Twisted Secrets Read online

  Twisted Secrets

  Deadly Isles Special Ops, book 1

  Amy McKinley

  Arrowscope Press, LLC

  Twisted Secrets

  Copyright © 2020 Amy McKinley

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  (p) ISBN-13: 978-1-951919-02-3

  (e) ISBN-13: 978-1-951919-01-6

  Publisher: Arrowscope Press, LLC; www.arrowscopepress.com

  Editing— Kate B., Line Editor, Taylor A., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing

  Cover Design—T.E. Black Designs; www.teblackdesigns.com

  Author photo provided by—Brookelyn Anhalt of lovely.life.photography; https://www.facebook.com/LovelyLifePhotography-102253596490708

  Interior Formatting & Design— Arrowscope Press, LLC; www.arrowscopepress.com

  Contents

  1. Xander

  2. Riley

  3. Riley

  4. Riley

  5. Xander

  6. Riley

  7. Riley

  8. Riley

  9. Riley

  10. Riley

  11. Xander

  12. Riley

  13. Riley

  14. Riley

  15. Riley

  16. Riley

  17. Riley

  18. Riley

  19. Riley

  20. Riley

  21. Xander

  22. Xander

  23. Riley

  24. Xander

  25. Riley

  26. Xander

  27. Riley

  28. Xander

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Amy McKinley

  1

  Xander

  The whomp-whomp-whomp sound of the blades filled the interior of the helicopter. My unease rode passenger in the empty seat next to me, mocking me with the reminder of the failed mission. The one that had cost us our commander’s life and injured our brother—my actual brother.

  Next time would be different. No other outcome was acceptable.

  The night sky was dark, as the crescent moon shed little light. Below us, thick trees formed a canopy above the ground. Adrenaline pumped through me, and I tensed as we closed in on the drop point west of the Colombian-Venezuelan border. In the back of my mind, a familiar hollowness reappeared. My brother’s injury and honorable discharge weighed heavily. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me. For a long time, all I’d needed was the adventure, firepower, and missions, until lately. Something’s missing. Dammed if I knew what it was.

  The helo descended, and I emptied my mind of all thoughts unrelated to the mission. We would fast-rope from thirty feet then take what the enemy meant to use against us. Under cover of the inky sky, the Black Hawk descended deep into the Colombian mountain range’s dense jungle, which bordered Cúcuta near the war-torn Venezuelan border. Not far from where we converged on the ground below, our informant would meet us. From there, we would close in on a building rumored to house a stockpile of weapons potentially meant for use against the United States.

  A sea of trees was below. I waited. A small clearing came into view, barely visible with the minimal light from the moon.

  We were ghosts going into the darkness. If caught, our country would deny our existence. We knew the risks.

  Our lines dangled above the ground, as we weren’t jumping with parachutes but fast-roping. With night vision goggles and backpack in place, I pulled thick gloves on then looped the rope around my non-dominant leg—the other foot would clamp over the top to assist with breaking. At the pilot’s order, all six of us dropped from the helo with ropes secured between our gloved hands and feet. The helicopter blades whirled above, and the wind rushed past. In a matter of seconds, I squeezed my hands, which slowed my drop dramatically. The ground approached quickly, and when I touched down, I bent my knees to absorb the impact.

  Through thick, leafy branches, all six of us slid to the ground below. We released the ropes soundlessly. The whirl of the helo as it banked away was the only foreign sound. My team gathered beneath a large tree before heading east to the coordinates we’d received from the informant, confirmed by both satellite infrared imaging and our handheld GPS devices.

  All that existed was the mission and our role in securing the weapons. We’d gone over our approach, and each of us knew our position, the expectations for intervening with the informant, and what to do afterwards.

  The jungle was displayed in a thermal layering of greens through our night goggles. With our weapons locked and loaded, we looked to Daryl, our relatively new team leader, for the order to move out. He gave the hand signal, and we shifted into a single-file formation, guns up and ready. He led us through the thick jungle teeming with hostiles. Our guards up, we moved swiftly but with care to make as little noise as possible. A mile out, we came upon the clearing where the informant waited. A vehicle would then take us to the target building and the cache of weapons inside.

  We were at the tail end of the dry season, early April. It was hot as hell, and the scent of rotting vegetation surrounded us. The mesh netting in our combat clothing protected us from the mosquitos and other insects. It wasn’t long until we reached the coordinates on the edge of the jungle that flanked the metropolitan area. No one stepped from the shadows to greet us.

  My gut tightened from the bad omen that had stalked us on our flight. Something’s not right… As with our last fubar mission, I felt it deep in my bones.

  We absorbed the rhythm of the jungle, taking its measure as we crept forward. The informant was a no-show, but we were mere steps from the building where we were to meet. A hush descended the closer we crept, the usual night sounds absent.

