by Angela Rush
When they come in to abuse me, I try not to show emotion. Knowing it will give them satisfaction to see my fear. The beatings seemed to come at regular intervals. It’s how my day begins every day. A blinding light from the opening of the door of the shed, then they are beating me, humiliating me, and threatening me with worse abuse. Then I am left to my daydreams to pass the time until it comes again.
This morning some new men have joined the others. The light from outside is blinding. My eyes hurt so badly from the light. They have left the door open this time. Fear overwhelms me. There is something evil about the new commers. The group of men enter the shed and come to stand over me, blocking some of the light. Asshole is with Tweedledee and Tweedledum today. He seems to be the ringleader of their group, but the new men behind him are definitely in charge now.
These men are armed with machine guns at the ready. They have pistols at their sides and knives strapped to their thighs. The new apparent leader is tall maybe 6’4” with short black hair, a full bushy mustache. He is muscular and handles himself with confidence. His sharp chiseled features would have made him handsome, if not for the sinister look in his black eyes. He must be Satan, himself.
“Who’s this brother?” Satan inquires.
“The whore I told you about that was meddling in our business in Guatemalan villages. I was able to acquire her. Actually, I got paid to take her. Now, I am teaching her the consequences of messing with the Lopez brothers.” Asshole replies with venom in his voice. He spits and it lands near my face. I can’t help but flinch. Their laughter angers me that have given them any satisfaction.
“I haven’t touched her yet, brother. I was getting paid to torture her, but that has come to an end. So now I’m going to use her. Would you like the first taste? Or do you prefer we train her first?” Asshole reaches down to stroke my cheek. I jerk back and swing my right fist toward his face, but the chain hampers my movements. So, I try to wrap the chain on my wrist around his arm in an effort to pull him off balance.
“You bitch!” He screams and smashes his fist into the right side of my face. Stars flash before my eyes and blood trickles down my face. I struggle to remain conscious, terrified of what will happen if I am unable to remain alert.
“She is filthy and fucking a whore in a tool shed is not my idea of a good time brother. You seem to have forgotten I have much higher standards than you do. However, she intrigues me, leave her untouched. Clean her up and bring her to the compound in 3 days. Then I will take her and train her myself. She looks like she would be a good fuck. Feisty, just like I like them. It’s so much fun to break them.” Satan says as he turns away.
The men begin discussing business. A large shipment of drugs and guns will be moved in a couple of weeks. The men are planning to attack a small outpost along the Mexican American border in a remote part of Texas. They know the shift changes of staff, the names of the border patrol officers, and their families. They are planning to abduct family members to get cooperation of the patrol officers. They are clearly insane. Can they really get away with something like this?
The need to get away and to tell someone, before they can carry out their evil plan is overwhelming. Drugs have wreaked havoc on so many. Drugs ruin the lives of not only the user, but their family members as well. The men continue discussing the upcoming shipment of drugs and weapons. They discuss which border agent families to target. They discuss who they think will be the most likely to heed their demands. Later the conversation again returns to me being held their captive. Satan seems to be unhappy that his brother has brought me here. He is rattling on about drawing unwanted attention to his operation. He promises Asshole serious harm or death if my being in there causes them to lose or get caught with the shipment of drugs and weapons.
A little while later after Tweedledee has given me my beating, he says, “It’s time to have some fun. If we aren’t going to get our money anymore, we can at least get something we want out of you. I don’t care what the boss says.”
He kneels next to me and shovels his hand up my shirt and begins to grope me. His touch is rough, and I can’t stop a whimper from leaving my lips when he bites my breasts through my shirt. He pulls my pants and underwear down to my ankles and he forces me onto my stomach. I hear him fumbling with his pants. Oh God! This can’t be happening. His rough hands grab my hips and jerk them up, so my sex is on display for him. I try to crawl away, but he is too strong. He holds me where he wants me. Just as I feel his vile shaft push against my folds, a shout from outside the shed stops him. Tweedledum enters the shed yelling in rapid Spanish. Tweedledee responds in a similar manor. They are speaking so fast I don’t understand what he says.
Tweedledee jumps up righting his pants. He jerks me up from the floor and pulls my clothing back onto my body. Thank God! He again binds my hands behind my back and drags me outside by my hair. I am again thrown into the back of the jeep. The men seem to be upset about something and seem to be in a hurry to leave. We head off through the jungle at breakneck speed with Asshole at the wheel. I’m thrown around in the back of the jeep like a rag doll. My ribs are again very sore. It’s hard to breath without coughing. As I begin to think, I’m going to pass out again, gun fire erupts.
