Page 1 of Lost Lyrebird

PART 1

PROLOGUE

Some things in life are worth turning your back on heaven for.

NOVEMBER 1997

The air is thick with the stench of sulfur, gasoline, and copper.It’s choking my lungs as an eerie stillness hangs inside the transport.The kind that presses in on you, forcing you to acknowledge your worst nightmare.We’re a twisted pile of limbs, weapons, smoke, fire, and body parts.Blood—dark and vivid—coats everything, the aftermath of being tossed around like ragdolls in an exploding metal coffin.

Beyond the utter despair and fear riding me, I also feel relief.I’m alive, and by the sounds I’m hearing, I’m not the only one.

A rustle of fabric.A moan.A cough.The gasping for breath.Tell-tale signs that someone else survived.

But from where I lie crumpled in the footwell, I can’t see shit.No idea who it is.Gritting my teeth, I shove the agony aside.There’s no time for it.Men are missing.Seats torn out.The driver’s side is just… fucking gone.Flames lick at the edges of where the door used to be.The heat sears my skin the closer I crawl toward the backseat.

Moving sends searing pain hammering down my lower back, but I fight through it.When I finally see into the backseat, the sight of what I see guts me, and I swallow hard to force down bile rising in my stomach.

A black pit of grief rolls through me.I shake my head over and over, my knuckles turning white as I fight off the useless tears.

These men… they were good men.They have families.And some will never return to them.

I reach out, grabbing a hand.My eyes trace it to a face—Brady.That broad smile of his flashes in my mind.Twenty-nine, and a newlywed.The kind of guy who had a bright future.I grip his blood-slicked hand, wishing with everything I am that I could turn back time.

“Fuck, man.Just fuck.”

I sit with him a moment and send up a prayer, then I let go of his hand and focus on the sounds.The living.That’s who needs me right now.

A low groan, followed by a hand slapping over the top of the seat, sends my heartbeat into overdrive.Ignoring the pain, I drag myself over the middle console.

A bloody blond head pops up.Blue eyes meet mine.“My own gun, man,” Rivers gasps, voice ragged.“Nearly fucking impaled me.And the damn seatbelt… almost cut me in half.”He dips his chin to indicate the wound to his shoulder, which is bad.Then his eyes flick past me, to the wreckage.His usual grin is gone, dimples inverted into a deep frown.His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring as he sucks in a slow, shaky breath.When he hauls himself over the seat, I examine the severity of the gash across his eyebrow.Blood is streaming down his face, mixing with the dirt and sweat.But it’s the way his eyes widen once he gets a better look at me that has a rock forming in the pit of my stomach.

“Fuck, Sarg,” he mutters, voice low, head tilted.“You’re bleeding like hell.”

Yeah, I figured.My skull feels like it’s been split wide, wedged open by a fucking crowbar.It’s everything I can do not to let the agony riddling my body drag me under.“Just a scratch,” I lie, even though blood is pouring down my neck in a steady flow.

“Scratch?”He shakes his head.“You’ve got a damn crater in your skull.”

“I’m still breathing,” I say.

“Yeah, but—”

“And I’d like to stay that way, so let’s focus on getting the fuck out of here.”

His camo is soaked, the right side of his body painted red.Blood spreads from his jacket down to his pant leg.I can’t help but think that if he’s the most mobile of us, we’re fucked.

I nod toward the massive gash in his shoulder.“We’re gonna need to patch that.”

“I’m still breathing,” Rivers replies, as if mocking me.

A barrage of bullets pings against the metal exterior in rapid succession.Glass shatters.We both duck to avoid being hit.Thankfully, the onslaught ends without either of us taking a bullet.

It lights a fire under us, sparks a sense of urgency.We need to get the fuck out of here.

“We’ve got minutes—maybe—before they come to finish the job.”

He nods.“Let’s med up and get ready to move.”

Fighting the fog clouding my vision, I say, “Find the med kit if you can.I’ll patch you up first—don’t want you passing out from blood loss on me.”