Page 21 of Fighting for Valor
“Turn around,” West mutters to Graham, but to his credit, the youngest member of our team doesn’t move.
Standing over Faruk, I turn the knife in the light so he can see the handle where Rip carved his name, and bare my teeth when his eyes widen. “You took our brother. If our truck wasn’t full, I’d bring you with us and spend months making you bleed until you begged for death. And then I’d let you heal up and do it all over again.”
I lean down so we’re eye-to-eye. “But instead, I’ll grant you this one mercy.” The knife plunges deep into his heart, sliding between his ribs with ease. A half-moan, half-scream is muffled by the duct tape, and I give the handle a twist, watching for the moment the light leaves his eyes.
The blade drips crimson with his blood, and for good measure, I slit his throat, then wipe the thick filth on the leg of his pants.
Turning to West and Graham, I nod. “Bravo Team? We’re on our way. Faruk will never hurt another person again.”
It’s done. And my conscience is clear.
Chapter Ten
Ripper
Something hits my shoulder, but I can’t move. Breathing hurts. I don’t care what they do to me. Anything will be better than this. Waiting to die. I haven’t pissed in days. Nothing left in me. The scorpions—the few I haven’t killed—ignore me now. They can smell death clinging to me.
Fingers touch my neck, and then I hear a single whispered word. “Ripper?”
I should know that name.
“Base, put the doc on.”
The voice…I’ve heard it before. Another wave of pain addles my thoughts, and by the time it’s faded, the man’s talking again.
“…heart’s racing…burning up.”
I try to force my dry eyes open, but I can’t.
“Roger that.” The world tilts, and the man speaks again. “Rip? You have to drink, brother. We’re getting out of here.”
Water dribbles over my cracked lips, and a low, mournful sound escapes my parched throat. No. Please. No more…
Whatever he says next is lost to my panic, but I swallow a bit of the cool liquid, and fuck, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Metallic, almost. Like the canteens we used to carry. More water drenches my hair, rolling down my cheeks.
When I’m thrown over a shoulder, I push against what feels like solid granite.
“Stay still, Sergeant. That’s a fucking order.”
I know that voice.
Somewhere, deep down, in a place I don’t want to go, I hear that same voice calling my name. We’re climbing now. Well, he’s climbing. I’m desperately trying to stay conscious. To figure out what the fuck is happening.
But when the man lays me on the ground, fear takes over, and I can’t breathe. I manage to crack an eyelid, but all I see is darkness and boots—three sets of boots—before a dull roar fills my ears and that place where I know the people around me is suddenly closer than it’s been in years.
Voices. One of them’s shouting, but there’s so much noise…I can’t make out the words. Everything hurts, but it’s cooler here—wherever I am. We’re…moving. Oh, fuck. Where is Faruk taking me now?
My stomach pitches, and I taste bile. Rough hands grab me, rip my sleeve, and then…the sting of a needle. “No!” I whisper as I try to pull my arm away.
“Dammit, Ripper, stop fighting us!” The order registers, the voice is one I know, the one that belongs to a ghost.
I let myself go limp, and long moments pass where I don’t feel anything at all. They’re broken up by terror, pain, nausea, and stomach cramps so intense, I think maybe…death would be better.
Time has no meaning as I start to sweat, then shiver, letting the motion lull me into sleep or unconsciousness. When I come to, I’m floating. My fingers, blistered and raw, ache as I grab on to fabric—nylon or…Kevlar?
“…into the water…”
Someone rips off my clothes, and I thrash, hitting my head on something hard. I can’t let them hurt me again. I can smell blood. My own filth. The scents are overwhelming here in this place that otherwise smells like…very little.
