The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Ernest Dempsey (top 10 books of all time txt) 📖

brushing lightly against his cheek. He breathed slowly, half through his nostrils and half through his mouth to remain utterly silent. The razor-sharp point on the arrow aligned perfectly with the target.

With a slow blink, Dak gradually allowed the string to retract until it was back in a neutral position.

"Not today, young fella," he whispered. He didn't speak loud enough for the deer to hear him, but the animal's head shot up and looked around, spooked by something.

It took a few steps forward and then resumed foraging for food in the forest undergrowth.

Dak smiled.

He didn't enjoy killing animals. Hated it, in fact. Animals naturally acclimated to their environment, doing their instinctive best to live in harmony with nature and the planet. People, on the other hand, stripped the land of its resources in their all-consuming hunt for more, more, more.

Dak had hunted since he was young, his late uncle Ben taking him on trips into the mountains for wild turkey, deer, and pheasant. The most important thing about hunting Dak ever learned from his uncle, was to never kill what you don't need. That was one of the greatest sins of humanity against the earth, taking more than people needed.

Back at the cabin, Dak had a freezer full of food that would last him several months. On top of that, he had an emergency supply of MRE-style meals that could stretch a year or more if needed.

He'd considered the irony of not taking more than he needed when comparing it to his long-term food supply, but that was different. Being ready to sustain himself for a while wasn't greedy or hoarding. It was good planning. Killing this buck right now, when he had plenty to eat, was another matter.

The animal looked up again, this time locking eyes with him. The creature blinked, its dark orbs flashing behind wide eyelids. Dak felt overwhelmed by the moment. It was spiritual, serene, surreal, as if looking into the eyes of a ghost reincarnated into this beautiful creature.

Dak watched the buck, observing its movements as it continued grazing. Then, when the animal had exhausted the easily gleaned supply of food on the ground, it trotted deeper into the forest, flicking its cotton tail as it retreated from view.

Dak took a deep breath and exhaled, realizing his breathing had grown shallow while he watched the beast, almost as if he'd forgotten to breathe at all.

The moment over, he shifted in his seat and reached down for the thermos of coffee to his right. He pushed back the magnetic seal on the lid and took a sip. Two hours later, the rich coffee still steamed like it did when he first poured it.

This was what Dak loved most about hunting. Not the kill, but the peace of being in nature without so much as a scratch of humanity to interrupt his thoughts. A few birds chirped and sang in the treetops. The trickle of the mountain spring near his cabin barely reached his ears. Other than that, the location was utterly peaceful.

The smell of dried leaves, pine, and coffee were the only other interruptions the morning provided.

Until he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate against his thigh.

He let out another sigh. Irritated and curious, he pulled the device out of his pocket and looked at the message preview on the screen. Only one person had this number, though he wished he could share it with another. That, however, would be too dangerous. Nicky had helped him get back on his feet. He couldn't risk contacting her again, not with Bo Taylor and the others still out there.

Carson Williams was dead, either still sitting at the bottom of the ocean off the coast of Miami, or in the bellies of a hundred sea creatures. But four threats still remained, and Dak didn't dare contact Nicole until they were gone.

Four more, he thought. Dak still wasn't convinced the colonel could be swayed with evidence of his innocence in the events that took place in Iraq more than seven months before. He hoped that could be the case, that he could return to his life as Dak Harper and not some alias hiding out in the mountains. He would do that as long as it took, years even, so long as the men who betrayed him paid for what they'd done.

He tried not to dwell on vengeance, but it was nearly impossible. The only way he truly justified it was knowing that if those men had stabbed him in the back, there was no limit to the sins they would continue to commit against others.

Dak's green eyes fell to the phone again. He pulled his baseball cap off and ran his fingers through thick, almost black hair, reading the message again.

His irritation melted.

"I found Luis. Call me."

The text was from his friend Will in Portugal.

Will had been scouring the globe, going above and beyond what Dak could have ever requested. For the last month, though, he'd come up empty, finding no sign of Luis or the others.

Deep down, Dak hoped Luis would be the next one he found. The Mexican-American had been the softest of their group, the one who—if interrogated—would prove most likely to give up information about the others, assuming he had any. That last part was improbable, but Dak had to try.

He'd known Carson would never share any details about the locations of the others if he had them at all. Carson's overconfidence led to his downfall, but it would never have wavered.

Dak took another swig of coffee, set down the thermos, and pressed the green button to call Will.

The phone only rang once before his friend answered. "Found him," Will said.

"So I saw. Where?"

"Good morning to you too. And you're welcome."

Dak merely twisted his head slightly back and forth. "I'll thank you when you tell me where he is."

"Mexico. And you're not going to believe what he's been up to."

Two

Uruapan, Mexico

Marco Espinal watched the road through the windshield of the black Ford Explorer. For the last two