to give them so they could touch down and start their own clearing of the area to eliminate any threats. I didn’t have time to clear the area ahead of time, but I figured it didn’t matter in a resort this size; they’d be okay no matter where they landed. They were SEALS for Christ’s sakes. They knew how to do their job without me babysitting them.
“Dragon, King, Maxwell. One of you assholes come in, over.”
I moved beyond the last villa in the row and headed towards an outcropping of palm trees and other exotic foliage that made up a good couple of acres of ground cover—the perfect place for someone to hide.
Ignoring the silence in my ear, I bent down to a crouch and slowly inched my way into the tropical forest, using the small tactical flashlight on the barrel of the gun to light my way, moving it from left to right as I checked for threats.
A few feet into the brush, my foot smacked against something on the ground. I whipped my gun and flashlight down and my eyes landed on a boot. A Navy SEAL issued, black, hot weather jungle boot.
“Oh Jesus. Fuck! God dammit, Garrett! Why the fuck did you come out here alone?” I moaned to myself in horror as my flashlight and gun slowly made its way up the woodland-camouflaged pant leg and across the torso bearing the same patterned T-shirt. Then I reached the face.
King, not Garrett.
It was King’s pale face and lifeless eyes that stared up at the Dominican night sky. It was King’s forehead that bore a bloody hole—a kill shot that took his life the instant it was fired. Jared King: a thirty-year-old husband and father who made us all laugh constantly back at the academy with his actor impersonations and shitty karaoke skills.
A pain shot through my chest when I realized the main emotion I felt right now was relief that it wasn’t Garrett on the ground, and I instantly felt guilty. King was a friend. A good friend. One with a new baby at home that he showed everyone pictures of before they even asked.
I pushed aside every emotion inside of me, erecting a wall to block them out, and continued with the job. It was only one person. He knew the risks when he signed on to be a SEAL. There were still two more men on his team that I needed to find and get them the fuck out of this ambush.
Stepping over the body, I continued on, pushing palm leaves and wildlife out of my way. Just three meters later, the wall came crashing down when I found Dragon and Maxwell in almost the exact same positions as King: unmoving eyes, chests still from taking their last breaths, and a gunshot wound blossoming from between their eyes.
I should have researched the location better before I gave them the coordinates. I should have made sure the area was clear before I dropped them down right in the middle of a trap. They trusted me to lead them into a safe area, and I led them right into hell. I was going to have to tell their wives, girlfriends, and mothers it was my rash decision to get them here as soon as possible for back-up, so Garrett and I could find Parker, that got them killed. They would never celebrate another anniversary with the women they loved, never hug their mother on her birthday, never watch their children grow up.
I knew better than that. I knew not to let anything distract me from a mission.
I blink a few times and shake the dark memory from my mind, forcing myself to remember that I'm not in the tropical landscape of the Dominican anymore. The sudden quiet from the stage brings me back to reality, and I watch as Layla, with her back to the seats, speaks softly to her band members. After a few minutes, she turns and makes her way back up to center stage, pushing the microphone she’s been holding into the mic stand. The drummer counts off with a few smacks of his drum sticks together, and the lead guitarist jumps in with a slow, soulful sound. This isn’t the music I’ve been listening to for the last hour. This song isn’t something made just to shake your ass to. It’s heartfelt and gentle. I watch as Layla stands with one arm behind her back and the other gripping the microphone on the