Page 27

Thatcher

Pain lances through me as the butt of the Enforcer’s gun slams into my temple again, a searing reminder of every blow that’s led to this moment.

The bindings bite into my wrists, sticky with blood, as I strain against them.

I force my stinging eyes open and the Enforcer’s blurry fist comes into focus.

I see a large, gold ring with three rubies in the shape of a triangle on his thumb.

The exact shape of the bruise found on my wife’s neck during her autopsy.

“It was you,” I rasp.

“You killed Jenna.”

An evil grin spreads on his face.

“Unfortunately, the accident didn’t kill her on impact. I had to…help her along on that journey. You should be proud, though. She put up a good fight for a dying woman.”

I fight against my restraints, trying to lunge at this monster.

“You son of a bitch?—”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” he tsks, then crashes his fist against my jaw.

It’s not the physical agony that has my heart jackhammering against my ribs.

It’s not even this recent discovery.

No, it’s the sound of footsteps, drawing closer.

Because I know what those footsteps bring…

or rather, who.

I heard the cadence and rhythm of those footsteps nearly every day for years.

Admiral Brady.

The man who was my boss.

My ally.

Hell, my friend.

Now he’s here to sign my death warrant for reasons that I can’t even understand.

The sting of that betrayal is worse than anything Drakon or his goons could ever do to me.

I lift my heavy head to look at him, squinting through the swelling around my left eye, trying to make out shapes in the shifting shadows.

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting an eerie, greenish pall over the concrete walls.

The chair I’m tied to creaks as I test my bonds again, but they hold fast.

Zip ties, from the feel of them.

Inexpensive.

Discreet.

And easier to find than rope.

My head throbs in time with my pulse, each beat sending a fresh wave of nausea churning through my gut.

I don’t think I’ve been here for very long, but still, time blurs, bleeding out between the punches and the questions, the demands I won’t ever answer.

Not that it matters.

I knew the risks when I joined the team; even though I’m no longer active military, I knew that oath would forever put a target on my back.

My blurry gaze swings over to Admiral Brady.

I never thought it would be my previous commanding officer selling me out to the enemy.

The door swings open with a rusty creak, and there he is.

Drakon.

He looks like he recently stepped out of a board meeting, all clean lines and polished veneer.

But his eyes…

those cold, dead shark eyes.

They tell a different story.

The man who haunts my nightmares, wearing my failures like a twisted crown.

And now, in this abandoned warehouse, stale with the copper tang of my own blood, I know he’s come to collect his dues.

Ironic considering he murdered my wife.

Hadn’t he already collected?

“Thatcher Bryant,” he says, my name dripping from his lips like venom.

“You’ve been a hard man to find.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“No. I’m an easy man to find. Just hard to get to.”

I simply stare at him, channeling every ounce of hatred I feel into that glare.

He smirks, circling me like a predator toying with its prey.

“Nothing to say?” Drakon presses.

“No witty retorts from the great Thatcher Bryant?”

“Fuck you,” I rasp, my throat raw from thirst and screaming.

He laughs, and it’s a sound that crawls under my skin, burrowing deep.

“Eloquent as ever, I see.” He leans in close, so close I can smell his cologne, expensive and cloying.

“You took something from me, Thatcher. My brother. My best friend. My business partner.”

“And you took my wife.” I swallow hard, tasting blood.

His eyes impossibly grow even colder.

“Your team killed everyone inside my brother’s home. His wife. His children. Many of my men. You took an entire lineage of my family. Of my business. Killing your wife hardly makes us even when you didn’t lose millions and nearly crumble an empire. You killing my brother almost ruined my trade business.”

“I did my job. Your brother was a terrorist.” I slowly look up into his cold eyes.

“ You are a terrorist.”

Drakon’s blow catches me across the cheek, snapping my head to the side.

I see stars, feel the warm trickle of fresh blood down my chin.

Then, he grabs a fistful of my hair, wrenching my head back.

“He was my family!” he roars, spit flecking my face.

“And you…you put a bullet in his brain like he was a rabid dog.”

I remember that day, the weight of the gun in my hand, the clarity of the shot.

It was him or me, him or innocents.

My eyes slide to Admiral Brady over Drakon’s shoulder.

“I had my orders. And I’d do it again,” I say, bracing for the next hit.

It comes, hard and fast, a one-two punch to the ribs that leaves me gasping.

Drakon’s breath is hot against my ear, his voice a serpentine hiss.

“You’re a pathetic little liar. Your boss showed me these so-called orders. You were on a data-collecting mission.”

He punctuates each word with a blow, his knuckles splitting against my cheekbone, my nose, my jaw.

I ride the waves of pain, letting them crash over me, through me.

I’ve endured worse.

I’ll endure this.

My son’s face enters my mind.

His sweet, round cheeks.

Corkscrew black curls, just like his mother’s.

I have to endure.

I have to live.

For him.

“That’s not true,” I wheeze.

“Admiral Brady is lying to you.”

“You know what I think?” Drakon continues, circling back around to face me.

“I think it’s time for a little role reversal. Time for you to know what it’s like to lose everything you love.”

