Page 15 of Fighting for Valor
“Dax,” Evianna says in my ear. “This is…this is bad. Can’t you hear it in his voice?”
Fuck. Of course I can. It’s been there since we opened the door. But I just got my best friend—my brother—back after six years. I’m not prepared to lose him again, and I can’t think of any other reason he’d be this…off.
“94820RJT008000.”
“No.” I push back from the table, half knocking over the chair in my rush to stand, to pace, to get some fucking air. “Evianna…I need…” Not paying a damn bit of attention to where I am, I bang into the counter, lose my balance, and go down, hard.
“Dax!” Evianna cries, but it’s Ryker who takes my arm and pulls me to my feet.
“Give us a minute,” he grits out. The lock on the back door thunks, and the crisp morning air hits my cheeks. I’m free. In Boston. Not back in Hell. Not broken. Well, not completely broken. And my brother’s still at my side.
“It’s just a code,” I say, my voice rough.
“Yeah. It was. Until I saw the video from Trevor’s body cam. It’s him, Dax. Older. Beard, long hair, looked like shit. Like…the man we knew—the man we called our brother—died a long time ago. But his body… It’s him. My team’s on their way here. I don’t care what it takes. We’re bringing him home.”
I can hear the emotion in Ry’s voice. The tears he’s fighting not to let spill.
And then it hits me. Why he’s about to break.
“We left him there. Fuck. We left a man behind.”
Chapter Eight
Dax
It’s too early, and I should have called first, but Ry was right to just show up at my door this morning. Some things can’t be explained over the phone. He rings Ford’s doorbell, and I hear footsteps inside.
As the door opens, a small hazy form darts behind Ford’s taller one. Shit. Ry probably scared the crap out of Joey.
“Didn’t know we were hosting a party this morning,” Ford says. “You couldn’t have called first? Joey’s—”
Wren edges around me. “Joey? I’m Wren. It’s really good to meet you.”
Ford introduces us all, but we’re still standing just inside the door. “Ford, can we sit down? Wren and Ryker found something on the surveillance tapes from Faruk’s compound we need to talk about.”
“Yeah, whatever. You want coffee?” he asks.
I wave him off as I take one end of the couch, and Joey and Ford huddle together on the other end.
“This is from Nomar’s bodycam,” Wren says. “Before the three of you went in to rescue Joey.”
I can’t see the screen, but it sounds like Faruk is beating the crap out of Joey, and I’m about to say something when Ford pipes up. “Wren,” he warns, “what’s the point of this?”
“Sorry.” Her voice drops to a whisper and she taps a few keys. “Joey, you’re off the video now. But you need to see this next part.”
Ry explained what’s on the screen. Our friend, our teammate, walking across the yard, looking like a broken man with no hope. Behind Wren, Ry clears his throat. “Do you know who that man is?”
“Isaad,” Joey says quietly. “He was…kind.”
Ford recounts their escape and how this Isaad directed them to an underground tunnel. “He said Faruk took his name and his honor. Everything that made him who he was. His ledger was full of blood. And if he was lucky, he’d be able to kill Faruk before Faruk killed him. And then he said he was sorry.”
Ryker stands a little taller. “That enough proof for you?”
“Yeah.” I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m going with you. At least to the safehouse in Kabul. If he’s alive, I need to be there.”
“Who?” Ford asks. “Who the hell is this Isaad guy? He didn’t sound like a local.”
Ryker’s voice is raspier and rougher than normal. “His name is Jackson Richards. But when we knew him, when he was the Communications Sergeant on our ODA team, we called him Ripper.”
