I Promise You: A Dark Military Romance (Scarred Executioners Book 2)

What a ballsy decision these terrorists have made. It’s even more insane to think they can bring this war to us. But oh, how I love their enthusiasm to take me out. I love how they think they can kill me. It’s just making this that much more fun.

I get to reap souls.

The thrill of seeing life drain from evil people, sending their souls to my good old friend, Death, is what I thrive on.

And I always win.

Still, I’m upset they ruined my little angel’s birthday. I’ll be gone for a while because of their need to kill me. This was supposed to be Ari’s day, and they took that from me and her.

I will enjoy every moment I get my hands on them and make them regret starting this bounty they have for my head.

I. Can’t. Fucking. Wait.

It’s the middle of the night and we’re about to breach a little house in the middle of nowhere in Georgia. They’re just hours away from where I live. They found us fast; our primary mission tonight is to discover how they could get this information quickly.

They’re sloppy already and have revealed how evil they can be. They came out on military intelligence’s radar when they caused quite a stir at a local bar in town when a couple of women reported being assaulted and raped to the police.

They’re dead men.

“Creature, you comfortable up there?”

Operator Creature.

Admiral Ravenmore wasn’t lying about him.

Daegan Hannibal, age thirty-five, has dark hair, and tall, built, gray eyes and wears a black mask like the rest of us, except he never takes his off after being captured. No one knows what hides beneath the right side of his face, but rumors say he’s scarred horrifically. He’s partially blind in his right eye, yet he never misses a shot. He refused to talk about it when he was a prisoner of war. No one knows how he got his injuries, and he doesn’t talk about it, nor am I too intrigued to ask. As long as he carries his weight and executes a job well done; I don’t give a fuck about his personal life.

The man refused to take a leave of absence when he returned home and was assigned to my team immediately.

He might be more insane than I am.

Creature hides behind a tree somewhere in the distance on a hill, looking for any movement, watching us all like a hawk in the shadows, anticipating.

“Another day in paradise, Reaper,” he murmurs with a low chuckle.

“Roger that,” I reply.

I’m the first to enter. We don’t explode through a wall this time.

It’s more calculated. We want to enter like ghosts that go through walls; I love the challenge. I take out my knife, cutting through the mesh screen. It’s a one-floor house on a ranch.

I make sure my lovely knife always stays sharp.

I spent the whole night sharpening it on the drive here. Thinking of all the ways I will use it on these motherfuckers. They have no idea what they’re doing knocking on my door.

Rooker, Lopez, and Kane follow me behind.

We’re all geared up head to toe, night goggles strapped on tight. Our faces are covered in camouflage paint. And, of course, our masks. Each one of us wears a mask on missions.

“They want to kill Death, they say. The one that wears the reaper mask, they say.”

Admiral Ravenmore’s voice plays in my head vividly and viciously, like a broken record.

They want to hunt me?

I’m fucking game.

I open the window quietly, not making any sound. The noise of the cold wind drowns out our footsteps.

We enter the living room, and I let Rooker take the lead for the first time in a long time. It’s a tactic we discussed on the way here. I want to see how it goes. I want to see if there’s even a slight chance I’ll be able to walk away from this life to join Ari in a civilian one, and the only way that’s happening is if Rooker shows me I can pass the torch to him.

The thought of breaking away from my career was never even a thought. A year ago, I wouldn’t believe where I stand right now.

Danny Rider, captivated by a sweet little soul named Ari, wondering about the possibility of leaving the Navy.

We’re quiet, holding our rifles tight, night vision goggles on, walking through the house.

Our boots quietly step on the floors, and I’m in a different state of mind—the mind of a killer. Death is in my head and he’s excited.

Hell, so am I.

This is the part of the job I hated yet thrived in.

We don’t know how many of these criminals are here, but we figure it out as we go.

The house has a basement that I’m aware of. It’s perfect for questioning and housing more people. There are probably more of these assholes down there.

Rooker is in front of me and we’re ready to capture, but if they engage us first, it’s lights out for them.

Then I smell my sweet little angel. Her sweet perfume that has me always so intrigued to taste her. It fills my nose and spreads everywhere.

It’s only been a few days, and I already miss her.

I need to push her out of my mind even though she’s invaded every part of it devastatingly.

I can’t fuck up, I must stay focused, or it means my team’s life or mine.

Suddenly, I see something on the right side of Rooker through my night vision. A gun sticking out of a hallway to his right.

A dead man, walking.

It’s a pistol pointed straight at his head. I react. The only thing you have to do in these situations. Spend one fraction of a second too long in thought, too long in decision-making, and you’ve sealed your fate. You are hammering the nail in your own coffin.

You hesitate, you die.

You think too hard, you’re dead.