My blood runs cold.

No.

Not this.

“I’m going to kill them, Thatcher,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender.

“Your friends. Your family. Your wife’s sister who is currently watching little Duke for you… You didn’t think I knew that, did you?”

I lunge against the restraints, the chair tipping precariously.

“Don’t you say his name! Don’t you even think about my son!”

“Oh, I’ll say his name, Agent Bryant. I may even consider sparing his life.” Drakon leans down, his face inches from mine as he whispers, “But how I’m going to love killing that pretty little reporter you’ve been running around with. What’s her name again? Allison?”

“Leave her out of this,” I growl, straining against my bonds.

“She’s got nothing to do with any of it!”

“Oh, but she does now.” Drakon smiles, and it’s a grotesque thing.

“She’s a part of your life. Which means she’s a part of the game.”

“I swear to God, if you touch one hair on Duke’s head or so much as look at Allie...”

“You’ll what? Bleed on me?” He scoffs, turning away.

“Save your breath. You’re going to need it to scream.”

He walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“I want you to imagine it, Thatcher. Imagine your precious reporter begging. Pleading. Imagine the light going out of her eyes.”

Bile rises in my throat, hot and acidic.

“Drakon...”

“And the best part? Once I’m done, once I’ve taken everything from you… I’m going to make sure the world believes it was you who went on a PTSD-fueled murdering rampage. Thatcher Bryant, the fallen hero. The murderer.”

“No one will believe that,” I rasp, but there’s a tremor in my voice, a crack in my certainty.

“Oh they will. Even your son will,” Drakon says, his eyebrow arched.

“How do you think little Duke will feel, knowing his daddy is a cold-blooded killer? ”

My heart races, somehow simultaneously sinking to my stomach, and I squeeze my eyes.

As long as Duke lives.

As long as he survives this, he can believe me to be a killer.

His life is what matters.

But Drakon just laughs, that same sickening laugh that makes my skin crawl and from over my shoulder, I hear the Enforcer’s chuckle.

“That little boy of yours will come home to Russia with me and I will raise him as my own. I will raise him to hate Americans. I will raise him to believe his father murdered everyone he loved in this world.”

The door slams shut behind him and the Enforcer, the echo of Drakon’s words ringing in the sudden silence.

I slump in the chair, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

This can’t be happening.

It can’t end like this.

But even as despair threatens to swallow me whole, I feel a flicker of something else beneath the surface.

Rage.

Determination.

The unshakable resolve that has carried me through battlefields and back alleys alike.

Drakon may think he’s won, but he’s forgotten one crucial thing.

I’m Thatcher fucking Bryant.

And I don’t go down without a fight.

I close my eyes, letting the pain sharpen my focus, letting the love I feel for Allie, for Duke, for Griffin and Hunter, the family I’ve found fuel the fire inside me.

Drakon wants a war?

I’ll give him a goddamn reckoning.

But first…

first I have to get out of this chair.

The silence left behind in Drakon’s wake is a living thing, heavy with the weight of his threats.

I can almost hear it mocking me, laughing at the futility of my situation.

But I refuse to let him win.

My mind races, searching for some kind of angle, some way out of this mess.

There has to be something I’m missing, some weakness I can exploit.

I just need time.

.

.

A rustle of fabric draws my attention, a whisper of movement from the shadowed corner of the room.

I tense, bracing for another of Drakon’s goons.

But it’s merely Admiral Brady, standing guard at the door.

“How could you do this?” The question feels strange on my tongue, bitter with the taste of betrayal.

Admiral Brady regards me with an expression I can’t quite read.

Regret, maybe.

Or guilt.

But there’s something else there, too.

Something harder.

Resignation.

“Thatcher,” he says, his voice gruff.

“I never wanted it to come to this.”

“Really?” I can’t keep the venom from my tone.

“Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re right at home in Drakon’s pocket. You sold us out. Me, Griffin, Hunter… Jenna.” My wife’s name catches in my throat.

He flinches at that, a subtle tightening around his eyes.

Good.

I want him to feel it, the sting of his own treachery.

“It’s not that simple,” he starts, but I cut him off with a harsh laugh.

“It never is, is it? There’s always some excuse, some justification for turning treasonous, isn’t there?”

“I’m not—” He stops, takes a breath.

“I didn’t sell out, Thatcher. You and I, we signed up for this life. We knew the risks when we enlisted. But I’m trying to protect people. Innocent people who have nothing to do with any of this.”

Innocent people like Jenna.

“By handing me over to a psychopath? By letting him terrorize my family?” The words tear from my throat, raw and bleeding.

“That’s not… I never meant for that to happen.” He runs a hand over his face, and for a moment, he looks old.

Tired.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“The right thing?” I stare at him, incredulous.

“In what world is helping Drakon the right thing? ”

“In a world where my best operatives gave up! Quit the team and left the rest of us to clean up his mess,” he snaps, his composure cracking.

“A world where after your wife died, you turned your back on your duties and your country.”

I rear back like he’s slapped me.

“To raise my son . After that man murdered my wife. She knew she was being followed by someone. She told me and I ignored it. It’s partially my fault that she’s gone, but anything that happens next is all on you, Admiral.”