  Daryl gave the signal to stop. We’d rehearsed him leading us in. Kyle would go next, and I was behind him with the rest of our unit holding up the rear. With a hand signal from our team leader, Daryl, Kyle moved up in front. Another jolt of unease punched me in the gut. Why? I clenched my teeth, the last-minute change from a well-rehearsed and planned mission grating on my already taut nerves.

  Kyle shoved the door open as I peered around Daryl. Goddammit. Kyle and Daryl shouted to retreat. I whirled around with the rest and sprinted to the edge of the forest. We hustled, but the blast caught us not far from the doorway.

  On the floor of that barren room had been the informant, a bullet through the head, his body rigged with C-4 explosives.

  Shit! It’s a setup.

  The blast took me to the ground. Move! Move! I yelled at myself. A piercing drone rung in my ears, and the ground spun as I tried to right myself. Dragging my hands close to my chest, I pushed up on one knee. Something hit my shoulder, hard. It took me back down, and I landed in the dirt again, pain flaring down the right side of my body. But adrenaline kept most of it at bay.

  I sensed the thud of a body, forced myself to my feet again, and whipped around. Immediately, I locked on the body that lay a couple feet away from me. Kyle. Liquid oozed from the back of his neck. In less than a second, I was c
rouched by his prone body.

  Daryl stood over us, alert and sweeping for hostiles. I didn’t expect that to be it.

  Tearing at the Velcro on my right side, I pulled out the hemostatic agent and poured the granules over his neck and open head gash. That would stop the bleeding until we could reassess. I hoped the oozing substance was only blood and not spinal fluid.

  A handful of the granules went to my injury, pressing it into the torn flesh before I hoisted Kyle over my shoulder. Gunfire cut through the open area just as we took off. Daryl covered us as we tore through thick brush, branches slapping our faces and arms, bullets peppering the air around us. There’d been a slight delay in the gunfire—maybe the hostiles responded to the explosion, but chances were better that they were part of the trap.

  We tunneled into the brush and wove through the trees, but dread stalked us, as it wasn’t the first ambush.

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  The dull ache in my shoulder barely registered as I crossed Pearl Harbor’s base then pushed through the building’s entrance to find Daryl, our new team leader. Anger pulsed aggressively through me, as did the conversation I’d had yesterday with my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend, Carly.

  Unwelcome, yesterday’s encounter replayed through my mind. I’d been in the rehab room, one day away from being released, working on the exercises to strengthen my shoulder.

  I couldn’t stop the smile when Carly had crept into the room. Her curly shoulder-length dirty-blond hair fell around her heart-shaped face. Everything about her was soft and inviting. It’d been too long since I’d seen her, which I realized was unusual. Even so, I welcomed her beautiful face until I got a better look at her expression. Tears fell from her eyes, and her voice sounded devoid of strength. I stiffened, waiting for the blow.

  “I wanted to wait to tell you when you were home, but”—she tugged at the hem of her fitted white T-shirt, her gaze skirting to the big windows rather than remaining on me—“I was already here. I-I met someone else.”

  I ground my teeth, waiting for her to continue, wondering if she would tell me who or why she couldn’t wait for me to come home. I thought we’d had something good. We’d never fought, and she’d seemed happy. Things had been good between us, or so I thought. A cold numbness stole over my body, and I schooled my features so as not to reveal emotion. “Who?”

  She inched back, her hand fumbling for the door. “We met at the beach, and we just clicked.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s Daryl.” She turned and fled.

  Rage flooded me. Goddammit! I turned and slammed my fist into the closest wall. Blood welled around my knuckles, the pain slow to register. I didn’t know who I was angrier at, Carly or Daryl. That told me more than I wanted to know.

  With the new day, I’d shoved my feelings about Carly down deep. But Daryl—that poaching motherfucker. He’s to blame for more than taking her. After this, I wanted to find fault in everything Daryl did. A cold son of a bitch, he’d changed our mission at the last second and for no apparent reason—switching the order of entry from himself to Kyle. Not only that, but Kyle hadn’t survived. The head and neck wounds where large shrapnel had caught him had leaked with both blood and spinal fluid.

  How the hell am I supposed to trust Daryl? After John had died, Daryl was assigned to our unit through temporary addition orders. He was my brother Ty’s unit leader, something Ty and I would discuss very soon.

  Daryl and I needed to talk.

  When our team returned from that last mission, there had been other pressing concerns, including dealing with the death of one of our own as well as several injured. In a matter of minutes, I would walk from the hospital. The release papers were in my pocket. I’d stayed to complete the last few required PT exercises, but that was done.

  I shoved out of the rehab center’s double doors, stalked down the hallway, and pushed out of the exit door into the bright sunlight. Unable to deal with or change Carly’s decision, I would focus on Daryl and what had gone down in Colombia.

  I was finally out of the hospital, and I wanted answers.

