The problem with doing favors was that they had a habit of coming back to bite King on the ass. His current situation being a perfect example.
Years ago, King decided he was out for good. He’d served his country, made sacrifices, and allowed them to turn him into someone he barely recognized. While deployed, he’d lost his parents and hadn’t been able to bury them or even attend their funerals. Another chain added to the ones already wrapped around his heart, weighing him down. Then he lost his brothers-in-arms, and he was done. He loved his country. He did not love the men who asked for his loyalty and sacrifice but gave none in return, only empty promises. It was King who’d looked after his broken brothers on their return, not the men in Washington who’d turned their backs on them, offering hollow words of sympathy and condolences. He neither needed nor wanted their prayers. What he wanted was for them to stop using soldiers as their playthings, or at least have the decency to take care of their toys.
Yet here he was being escorted through a cold windowless concrete corridor by half a dozen armed soldiers at an undisclosed location in the middle of God-Knew-Where, Florida. Anyone who believed black sites on US soil didn’t exist was living a fairy…