Black and Brown: Raven Assassins (Ravens #1)

Chapter Three

Mirage

Four months ago…

Besides the required military personnel, Matthew had been the only one in attendance at his parents’ funeral.

Their friends, colleagues, not to mention the countless soldiers they’d saved, were too fucking selfish to come, easing their consciences by convincing themselves that his parents would’ve wanted them to stay where they were and continue saving lives instead of traveling thousands of miles to pay respect to theirs.

Matthew stood with the clergy and the uniformed personnel who rendered the salute in front of two caskets draped with the American flag.

He was in uniform, staring somberly at tomb markers at the head of side-by-side plots.

Matthew hadn’t even begun to process they were gone—nor grieve—before he stormed into the Virginia military casualty affairs office demanding answers.

He was given the runaround for weeks before an officer had availability to meet with him.

Seclusion, morbid thoughts, and gallons of rum were how he occupied his time while waiting.

He sat on the opposite side of a captain’s cluttered desk for several long, silent minutes, desperate but terrified of the specifics he had to know. The man looked him dead in the eye and muttered, “The details of the medical facility raids in South Africa are classified. Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant.”

The officer flipped through a few papers, then handed Matthew a stack of stapled pages with ninety percent of the information blacked out.

“What the fuck is this?” Matthew scanned the unreadable evidence.

“I understand you’re upset, but watch your language, son.”

Matthew leapt to his feet, feeling as if his head was about to explode. “Don’t you dare call me ‘son.’”

“Lieutenant Adams, take your seat and—”

“I want to know what happened to my parents! And what the hell is being done about the militia that targeted their facility!”

Rage rolled off him in waves, and he couldn’t stop the tsunami rushing to drown him.

“You have five seconds to calm yourself, Lieutenant. Remember where you are and that you’re addressing a superior officer.”

“Fuck you!”

The captain picked up his desk phone and pushed a couple of buttons before gritting out to whoever picked up, “Get me the MPs.”

“Is the government doing anything about the deaths of dozens of military physicians? Not to mention the American civilians being bombed in what’s supposed to be secured locations.” Matthew yanked the receiver out of the captain’s hand and slammed it back in its cradle. “Answer me, dammit!”

The officer’s jowls turned red as he scowled at Matthew from under a hairy unibrow.

“That is classified , Lieutenant Adams, and that’s all I’m at liberty to disclose.” The captain shut the file. “Now, I suggest you go home and utilize your bereavement leave in the way befitting a lieutenant in the United States Navy before I have you apprehended and reported to your commander.”

Matthew couldn’t breathe.

Weeks he’d waited, needing answers.

If he knew the military was at least looking into these crimes, then he might be able to sleep again.

It had to be the exhaustion making him behave so recklessly. But he didn’t give a damn anymore.

He wouldn’t serve another single day for a government that considered his parents disposable and unworthy of justice.

Something deep in Matthew’s core turned black and evil before an icy, steel-clad fist gripped his heart and squeezed it until it shattered.

He trembled with a lethal mix of sorrow and fury.

Matthew leapt over the desk and grabbed the captain around his neck.

“My parents gave their blood, sweat, and tears for this country, and that means shit now that they’re dead! My parents are fuckin’ dead!”

Matthew drew his fist back and punched the man twice in the face before he went back to choking him.

“You owe them more than ‘it’s classified,’ you son of a bitch. Do you know how many soldiers they saved? How many smug officers with diseased livers and bloated colons they had to operate on because all you worthless shits do is drink and sit around on your lazy asses? Huh? Do ya?”

The man gagged, his eyes rolling back.

It still wasn’t enough when Matthew thought of how terrifying the last seconds of his mother’s life must’ve been.

He flattened his hand and chopped the captain between his neck and shoulder, cracking his collarbone.

The cry of agony was barely heard over the ringing in his ears.

Next was his throat.

Matthew wanted the captain to never utter those two dismissive words— it’s classified —to a grieving son, daughter, wife, husband, or partner ever again.

Two more punches to the face sent them both crashing to the floor, which gave Matthew the perfect leverage to pummel the captain’s gut.

A privileged bastard who’d been assigned to a desk, likely because of his inability to pass PRT.

Matthew’s hands were bruised, and he may have had a few broken fingers by then, but it didn’t slow him down. Not until the MPs arrived and dragged him away.

When his arms were confined, he kicked and stomped at the bleeding officer until he was out of range.

Matthew didn’t notice who was around, gawking and watching him get hog-tied and carried out of the building.

He could only see red, blinding rage as he was thrown into the back of the MP transport truck.