ stared mutinously at the man, or rather terrorist, who’d just slugged him, and found it strangely humorous to see the guy wearing a mask covering most of his face. From what he’d heard about these insurgents, they liked to brag about their conquests.
His assailant walked away from Russ and motioned at the other man in the room. Although he was barely conscious, Tack had been strapped to a tall wooden chair, and had been forced to sit upright.
The terrorist looked at Russ with oddly familiar eyes. “Bring him here, so he can know what his father has cost us.”
The comment made no sense, but then Russ realized what was going to happen, not knowing exactly sure why. Because they were Americans? It seemed to be enough of an excuse for these monsters to torture and kill.
“Why not me ?” Russ shouted, when Tack could do nothing but scream.
The terrorist sneered. “I fear that you would not be so easy to break.”
Obviously, they’d seen the thick rows of scars covering nearly every inch of Russ’s back.
The torture continued, and Russ kept staring into the man’s eyes, knowing he would remember him and the darkness of his eyes for the rest of his life.
Because his were the eyes of evil.