Chapter 3

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t he wasteland of Afghanistan sprawled out in front of me, the sun beating down on my skin like a sadist.

My eyes burned from the glare, the air thick with dust and grit that choked the shit out of me. That dry, cracked earth sucked up every bit of moisture like a thirsty whore desperate for every last drop.

In the distance, jagged mountains ripped through the horizon, their peaks lost in the haze of the blistering sky. The sun blazed like a motherfucker, turning our cramped vehicle into a goddamn oven. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and dripping like it had nowhere else to fucking go.

And then shit blew the hell up.

The explosion rocked the car, sending everything to chaos. Shrapnel tore through the air like jagged teeth, ripping through the flimsy-ass metal of the vehicle. I shouted, barely recognizing my own voice as I was flung out of my seat by the sheer force of the blast.

Even with the pain burning through me, I forced my ass to move. Somehow, I rolled out of the wreckage, grabbing my rifle and yelling at my team.

“Get the fuck out! Now!”

My voice barely cut through the chaos—gunfire, screams, and explosions all blending together in the fucked-up orchestra of war. Ears ringing, adrenaline rushing, I tried to shout louder, my throat raw.

“We need to get the fuck out of here!” I roared, hoping that someone heard me over the shitstorm around us.

The heat outside was suffocating, pressing down like a goddamn anvil. The dirt beneath our feet cracked and drank up every drop of moisture left in the air, like this whole fucking place was designed to wipe us out.

One of my guys hit the ground, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the dirt like the earth was thirsty for it. I couldn’t take my eyes off the stain spreading across the ground, the last bit of life seeping out of him.

Adrenaline was pumping like a freight train, my heart jackhammering as I dodged incoming fire and unleashed a few rounds of my own. The insurgents were everywhere, screaming shit in their language as they shot at us from all sides. The roar of gunfire was deafening, bullets tearing through the air like demons.

We were outgunned, outnumbered, and completely fucked.

I fired shot after shot, my rifle kicking back hard enough to rattle my bones. I watched as those bastards dropped, their screams filling the air before hitting the ground like sacks of shit. The earth trembled under the gunfire, bullets screaming inches past my head. It was chaos, pure fucking hell, with neither side letting up for even a second.

Every nerve in my body was fried, tension wrecking me from the inside out, my veins still flooded with adrenaline. The mission had gone sideways, and all I could think about were the teammates I’d already lost.

I peeked out from cover, taking in the destruction. Bodies were scattered everywhere, some motionless, others twitching in their death throes. The insurgents had fucked us up and then disappeared, their job done with zero casualties on their side.

Then the pain hit—searing, blinding pain ripping through my chest. Something slammed into me, knocking me flat on my back. My head spun, my vision swam, and all I could see was the sky above me. I tried to move, but my body was done. Dirt and dust stung my eyes, the taste of blood filling my mouth, thick and metallic. The pain was unbearable, crashing over me in waves until it pulled me under into darkness.

I had failed. I’d let my team down. I fucked up the mission.

And I remembered every bit of that shit like it had just happened.

“ The stitches didn’t hold.”

No fucking shit.

The words played on repeat in my head like a broken record. My eyes shot open, breath caught in my throat. I looked down, seeing the god-awful mess of stitches holding together the gash in my gut. The same damn doctor who patched me up was there, her hands still deep in the wound, blood oozing like a waterfall.

“I need more blood!” A nurse scurried in, gripping a blood bag like it was her life raft. She hooked it up to my IV, eyes wide and jittery, like she was about to piss herself.

"You’re in good hands, sir," she said in this sickly sweet voice, like that was supposed to calm me down.

I gave her a weak-ass nod, my vision still swimming, fighting to stay conscious.

“We’re doing our best to stabilize you,” Doc muttered, eyes glued to the wound as if sheer willpower would stop me from bleeding out.

A sharp pain cut through my body, feeling like fiery needles stabbing the shit out of me.

“Hold still!” she snapped, her attitude as sharp as the damn scalpel she was using. I let out a rough snort, pain twisting me into knots.

“Seems like your best isn’t good enough, sweetheart ,” I said, letting the ‘sweetheart’ linger. Doc’s eyes widened, irritation written all over her damn face.

“Watch your tone, Lieutenant.”

“You watch yours,” I fired back, a weak smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.

The pain was unbearable, but pissing her off was the only thing keeping me from screaming. Her sutures burned like hell, and I could feel my temper boiling over.

“I’m not one of your men, Lieutenant,” she replied, her voice just as harsh and sharp as mine. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“Then treat me like your equal, Doc.”

The nurse flinched, her eyes darting between us, probably wondering if this was about to turn into a full-blown war. I couldn’t give two shits. My eyes were locked on Doc’s, and the tension between us was thicker than blood.

Finally, she broke eye contact, her expression softening a bit as she kept working on my gut. The nurse kept a watchful eye on the IV line, her eyes darting back and forth like a paranoid little mouse.

The pain in my abdomen roared with every stitch she pulled, every movement making it worse. But as she worked, something about the way she kept her cool stirred up some weird shit inside me.

“What, you running outta space? Gotta tie me down like a fucking animal?” I asked through gritted teeth, the pain still stabbing at my stomach.

“We’re just being cautious,” she replied, professional and unemotional. “It’s standard procedure for a patient that tried to commit suicide or to escape,” she added, her hands still deep inside the wound.

“I’m wounded, not crazy,” I murmured, pissed off and exhausted.

“That’s what they all say,” Doc said in a dismissive manner. “Now, if you’d like to get out of here alive, I’d suggest you quit complaining.” Her cold, clinical tone was almost a relief. No bullshit sympathy. Just the facts. I could respect that, as much as it annoyed the fuck out of me.

