Chapter 27 - The Armor of Vengeance
For thirty minutes, the basement echoed with the sharp snaps of Velcro, the heavy metallic clicks of charging handles, and the methodical loading of high-capacity magazines. Dylan strapped on a level-IV ceramic plate carrier, securing extra magazines across his chest rig.
Looking into the mirror propped against a tool bench, Dylan barely recognized the young man who had arrived at Camp Pendleton weeks earlier hoping for a second chance. The doubt was gone. The insecurity that had plagued him since childhood—always living in the towering shadows of his war-hero father and decorated sister—had been burned away by fire and betrayal.
Mia walked up behind him, carrying a pair of tactical night-vision goggles and a silenced Sig Sauer P320. She held out a polished brass medallion on a dog-tag chain.
Dylan stared at it. It was the Marine Corps emblem—the exact same badge Marcus had ripped from his chest and kicked into the gravel weeks ago.
"Sully retrieved it from the guard shack trash bin," Mia said softly, her eyes glistening with rare vulnerability. "Marcus wanted you broken, Dylan. He wanted you to believe you were weak because if you realized who you truly were, you’d be the only one strong enough to stand in his way. Father always said you had the hardest spirit in our family. Tonight, I believe him."
Dylan took the badge, feeling the heavy, cold metal in his palm. He didn't tuck it away. He clipped it directly onto the front of his combat vest, right over his heart.
"Let him see it," Dylan said, his voice dropping an octave into pure, lethal focus. "Let him see exactly who came to take him down."
Sully tossed a pair of tactical headsets onto the bench. "Encrypted frequency 409-Delta. The Coast Guard is searching north toward Los Angeles thanks to a phantom distress beacon I just routed through Long Beach. You’ve got a clear run down the coast, but once you hit the *Caspian Tide*, you're on your own. Marcus has at least forty private military contractors on that ship—former Ukrainian and Russian naval commandos. They shoot to kill."
"So do we," Dylan said.
May you like
They moved out into the midnight mist, loading their gear into the back of Sully’s unmarked truck. As the vehicle rolled down the coastal highway toward the hidden boat dock, Dylan watched the black surface of the Pacific Ocean churn beneath the heavy sky. A storm was brewing on the horizon, but out there on the water, the real tempest was about to begin.
***
