Perilous Healing 1
CHAPTER 1
PREVIEW IS UNEDITED AND SUBJECT TO CHANGE UPON FINAL PUBLICATION.
SILAS: TEN YEARS AGO
S weat clings to my damaged body like a second skin. There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t burn, but as I make my way down the damp, concrete hallway, I know that if I were to stop—even for a moment—it would mean death.
I escaped once, I’ll never escape again.
The guard who’d let me go told me that I needed to run. That the door at the end of the hall would be unlocked when I reach it, but that if I didn’t get out soon I’d never leave this place. He told me I’d die here.
And I believed him even as I wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t merely a figment of my starved, beaten mind.
But as soon as the chains had fallen from my wrists and ankles, and he’d reached down to pull me to my feet, I’d known that this is my one chance to escape. My moment. So even as every movement is yet more torture, I continue pushing forward.
I step on a clump of concrete breaking away from the tunnel floor and hiss through clenched teeth as it bites into the soft flesh of my bare foot. Warm blood trickles from the injury, but I have nothing to wrap it. Even if I did, I can’t risk the time it would take to do so.
Two hundred yards . According to the guard who helped me escape, that’s how long I have to go before I’m pushing through a door and taking my chances in the deep jungles surrounding the area I’ve been held in since I was captured almost a month ago.
I have to make it home. If not for me, then for my entire team who didn’t survive our initial contact with the American crime boss we were here to stop. My command has to know what happened. They have to know so they can act.
Still, people will say I’m lucky. But to me, luck would have been bleeding out on the ground before they ever brought me back into the compound. Then, I wouldn’t carry the weight of everything that was done to me over the past three weeks.
A woman’s scream rips through the stale air, and I sink against the wall, hiding in the shadows. My heart pounds, my head burning with an ache I’m sure will split me in two if it doesn’t stop soon.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she yells. American. Though I’m not surprised. The compound we’re in belongs to one of the most notorious drug runners in the U.S. Most of the guards are American, except for the one who let me go .
“You let him die!” a man bellows.
“And I’d do it again!” she retorts, then cries out once more as the resounding crack of a slap echoes down the hall. I clench my hands into fists, then take a deep, steadying breath and wait for it to be safe. I should just leave. Continue sneaking out, but if I do—if I leave this woman behind—what kind of man does that make me?
Save her. The two words come to me clear as day, surely my conscious telling me that I can’t leave her here.
Even if I don’t know her, I have to save her.
Even if it means we both get caught, I have to take her with me.
A door along the wall opens and two men stalk out.
“I’m going to go find out what we’re to do with her. My guess is, they’ll want her head.”
“Shame, it’s a pretty head,” the other replies.
The door begins to swing closed, so I retrieve the chunk of concrete I stepped on, then rush forward and catch it before it locks shut, then wait to make sure the men keep walking. One thing I’ve learned, arrogance does not equal intelligence. If they are so arrogant to believe they are untouchable here, they won’t notice something as simple as a door not closing when it should.
Sure enough, they keep walking, so I prop the door open with the concrete and turn.
I’m standing in what is clearly a surgical room of some kind, with a hospital bed streaked with blood, and an assortment of medical tools and supplies. The woman is chained to a chair, blue scrubs streaked with blood. Her dark hair falls like a curtain in front of her face, though her breathing is steady enough that I know she’s alive. There’s a tray of sharp tools to her right, so I reach over and grab a scalpel.
“Come for more?” she demands, then looks up at me. I’m pinned beneath a mossy green gaze, though both eyes are streaked with red. Her face is bruised and bloody, a large scratch scraping down one side of her cheek. “Who are you?”
“Chief Petty Officer Williamson, Ma’am,” I say as I rush forward and cut through her bindings. “I’m getting out of here and I’m taking you with me.”
“Just like that?” she asks, rubbing her wrists as I free them.
“Just like that,” I reply.
“You don’t even know why I’m here.”
“I know you’re not supposed to be and that these men are going to kill you.”
“And you can’t let that happen.”
“No ma’am, I can’t.”
“So you’re Boy Scout, then.” She stands.
I study her, trying to decide whether or not I’ve made a mistake. “No, I’m a Seal.”
“Navy,” she replies. “You’re all boy scouts.” She looks me up and down. “You look pretty bad yourself.”
Glancing down at my blood-streaked bare chest and what’s left of my uniform pants, I can’t argue her. I don’t even know what my face must look like, likely even more battered than hers does. “I’m not trying to win any beauty pageants,” I tell her. “Now, are we going or not?”
“Let me grab some things.” She rushes to the side and grabs a blue bag, then stuffs the supplies from the tray inside. “Ready.”
Keeping the scalpel in my hand, I creep toward the door and peer out. The hall is still empty. Remaining in the shadows, I creep alongside the wall, trying to pay attention to any sounds I might hear coming from either side.
There’s yelling somewhere, though it’s so distant I can’t quite make out where it’s coming from, but I still pick up my feet faster, moving as quickly as I can through the hall until—up ahead a door awaits.
Freedom .
“Shut everything down!” someone screams from behind us. “We have two escapees!”
I reach back and grab the woman’s hand, then yank her forward as I sprint toward the exit. If they shut it down, we’ll never leave this place. I know it deep down in my soul. So I run.
Even as my feet sting.
My muscles burn.
My head pounds.
I hit the heavy door and shove it open, then close it softly behind and sprint into the trees. It’s dark overhead, so watching where we’re going is an impossibility. Behind me, I hear yelling, but it just forces me to run faster, pushing my body as hard as I can .
But it’s not a maintainable speed, so I can only hope we can outrun them before I lose it.
I’m not sure how long we run, but by the time dawn is breaking, I no longer hear anyone behind us. So, choosing a large tree to take cover against, I let myself rest. My breathing is ragged, my body numb from the chill in the air and likely the amount of blood I’ve lost over the past few hours since two of my crudely stitched stab wounds have re-opened.
“I need to look you over,” the woman says as she kneels in front of me and opens the bag of stolen supplies. “Otherwise you’re going to die before you can get us out of this place.”
“You’re a doctor?” I ask.
“Trauma surgeon,” she replies. “Bianca Theodore at your service. Though I normally treat Rangers, I think I can make an exception for a Seal this time around.” She flashes me a smile that I know is meant to be disarming, as she slips into a pair of gloves she pulled from the bag. “This is not going to feel great,” she warns, then gently presses against one of the wounds in my side. I hiss through clenched teeth as pain shoots up through my body. “Yeah. So listen, I know we just met and all, and I hate causing pain to people who just saved me, but you should know—this going to hurt—badly.”