  The most pressing question surrounded that last mission, where we’d been ambushed. One casualty was bad, but it could have been worse. I’d escaped with shrapnel imbedded in my shoulder. Those were the risks we took, even though I still had a bad feeling about what had gone down.

  The shrapnel had been surgically removed days before, and enough time had gone by that the Navy cleared me to leave the military hospital. I’d passed all the physical tests, and my injury, while tender, was healing nicely. It could have been worse. Being at the hospital for the amount of time they’d ordered wasn’t what I wanted or felt was needed, but as the military looked at all SEALs as military property—valuable and expensive weapons—I hadn’t had much choice.

  That mission was stuck on repeat in my mind.

  Without pause, I headed to the conference room where Daryl and my brother Ty were. Ty had been assigned to my SEAL unit through temporary addition order while I was away. Daryl bent over a laptop, and Ty stood nearby with his fists planted on the long table. He didn’t look happy.

  I entered the room, and Ty took one look at my face then rounded the table and shut the door, sealing the three of us in.

  “Xander, I got the message that you’d been released and cleared for active duty. Good to have you back,” Daryl said.

  “Is it?” I growled. “Colombia was your first mission with us and second consecutive ambush. We barely made it out of the jungle, and I, for one, have some questions.”

  “Careful.” Daryl swiveled in his chair until we were face-to-face, his glacial glare warning me to watch my step. “I realize you’re upset about losing your teammate, but running your mouth will land you in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  “It goes without saying that I’m upset. We all are.” I tilted my head to the side and worked hard not to clench my fists as Ty resumed his former position at the table. “I have a question. After being stuck in the hospital, I had plenty of time to run through what happened that night, and something doesn’t add up. Why did you change formation at the last minute?” Had he known something we hadn’t and put himself in a safer position? I wasn’t ready to accuse him—I needed proof. But his instant reaction showed me that he got where I was going.

  A meaty fist slammed onto the table. Red infused Daryl’s already ruddy face. “You’re out of line.” Daryl stood, his lips peeled back in a menacing growl. “Your doc and I are going to have a talk about your readiness to return to duty. Mentally, you’re not there. Take the rest of the month off. The paperwork from him will soon follow.”

  Ty lurched around Daryl and cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. It’s just grief. Hard to come back the first time, and Kyle isn’t here,” he muttered, stepping between Daryl and me.

  “I don’t want to see your face until you’ve reevaluated the proper way to speak to your commander!” Daryl growled.

  “Let’s go, Xander,” Ty said.

  He whirled me around, and I let him. I didn’t like Daryl, especially after Carly. I hadn’t brought it up, but it had fueled my accusation—something I’m sure he’d known. Granted, things had gone too far on my end, and I was lucky that what I’d said had only resulted in forced leave. I hadn’t meant to say what I had, but I hadn’t been thinking rationally. On a personal level, there was no trust. And after Carly made her revelation, I’d had way too much time to think, and things weren’t adding up.

  “Christ, Xander.” Ty’s hand was wrapped tightly on the back of my neck as we plowed through the exit and into the bright sun. “There are questions, and then there’re accusations. You’re damn lucky you only got off with a slap on the wrist.”

  I clenched my teeth. “You know John would have never rolled over and accepted two back-to-back ambushes.”

  “There was an inquiry. You heard about the investigation and the lesson learned. Daryl isn’t the cause.”

  “Do you know about Carly?”

  Ty
’s features shuttered, and I could tell he understood the underlying source of my anger toward Daryl.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “I found out when I saw them together yesterday, and she begged me not to say anything to you. She was on her way to tell you.” Ty squeezed my arm. “You weren’t that into her, anyway.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I growled.

  “Yeah, I get it. Daryl fucked up and isn’t the easiest to warm to. He does things differently in terms of communication. He’s a bit standoffish, and I don’t even know where to go with the stealing your girlfriend situation. That’s not cool. I’m pissed for you. For now, try to keep that separate from the fact that he’s leading your unit. He’s good at what he does, and there must have been a reason for him to change the op at the last minute.”

  “It’s all ego and secrets. If we can’t trust him on a personal level, then he’s not part of our team.”

  “I get it. You’re pissed. I’m not happy about what he’s done, either.” Ty stopped, and we faced each other in the parking lot. “We’ll figure this thing out. For now, you need to cool down. Go home, meet a girl you have a deeper connection with, and get lost in her for a while.”

  That’s not something I had any hope for, as I’d never fallen for someone in the way he meant. I clapped my brother on the shoulder, checked my bad mood, then got in my truck. Once I was pointed in the direction of my condo in Honolulu, I thought about what he said. He wasn’t wrong. I should have kept the discussion professional, wallowing in the loss of my girlfriend or in how much I wanted to kick Daryl’s ass—which I still wanted to do. Instead, my thoughts returned to the failed op and what we must have missed. That last mission proved that something had to change.