For some twisted reason, I found myself liking her more. I liked that she didn’t back down from me, even though I knew I was being a pain in the ass. She didn’t take any of my shit, didn’t flinch when I came at her with my sarcastic crap. I could tell she wasn’t easily intimidated. And that, in some fucked-up way, made me less pissed at her.

“British, huh?” she asked, trying to distract me from the pain in my stomach.

My mother was.

“My apologies, love, for not sounding like a cowboy,” I replied with a sly grin, my accent thick as fuck. “But I suppose I could slap on a cowboy hat if that’d make you feel more like home.”

Doc rolled her eyes so hard, I half expected them to get stuck. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, clearly pissed off. “I knew you were a pain in the ass, but I didn’t realize you were such a smartass.”

“Well, you’re not here for chit-chat, sweetheart. You’re here to patch me up.”

She sighed, clearly fed up, but stayed focused on my wound. As I laid my ass on the operating table, those hospital lights bore into me, making me feel like I was being grilled alive. My mind was spinning with a shit tone of emotions; fear, panic, confusion, desperation, and a strange sense of peace.

I strained to move my head, looking around the room like a desperate fuck, searching for any sign of my teammates. My side ached and my torso itched where the stitches ran. My chest heaved as I focused on slowly and deliberately breathing, trying to ignore the discomfort.

“We don’t know anything about your team,” the nurse told me gently.

Obviously. They were all dead.

I gritted my teeth, suppressing a scream. Every death I witnessed made me grow colder and numb. Death had become this icy, merciless reality, and I had transformed into a machine, operating efficiently without giving a fuck about the losses.

In a fucked-up way, it had become easier to deal with, knowing it was all just part of the sick game. I didn’t want to remember their faces or their names, or even feel the agony that accompanied their loss.

None of that shit mattered anymore.

Our mission was to extract a high-value target, but it had all turned to shit. It was a setup. The insurgents knew our every move, and my team paid the price in blood.

I tried to wrap my head around how the hell they could’ve known about the mission, but there was no obvious explanation. It was as if those assholes had been tipped off, lying in wait for us. There was no way to rule out the possibility that we’d been betrayed by some sleezy cocksucker within our own organization.

We had been played from the very start, and the thought of someone from the inside selling us out made my blood boil. I needed answers, but I sure as hell wouldn’t get them lying here, tied down like a goddamn dog, at the mercy of some nameless doctor.

“How long does it take you to patch up a couple of holes, Doc? You’d think we were rebuilding a Swiss watch here,” I grumbled aloud in a sharky tone.

She rolled her eyes again, clearly about done with me. “I’ll be done when I’m done,” she finally said, her voice rather annoyed.

“Yeah, thanks for stating the fucking obvious,” I retorted, letting out a sarcastic laugh.

“Alright fine, if you want to bleed all over my operating table, be my guest,” she said, shaking her head slightly before returning to her work.

“Well, you better hurry the hell up then,” I added, my voice tired and worn out.

She let out a frustrated groan, finally losing her patience. “Are we really going to do this right now?” she asked, her nerves on the edge.

“Oh, my bad, Doc. Guess I’ll just bleed to death in silence then, shall I?” I retorted, sarcasm dialed up to eleven.

“Just shut up and let me finish my work,” she blew air, her annoyance bubbling the fuck over.

I felt irritated by her snide attitude as she continued to work, taking her own sweet time.

“Or what? You’ll stitch me up even slower?” I taunted, pushing her buttons a little too hard.

Too much?

I knew better than to keep poking, so I shut my mouth and let her work in silence. The fatigue was dragging me down fast, the pain and exhaustion pulling at every fiber of my body. Her needle finally stopped, and she pulled it out of my gut, making me sigh in relief.

“There,” she said, sounding pleased. “All done. Happy now, soldier?”

“Oh yeah, Doc, over the fucking moon,” I replied with a sarcastic edge to my voice.

She peeled off her gloves and washed her hands, not even bothering to look at me. Her indifference bugged the hell out of me, but I knew better than to say anything. As I watched her finish washing her hands and walk out, I remained quiet and still, trying to process everything that had happened.

I felt that all too familiar pang of anger and frustration building up inside me, but I pushed that shit down. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by those petty things. I had a mission to complete and I needed to stay focused on finding that traitor, no matter the cost.

“Untie me,” I hissed, struggling against the bindings that kept me from moving. “Now.”

Doc didn’t even look back. Just walked out like I didn’t exist. Her indifference was annoying as fuck, to say the least.

Irritation flooded through me as I struggled against my bindings, pissed off at being so helpless and out of control.

That fiery-haired devil managed to really fucking get under my skin.

“The doctor’s orders are that you remain restrained for the night,” the nurse said awkwardly, trying to be as polite as possible.

“Don’t give me that same bullshit excuse about it being policy,” I blurted out, my patience quickly running out. “I don’t need to be tied up like a mad dog.”

She gave me that pitiful look like she felt sorry for me, but her face stayed blank, keeping up that fake professionalism.

“I understand your frustration, sir,” she replied in a measured way. “But Miss Harper’s orders are clear. You must remain restrained for your own safety and that of others.”

Miss Harper. A fitting name for a demonic entity.

But Harper felt too personal, too intimate. For me she was Red. The red-haired devil who was somehow driving me insane.

I laid still, trying to remain calm and maintain my composure. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a solution to my current situation.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” nurse added, her voice oozing condescension.

Lucky. Yeah, right. In this fucked-up place, luck was a goddamn joke. Seemed like everyone in this godforsaken place had gone completely fucking delusional.

And here I was, not a patient, but a fucking prisoner.