whipped in his chest. Unarmed and unprepared definitely wasn’t the ideal state to be in. Especially not when Ben was due home at any moment.
The man motioned with his gun, urging him to move.
Bull stood, keeping his movements controlled to avoid a trigger-happy prick from shooting him before he had a chance to spare Ben from this.
“Why breach Davenport?” Bull asked.
“A means to an end. I needed access.”
The voice still didn’t ring familiar in his mind. The breach could be traced back for several months, but something about the man’s control conveyed a rage that seemed to have simmered far longer.
“How long have you been waiting?” Bull asked as he circled the couch, stopping where the gunman gestured for him to remain—standing behind the back of the couch where nothing obstructed their view of him.
“Thirteen years and two months. Since you killed my father.”
Bull’s memory was sharp and crisp—every mission, every target, all cataloged in his mind. Especially that pain-filled scream he had heard thirteen years and two months ago that had haunted him far too long for him to ever forget.
His last mission.
Their target had been a man who had destroyed several governments, turned people and countries against each other. He blew up planes, ships, buildings, and villages. Took thousands of lives and ripped apart just as many families. The man had been elusive for years and it had taken three different missions and two separate teams, but they had finally found him and ended his reign of fury.
The background intel on the mission had revealed the man had a wife and teenage son. Little was known about them that day. And even though Bull hadn’t seen them when their team had stormed the compound, he had suspected the woman’s scream was likely the target’s wife when she had found her husband’s body.
The man standing before him now was no longer a teenager. This was a strong and angry man who couldn’t wait to unleash his rage in the name of vengeance.
Bull slid his hands behind his back. There was a very slim chance he would get out of this alive and he needed to drop a breadcrumb if that were going to be a possibility.
“Hands where I can see them.”
There was over a decade of revenge brewing in that man’s gaze. Bull didn’t need to excel at reading people to clearly see an eye for an eye was the only accounting that would make sense in the man’s mind. While Bull had berated himself for years, telling himself he followed orders on that day, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t forget the sound of the woman’s scream, especially knowing he had played a role in her pain.
That day, he had been a part of the team that killed a dangerous terrorist on the world’s watchlist. And even though the man had taken countless souls in the name of his cause, the man standing before him had lost a father who had likely been his hero.
It was a twisted world they lived in and Bull would accept death if that were his fate.
But he wouldn’t chance sacrificing Ben.
He straightened, standing just as tall and as firm as the man holding the gun at his face—close, but still too far away to overpower. “That’s a long time to wait. I’d expect you’d want to take me somewhere special.”
“Take him,” the man said to his henchmen while keeping his gaze firmly on Bull.
The man to his right chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere near that fucker. I’ve already been on the receiving end of his shit.” The henchman drew his gun from his holster and shot two darts into Bull’s neck.
Bull instantly swayed on his feet and reached up, pulling out the darts.
“What the…”
He wasn’t sure if he was cursing at the darts, their quick effect on him, or the man’s words before he had shot him.
“Had to make sure it was potent enough to take down a bull.” The man chuckled at his own pun as he tucked the tranquilizer gun in the holster. He weaved his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. He then curled his hands into fists in a slow deliberate movement.
The memory of that same hand movement, coupled with the man’s words from a few seconds ago, instantly clicked in his foggy mind.
Brown Shirt Guy. “Chicago. Rooftop. I kicked your ass.” Bull probably shouldn’t have added that last detail, but the tranquilizers were obviously screwing with his common sense.