Surrender A Section 8 Novel - By Stephanie Tyler Page 0,7

her bag and prepared to watch it.

She drew in a sharp breath when the first image of her father came on the screen, and she paused it for a long moment so she could stare. Traced a light finger around his cheekbone.

There was no denying her parentage.

As Dare turned onto the highway and got lost in the blend of traffic, she hit “play,” and the voice—her father’s voice—filled the truck. Warm, dulcet tones that belied the ice in his eyes—her eyes. She felt at once comforted and sad that this would be their only contact.

But she’d never thought she’d even have this.

“Avery—doll—I’m sorry, but your momma and I decided a long time ago that it was much safer for you if I wasn’t involved in your life. But if you’re watching this, you’re in trouble because of me and things I’ve been involved in. If you’re watching this, you’re with Dare, and you’re both in trouble—and a man named Richard Powell is the one to blame.” A heavy sigh, a shake of the head. Fingers rustled in the short growth of beard on his chin before he continued. “Stay with Dare. Do whatever you have to in order to stay safe. Because the men Powell sent after you will not give up. Ever. Go home—you’ll find grace there.”

Go home . . .

She’d seen a magic show once, and what interested her the most were the interlocking circles—silver and shiny; they made the coolest noise when the magician separated them and hooked them back together until they made a long, interconnected chain.

Her mother had bought her some and she learned the trick behind them easily. Wished she hadn’t ruined the magic for herself, but she’d been too curious not to understand.

She was connected to this man, but not locked to him—not really.

Not yet. “Do you know where home is?”

He nodded. “Buckle up for a long ride.”

* * *

Avery didn’t push him for an explanation, was too busy staring at the computer screen, and Dare took those blessed minutes of silence to decide what the hell to reveal to her.

All or nothing. That had been Darius’s motto.

His earliest memory was of his father playing his electric guitar, the music ringing through the house. Darius would turn up the amps and let it blast at top volume until the walls and floors shook.

Dare’s mom had given Darius a silver pick on a chain, engraved with the date of their wedding, since he wouldn’t wear a ring. Darius gave it to Dare after Mom died, maybe when he was about twelve, and Dare couldn’t remember the last time he was without it.

He never liked being a slave to a talisman, but he was. Held the pick between two fingers and rubbed it like a worry stone.

He was never without Darius’s guitar either, although he hadn’t played it once this year. He could see it in the backseat if he turned his head, but he refused.

Maybe he’d never play again, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind.

Avery touched the computer screen one last time and then closed it with a quiet click. “What happened to Darius?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he . . . dead?”

Dare shrugged. “He’s been MIA for a year, but that doesn’t translate to dead.”

“Have you looked for him?”

“No.” The past had reared its ugly head, and there was no turning away now. At least he wasn’t dealing with a shrinking violet here. Helpful . . . and in some ways worse.

“Don’t you think you should?” she persisted.

“I’ve lived with his fallout my entire life,” Dare told her. “If you’d like to take up the mantle after we find out who’s trying to kill us, be my guest.”

The first time he’d been taken from his home was when he was six right after his mom had left them. Dare had lived with Adele and her then husband for eight months before his dad came home. It continued like that until Dare was fourteen or so and would stay at home alone during his father’s missions.

“What is he a part of?” Avery asked, and Dare knew she had every right to know.

“They called themselves Section 8 because that’s the discharge they’d all been given by the military.”

Technically, it was called something else now, but the intent was still the same. Mental defect. Unfit for duty.

“Were they?”

“Crazy? In one way or another, yes.” He glanced at her. “You worried you inherited some of it?”

“I know I did,” she muttered, and he felt his mouth