The admiral looks away, his jaw working.

“It’s not that simple,” he says again, but there’s less conviction in it this time.

“Not that simple? Dmitriy Mikhailo was a confirmed terrorist. An arms dealer. And he was planning an attack on U.S. soil. Taking him out was the only way to prevent it.” My voice cracks, the truth spilling out like blood from a wound.

“I was following orders, Admiral. Your orders. The same orders we’ve followed a hundred times before. Since when do you join the ranks of a Russian mobster over one of your own men?” I’m grasping at straws, trying to find some shred of the man I used to know.

The man who taught me everything I know about being a soldier.

“Things change, Thatcher. Circumstances change.” He sounds tired.

Defeated.

“Circumstances? Is that what we’re calling it now?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

“What circumstances could possibly justify this? What could Drakon have offered you to make you turn your back on everything we stand for?”

The admiral’s silence is answer enough.

But I press on, needing to hear him say it .

“What did he promise you, Admiral? Money? Power? Or was it something else? Something more personal?”

“Enough!” He slams his hand against the wall, the sudden violence of it startling in the quiet room.

Slowly, Admiral Brady’s eyes lock on mine.

“You of all people know what he’s capable of.”

And there it is.

The truth, hanging in the air between us.

“He threatened your family, didn’t he?” I ask softly, understanding dawning like a rising sun.

“Your wife. Your kids.”

The admiral’s shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him.

“I couldn’t risk it, Thatcher. I couldn’t risk them. Not even for you.”

“I get it,” I say, and I do.

God help me, I do.

“But this isn’t the way. Do you really think Drakon is going to spare your family? We’ve been gathering intel on Drakon’s empire for years before I retired… You and I both know he doesn’t leave any loose ends.”

“You don’t know that?—”

“I do know that. And you do, too.” The admission tastes like ash on my tongue, but it needs to be said, nonetheless.

Admiral Brady looks at me then, really looks at me.

And for a moment, I see a flicker of the man I used to know.

The man who would’ve gone to hell and back for his team.

“Let me help you,” I plead, sensing an opening.

“We can take Drakon down together. We can protect your family, get them somewhere safe.”

For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to say yes.

I think I’ve reached him.

But then his face hardens, the moment passing like a cloud across the sun.

“You couldn’t even protect your own wife,” he says, the words quiet but brutal.

“What makes you think you can protect mine? ”

It’s a knife to the gut, a twisting, aching pain that steals my breath.

Because he’s right.

I couldn’t save Jenna.

I couldn’t keep her safe.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying with the ones I have left.

“Admiral, please?—”

But he’s already turning away, his back a wall of finality.

“I’m sorry, Thatcher. But you’re on your own. As long as I continue being helpful to Drakon, he’ll keep me and my family safe. And…maybe if I’m lucky, once he’s done with me, he’ll get rid of me, but spare my family.”

Admiral Brady is delusional.

We’ve seen it a dozen times.

Drakon will kill them.

He’ll kill them all.

Unless I stop him.

The thought settles over me, cold and clear.

I have to get out of here.

I have to find a way.

For Allie.

For Duke.

For everyone I love…

even for Admiral Brady.

Failure isn’t an option.

Not this time.

I yank at my bonds again, ignoring the white-hot flare of pain as the zip ties cut into my wrists.

Blood runs in warm rivulets down my palms, but I barely feel it.

All I feel is the pounding of my heart, the rush of adrenaline urging me to move, to fight, to do something.

But there’s nothing I can do.

Not tied up like this.

Not without help.

A flicker of movement catches my eye over Admiral Brady’s shoulder, a smudge of shadow against the grimy warehouse window.

I blink, sure it’s a trick of the light, a projection of my desperate mind.

But then it happens again.

A shape, a silhouette.

Someone’s out there.

Hope surges through me, bright and sharp.

Griffin.

Hunter.

They must have tracked me down, must be coming to?—

My thoughts screech to a halt as the figure moves closer, features resolving into shocking, sickening clarity.

Not Griffin.

Not Hunter.

Allie.

No.

No no no no no.

This can’t be happening.

She can’t be here.

But she is.

I’d know those hazel eyes anywhere, wide and frightened as they stare through the glass.

Her fingers press against the window, leaving smudges on the grime-streaked pane.

She mouths my name, the shape of it like a prayer.

She starts moving along the window, looking for a way in.

Shit.

Fuck.

This can’t be happening.

Why did she come here alone?

Panic claws at my throat, a wild, desperate thing.

I shake my head frantically, the movement tugging at my wounds.

Go , I mouth back.

Run .

But she doesn’t run.

Of course she doesn’t.

This is Allie, brave, stubborn Allie who never picked a fight she couldn’t win.

I see the determination settle over her features, the tilt of her chin that means she’s made up her mind.

I’ve been hit with a lot of blows today.

Bone-crushing, rib-cracking hits that keep coming.

But this one is the gut punch I’m not ready for.

Because instead of listening to me…

instead of running in the opposite direction, Allie simply looks me dead in the eye and mouths, I love you.