Something I’ve been slowly teaching Ari. I’ve been giving her lessons on self-defense ever since she was attacked, teaching her my ways to defend herself and how to shoot a gun if it ever came to it.

I grab the handle of my knife tucked into my kit. It slips out of its case like it always does. I flick it fast and quickly, aiming for his arm.

The sound of a knife pierces through his bones, puncturing him to the wall.

Target hit.

I’m not surprised. I never miss with my knife.

His gun gets tossed into the air from the forceful impaling, steamrolling the bullet to shoot the ceiling instead of Rooker’s head.

The man completely misses Rooker—a man saved.

Rooker flinches, bewildered, when he realizes what happened. He catches his breath before turning his rifle on the threat.

“You just saved my life for the thousandth time.” He huffs a short, grateful laugh.

But I’m emotionless.

I don’t feel shit.

Rooker puts his finger on the trigger, getting closer to him, ready to eliminate the threat, but I stop him.

I motion for him to stop. He nods in recognition. He’s always been my right-hand man. He knows every single one of my moves.

I stalk toward the man with fast, long strides, my boots hitting the ground hard, making deep thuds.

He’s mine.

He can’t die, though. We need information.

“Fucking shit!” the man yells in pain, panicked, staring at his wounded arm. My knife hit his arm so fast, deep, and forcefully that he’s pinned to the wall. The blade is holding him there like a hostage.

I smirk in satisfaction when I hear him cry out in pain. I love it when they do. He was about to kill one of my brothers.

It’s pitch black. Little light illuminates the room, but I know he can see me. Rooker shines a light on him and he watches me, instantly growing pale. He keeps trying to grab the handle out of his arm. His speed at detangling himself from the knife increases the closer I get to him. But he fails and winces every time he pulls, and there’s no outrunning me.

The blade pierces his flesh every time he tries to bolt, attempting to untether.

I’m close now, looking down at him, amused at his pathetic attempts. Even if he frees himself, he will never truly escape.

He shakes when he realizes I’m here with his incoming doom. Sweat has broken out all over his forehead, and little sniffles whimper out of him.

“It’s you.” He inhales sharply, his eyes circling so big I can see every little vein in his eyes.

I scoff.

I get in the man’s face, squatting.

“You’re Death. You’re…you’re the one who killed Omar’s son, you’re—”

He’s quivering, sweating, and trying to swallow his trembling saliva through shaky, fearful breaths. His words barely come out of his mouth as he stutters on each word.

“Death got your tongue?” I look down at him eagerly.

“Grim Reaper.”

I clap my hands, congratulating him, sinisterly. All lasers from my team’s weapons are pointed at him from behind me.

“Ready to sing for us?”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

He reaches for another gun tucked into his pocket and tries to aim it at me, but I’m fast. I grab his wrist and twist it so hard he drops the gun, and his bones break. I kick the gun to Rooker, the pistol gliding across the floors and he stomps on it.

Then footsteps surround us all, loud and heavy. I turn to Rooker and he returns my gaze with a delighted shrug.

An electrocution of adrenaline shoots through me. “Let the fun begin, boys,” I roar with amusement.

Two men charge me. One has a gun, and the other a machete.

Rooker shoots the man with the gun straight in the head. I pull my favorite knife from the man’s arm and wall. A blood-curdling scream escapes from him. I throw the man wielding a machete up against the wall with one arm as he screams at me. He charges me with impressive speed, but it’s not enough to get me.

I stab him in the neck, and he drops the machete. He scratches at my hands, and I let him go. He ends up on the floor, hitting it hard, red splatters everywhere, even getting some on my boots. Fuck me, I just bought these. Death smiles as he hovers over the man scrambling for life, doing his best to hang on.

But I’m not done.

The man with the broken wrist scrambles for the machete dropped to the floor now that he is a free man. I watch him grinning behind my mask at his enthusiasm.

He really thinks he can escape us. How tragic.

Kane steps forward, pulling out his pistol to shoot his hand, but a sharp, loud bang sends the man’s hand exploding, and blood explodes all over us. At first, I can’t figure out what the fuck just happened. If Kane didn’t pull the trigger, then who…?

The front window to the house had shattered simultaneously when the man’s hand ruptured.

Ah, that makes sense.

“Creature, you almost fucking shot me, asshole! I know you’re new, but what the fuck!” Kane unleashes his fury at Daegan through the mic, and I smirk as Kane shudders from the unexpected shot.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Bane. I never miss.” Creature’s voice vibrates in our ears sinisterly as he reloads his sniper.

“Nice,” I compliment Creature. He does make a great addition to our team, after all. I stare at the man’s hand marked with a deep, wide hole in it. He squirms, roaring in anger as if the louder he gets, the more it’ll help ease the pain.

“Grim, there’s more of these fuckers in the basement,” Lopez shouts from the corner of the room.