Page 11 of I Promise You
We’re at the edge of a fucking cliff.
I look down. The tip of my boot is off the ledge as I look down. We’re hundreds of feet into the air. If we fall, we’ll die an instant death with our brains splattered across the floor, coming home in a closed casket.
Dirt and small molecular rocks fall off when I drag my foot back. I look into the distance. Wrath sparks into every single vein coursing toward my heart when I see a fucking army ofthe terrorists we’ve been looking for, but they’re not sleeping, no.
Fuckers are wide awake, and it looks like they’re planning something. They’re all gathered around each other as if they’re attending some meeting.
They all have their attention on one man, and my eyes light up like the Fourth of July.
I quickly grab my rifle, peeking through the scope, and sure enough, it’s him.
Omar stands tall, unaware his chest is right in the middle of my crosshairs. Our number one target.
He’s pacing back and forth as he speaks to his own army of a team that has followed in his footsteps.
My lungs constrict, and I’m eager to pull the trigger. I want to watch the bullet pierce his monstrous, evil body, making him fall to the ground like he deserves and take another soul. Our intelligence got it right, causing my eyes to darken as I celebrate internally.
But I can’t pull the trigger.
I can't endanger my team's lives by instigating chaos and a potentially deadly battle if I kill him. Unfortunately, it’s too far off a shot. We need to get closer and pick a better, safer area to execute the mission.
Rooker walks and stands to my right, looking the same way as I am through his rifle. I look at him through my mask, and I can sense his body language shift and go rigid when he sees Omar through his scope.
He looks up from his scope and his eyes crinkle with celebration, a sadistic grin underneath his mask.
“Bullshitting is over, boys. We’re here.” I smile wickedly into the mic, the words rolling off my tongue smooth like whiskey.
3
ARI
Darkness. I’m in a pool of dark shadows and I know something isn’t right, but I don’t remember how I got here.
My hands feel heavy. My head is pounding and my thoughts are scrambling.
Why am I so thirsty?
I swallow, trying to quench the ache for water, and my throat feels dry andsore…like I was intubated. Surgical patients tell me these are the symptoms they experience when they wake up. Wait, does this mean what I think?
Why do I feel like a surgical patient?
This can’t be good.
My eyes remain shut, no matter how hard I try to flutter them open.
Where am I?
I must concentrate. I’m conscious; I know that much. I have to listen and focus on regaining myself.
That’s when I hear it.
The sound of beeping from a monitor fills my ears. I’ve spent way too much time in a hospital to know that’s where I lie and the beeping is coming from my vitals.
I’m enveloped in nothing but black and I try again to pry my eyes open, but fail miserably. I know I’m in my body, but still, it doesn’t feel like my own.
Frustration grows, and I try moving my head, but again…nothing.
I can do this. I can do this.
