Widowmaker by K.L. Ramsey

Two hundred and thirty-eight—that was the exact number of men I killed while serving my country, earning me the nickname Widowmaker. Guys would call me that and joke about me being a “killing machine”, but I hated that fucking nickname. All I wanted to do was find a little cabin out in the middle of nowhere, but every time I disappeared, I’d get called up for another assignment. As soon as I could break free from good old Uncle Sam, I would and I’d find that life I had been dreaming of. That was the plan until Eagle Eye showed up at my cabin, telling me about an elite group of Mercenaries who needed my help. My old friend was calling in the favor I owed him and telling him no wasn’t an option.
Being locked in a cage made me long for things that I never thought I’d wish for—namely death. At twenty-three, I had so much more life to live, and God, I loved living it. I lived too—going to clubs with friends while finishing my senior year of college. Sometimes, I had to pinch myself that this was my life. That all changed the night I left my dorm room to hit the clubs with my roommates. I never saw that van until it was too late, pulling around the corner, blocking my path into the club. Three men jumped out and before I could even scream, they stuck a needle in my neck, and my world went dark. Now, I sit here in this cage, wishing for death and knowing that sooner or later, he’ll come for me.