Jackson was lounging against the wall that led up to the stairs, his face set in a serious scowl. With his arms crossed over his chest, he looked just as alert as ever. A massive purple bruise colored his left cheek and most of his jaw and there were scratches up and down his arms too.
While he couldn’t see them, Walker knew milk burns covered Jackson’s hands. Just like his own.
He’d been the one to grab the prisoner after he’d run from the wreck of his car, his body in flames, and his screams filled the compound. Walker wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the sound of those agonized screams…
They’d just left him there, burning. Dying. Slowly and unimaginably painfully. The intruders, he meant. The prisoner’s supposed brothers-in-arms. They’d taken one look at him as he’d run after their car
