Chapter 1
I sat in the back of the helicopter, knees jammed against my bags, the helo rattling and bouncing as it cut through the rain-heavy African sky. Raindrops streaking across the round perspex window, smearing the view into nothing.
The crew chief leaned in, grabbed my shoulder, and held up two fingers.
“Two minutes and we’re home,” he shouted in my ear.
Home. Right.
I looked out the scratched glass, hoping to glimpse something, anything, but there were only clouds and mist.
I still wasn’t sure if they sent me here to reward me or shut me up. After years of writing fluff about celebrity breakups and stories no one actually cared about, I finally wrote something real. I wasn’t supposed to.
They gave me a soft piece. Medicine shortages in rural African clinics. I was meant to quote a few aid workers, add some stats, and file it. Done. But one nurse mentioned missing shipments. The numbers didn’t line up. I followed the wrong lead on purpose and wrote the story that actually hit.
And somehow, they didn’t fire me. They sent me to Sierra Leone instead.
I left behind my tiny apartment, overpriced coffee, and a city that never shut up about the wrong things. I traded it for mud, rain, and a place where the world didn’t just talk. It bled.
No more secondhand stories from sources behind phones. They wanted me in it. Eyes open. Feet on the ground. War zone reporting. On-site. First woman they’ve ever sent. Totally unheard of.
It wasn’t just dangerous. It was completely insane. And exactly what I’d been waiting for.
This wasn’t climbing the ladder. This was free-falling, with no idea what was at the bottom. And I grinned like I couldn’t wait to hit it—but as the helicopter bucked through the storm, shaking like it might rip apart mid-air, I wondered if I’d just flown straight into the worst decision of my life.
Across from me, my so-called traveling companion—silent since the airport—was dead asleep, slumped against his pack like this was just another Tuesday. Tam. That’s all I had. No last name, no real intro. Just the personality of a brick wall.
His face looked carved from dry wood. Sharp, tired, sun-worn. The kind of pale skin that burns before it tans. A face that had seen more than it ever planned to say. His bush hat was pulled low, and his uniform looked like it had lived in the bottom of a duffel bag for a decade. Mine still smelled like new fabric and nervous sweat.
I reached for the camera they gave me, still fumbling with its weight. Awkward, bulky, too many damn buttons. I was a writer, not a photographer. Back home, I used my phone. But that wasn’t allowed. Neither were personal items. Not on an assignment like this.
I lifted the camera and aimed it at Tam. Took one shot. No idea why. Maybe to feel in control. Maybe because he looked like a man who’d vanish the second I looked away.
He hadn’t said much since we left. Just pointed to flights and overnight stays with the bare minimum of speech. No small talk. Just that practiced silence, like he’d already decided I wouldn’t last long enough to bother with.
The helo dropped like a stone. Slammed into the mud, then pitched sideways so hard I lost all sense of up and down. One second I was bracing. The next I was airborne, then crashing straight into him.
Tam snapped awake with a grunt, one arm flying out to catch himself before I fully body-slammed him.
We froze—me awkwardly sprawled across him, his hand braced against the wall, those sharp blue eyes locked on mine. Cold. Unimpressed. Still half-asleep, which somehow made it worse.
Then he shoved me off with one quick motion, like I was something gross that had just landed on his lap.
“Fuck me,” he growled as he adjusted himself. Voice rough, like sandpaper soaked in attitude. “There’s a reason we have seatbelts, you dickhead.”
Wow. First sentence I’d gotten out of him in over an hour, and that’s what he went with. Charming.
My gear was scattered everywhere. I swore under my breath, scrambling to gather it. I could feel him watching. Not curious, not concerned. Just judging, like I was useless. An inconvenient problem someone else had dumped in his lap.
And the worst part? It wasn’t new.
People had looked at me like that my whole damn life. Like I was too soft, too slow, too much of everything they didn’t have time for. Never enough of what they wanted. I’d learned to square my shoulders, lift my chin, pretend it didn’t matter.
But with him, it hit harder.
Maybe because he didn’t even bother to hide it. He looked right through me, like I was already dead weight. Like he was just waiting for me to prove him right.
My hands shook as I jammed a strap back into place. Not from fear. From fury. From the sharp burn of being seen exactly how I swore I wouldn’t be.
I came here to do a job. One shot that could change everything. And fuck him—I was going to do it.
A smirk tugged at my lips as I remembered how his boss had laid it out for him: “Just fucking do it, or head back home to the farm and shovel sheep shit for a living. Your call.”
Yeah. You’re stuck with me, Tam. Sucks to be you.
“Ella, slow down a bit,” Tam said, voice low and tired. “We’re staying in here until the rain lets up, so take it easy there.”
“Oh, so you can talk,” I snapped, pausing just long enough to glare at him. “I’m honestly shocked you even know my name.” I threw him a look, bold and mean. “Lucky me, huh? Now I get to spend even more time in your delightful company.”
Tam didn’t flinch. Just leveled those cold, hard blue eyes at me.
“My job is to keep you alive, vrou,” he said, that strange flat accent turning the word into a slap. I didn’t even know what vrou meant, but I was pretty damn sure it wasn’t a compliment.
“I’m not here to hold your hand. And I sure as hell am not here to be your friend.”
Something in me flinched, but I didn’t look away.
“You need to get this through your head,” he said, stepping in closer, his voice dropping to something low and dark. Not angry. Dangerous. “This place isn’t like anywhere you’ve ever been before. It’s very, very easy to die here.”
My throat tightened.
“So you keep your smartass comments to yourself, lady. You watch. You listen to the people here. And you better fucking learn. Fast.”
Each word landed like a brick—heavy, final—stacking on my chest until I could barely breathe.
Then he leaned in, close enough for me to feel the heat in his voice.
“Because if you don’t, you’ll be leaving here in a body bag. And the only thing anyone will think is what a fuckin’ idiot you were.”
A chill slid down my spine as I stared at him, actually seeing him for the first time. Cold. Calculating. Lethal.
He wasn’t just some grumpy asshole who hated my guts. He was the kind of man who didn’t bluff. Didn’t flinch and never offered second chances.
I wouldn’t underestimate him again.
When the rain stopped, we grabbed our gear and walked across the pad toward a squat, single-story building.
“This used to be a school before we moved in,” Tam called over his shoulder. He glanced back and saw me falling behind.
“Here, hand me some of that,” he said, sounding more tired than annoyed.
I stared at him. Why would he help me? I was pretty sure he liked watching me struggle.
He reached for one of the heavier bags, and that’s when I saw it.
A pistol. Tucked into the back of his pants like it was part of him. Like it had always been there.
I froze.
He’d been armed this whole time. Since we left South Africa. Two days. Two full days.
And I hadn’t noticed.
My stomach dropped.
This wasn’t some thrilling story I’d brag about later. This was real. Life or death. No edits. No safety net.
And I wasn’t ready.
