Page 13 of Hunter's Mission

Na-lynied leaned over me so he was inches away and as his face became a blur of rage and war paint, he said something I couldn’t understand. But his tone sent chills down my spine.

He dropped the phone to the floor and his vacant black eyes flicked between me and my lifeline to the rest of the world.

“No! Don’t!” Tears flooded my eyes.

He drove his spear through the delicate screen, shattering it to pieces.

CHAPTER 4

HUNTER

I strode away from Conan,my Belgian Shepherd, trying to mask my limp. But I couldn’t. The burn scar across my right butt cheek pulled my skin so tight that the limp was there to stay, forever reminding me that I was damaged.

“Now I'll demonstrate an escalation of force,” I announced to the crowd of eight potential clients. My voice was steady despite the unease gnawing at my gut. I loved working with the dogs and training them to be the best they could be, but it was a double-edged sword. The best dogs seemed to go to the worst assholes.

These people were civilians, not military personnel, and it was wrong to offer a dog like Conan to this bunch of pretentious bastards. But military dogs weren’t in demand as much as they used to be. They’d been replaced with robots and drones. Dogs like Conan were now sought by bodyguards who couldn’t do their job, and celebrities who wanted attention.

Sweat trickled down my back as I adjusted my thick padded suit, hating the weight and heat that came with the protective gear. I’d worn gear like this all the time in the navy. It never pissed me off like this back then. The thick gloves were cumbersome. The helmet's visor kept my face hidden and trapped my hot breath. The padding around my torso was bulky and annoying.

But all of it was necessary; Conan’s jaw and teeth could crack through coconuts.

Fifty feet away, I turned back to Conan. He stood rigid and his eyes locked on me as he waited for my signal. He kept me focused, as did the sting from the burn scars that ruined me and my navy career. I raised my padded arm.

A murmur rippled through the spectators as their gaze flicked between me and Conan. I saw their curiosity but also their fear. Good. I knew what Conan was capable of, but they needed to see it for themselves. Conan was not a pet. He was a lethal weapon.

“Conan, attack!” I said, bracing myself for the impact.

Conan charged toward me, snarling and baring his teeth. My world slowed as adrenaline surged through my body. My heart raced as Conan leaped off the ground. His muscular frame crashed into me as his jaw locked around my raised arm. Unable to stay upright, I slammed onto the ground, but my training kicked in and I held myself rigid as Conan gnawed at my padding, trying to rip my arm off.

Conan’s fierce growl was terrifying, and his attack was real, but also controlled. He didn’t go for my neck and bite through my jugular. I’d trained him to go for my right arm, where most attackers would hold a weapon.

Conan snarled, snapping his teeth inches from my face. He was a terrifying sight.

The crowd gasped with their eyes glued to us.

“Conan, enough!” I said.

Conan released his grip on my arm and his vicious demeanor was replaced by a wagging tail. I patted him on the head, trying to catch my breath. The demonstration had gone well, probably too well. He would be sold today.

Conan stood two feet away, staring at me, ready for my next command.

I rolled onto my knees and tapped my thigh.

Conan came to my side and lowered his head.

“Good boy.” As I patted Conan’s head, he wagged his tail.

The crowd erupted in applause, and I allowed myself a small smile. I stood and with Conan at my side, I walked toward the crowd, fighting the limp in my right leg.

Does anyone notice?

Two years ago, I was a Navy SEAL, fighting for my country.

Now I was a damaged man, fighting to contain my anger.

I strode to the front of the crowd and instructed Conan to sit at my side.

“Any questions?” I scanned the faces of the potential clients and didn’t like any one of them.