Page 10 of Dark Soul

Dark snorted. “And you were the best salesman they could find to pitch this mess?”

British sat up straighter. Finally, Dark had gotten under his skin.

“Don’t misunderstand the situation. I’m not a salesman, Dark. I am a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Dark’s skin itched.

“You’re setting up a team of killers,” he finally said, making no attempt to hide his disdain. “My answer is no.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge, Dark. You and your team will enforce laws in spaces where laws can’t be enforced, using your different abilities to complete each mission.”

“I said no.” Dark stood up, the words harsh on his tongue. “I think we’re done here. You might as well take me back now.”

But British remained sitting down. He flicked absently at the tablet, in a way that made it seem as if he would have preferred a paper copy of the files, instead of the screen. “Sit down, Captain Dark. You’re not doing anything for the next sixteen years. You can spare a few more minutes of your time.”

“Fuck you,” Dark said, his hands clenching into fists.

“I can give you back your freedom, Dark,” he said calmly.

“I said, take me back.”

“I can give you back your freedom,” Mr. British repeated, as if Dark hadn’t spoken. “I can give you more than your freedom. I can get you back in.”

Dark’s heart skipped a beat. He pressed his palms on the conference table to stop himself from falling.

“What do you mean, back in?”

“With the Rangers.”

“You … you don’t mean that,” he growled, his throat suddenly dry. “You can’t offer me that.”

Nobody could offer him that.

Sixteen years from now, all he could look forward to was a dishonorable discharge.

Nobody who wasn’t in his shoes could understand what it felt like … like being repudiated by his family.

“I can make this all disappear, Dark. When the time comes, you will be free to choose whether to rejoin the 75th Ranger Regiment … or not. If you choose not to rejoin them, you’ll receive an honorable discharge.”

Honorable discharge.

The words rang in his ears.

He’s lying to you.

Nobody can promise you that.

“You’ll have a life again. But first,” the man spread his hands open on the surface of the conference table. “First you need to commit to this … project … for five years.”

Dark recognized he’d been played—like a fiddle. A part of him also rationalized there could only be one reason for them to offer this—they didn’t expect him to survive five years.

But the chance … the mere possibility … was more than he’d had before stepping on that plane. More than he’d ever expected to have again.

And Dark knew there were more questions he should be asking, about the role and what they expected him to do, but he wasn’t cynical enough to pretend any of them would make a difference to his answer, so he chose not to ask any of them.

“I’m going to need this in writing,” he said.

British’s lips curled into a thin, wolf-like smile.