My captors pull out several large guns and begin firing behind us and to the right of the jeep. Whomever is after these men are getting closer. Tweedledee and Tweedledum grab me roughly by my shoulders and feet. Suddenly, I am air borne. The ground rushes up to smack me hard. My head slams into the ground and my vision blurs. All the air is forced from my lungs from the impact. I look to see my captors looking back at me, but they don’t stop. They continue to race away from me firing at some unknown enemies behind us. The roar of an engine fills my ears and realize that I am about to be run over by a vehicle that is hurdling along the jungle path.
I struggle to get out of the way in time, but it’s no use. In my weakened condition and with my hands bound, I can’t move much at all. Thankfully, the men in the Humvee that barrels down upon me sees me in time to stop before making me into roadkill. Several camouflaged clad men leap from the vehicle with guns raised and scanning the surrounding jungle. Who are these men? Have I gone from the frying pan to the fire? In my panic I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs and my vision begins to fade, the darkness coming in from my peripherals at a rapid pace. The last thing I see before I slip into the void is bright green eyes peering at me with concern.
Chapter 4
Hawk
We have been down here for weeks and finally we have a solid lead on the gun runner’s location. We are loaded up and ready to raid their little hide out. We are taking 2 Humvees with my guys in the first vehicle and the SEAL team in the other vehicle. We head in first to secure the site and set up a perimeter. The SEALs will secure the weapons and ammunition and prepare for extraction once everything is secured. Everyone knows their job. We have been training together for a couple of months now and the SEALs are like an extension of our band of brothers.
As soon as we descend on the hide out, a jeep takes off through the jungle. Our group follows it in case they are going for reinforcements. Deadeye is driving while I relay to the SEAL team the change in plans. It is a harrowing race along a narrow trail. The green foliage whips by as we increase our speed in an effort to catch up to the jeep. We are at a disadvantage not knowing the terrain as well as those we chase, but it seems we are gaining ground. I hear gunfire and see the flashes from the end of a machine gun. I only catch a glimpse as the jeep careens to the right around a curve and out of sight.
We round the curve and see a long straight stretch of trail in front of us. The jeep is close. I can see the dark skinned, black haired men with guns blazing. Suddenly, they drop their weapons and reach down to grab something. Fear briefly races up my spine as I wonder if they have an RPG. When they raise back up, they throw something, no someone, out the back of the jeep and onto the trail. There is no way to go around the body due to thick growth of trees on bo
th sides of the trail. Deadeye is forced to break hard to stop and not run over the body on the ground. The Humvee careens sideways as we slide to a stop. We jump out ready for an ambush. Moving to the body, I look down and see those beautiful hazel eyes that have been haunting me for months looking back at me before they roll back into her head.
It’s the woman from the airport. The one that caused such a stirring in me, that I have found myself thinking about daily over the last couple of months. I have even dreamed about her at night, jacking off when I wake with her on my mind. She is covered in filth. Her clothes are torn and several shades darker than they once were from the layers of dirt caked on them. Her face is swollen and bruised in varying shades of blue, green, and purple. Blood oozes from a cut over her right eye and her lower lip. Her hands are secured behind her back with zip ties. There is fresh and dried blood on her wrists from prolonged exposure to the zip ties. Her ankles are secured in a similar fashion.
How in the world did she end up here? Why would the gun runners have an American woman tied up and then dump her out? Was she just a distraction to get us off their trail? She looks like she’s been through hell. I pull out my Strider knife and cut the binding on her wrists and ankles. Being careful not to make her injuries worse, I slip my arms under her body and scoop her up bride style and carry her to the Humvee.
The guys are all watching me as I settle into the passenger seat with her in my lap. I cradle her to me as I bark out orders to load up, notify the SEAL team of our status, and to head to the nearest safe house with medical supplies. Deadeye my second in command takes the driver seat, eyeing me suspiciously. Once all the team is on board, he puts the Humvee in gear and takes off in the direction of the safe house. I know they are all curious about my actions. As their leader, I don’t usually care for the civilians we encounter or rescue for that matter, but there is just something about this woman that stirs my interest. There is no way I will let anyone else care for her. Only me.
Once we arrive at our destination, I carry her into the bathroom of the first bedroom. Placing her down on the tiled floor, I turn on the water to the tub. She is covered in dirt and blood. Her breathing is labored and her pulse if rapid. Her clothes are torn in places. Deadeye follows me into the bathroom, helps me get her undressed and lowered into the bathtub. Keeping my arm behind her back along the shoulder blades to keep her head above water, I begin to wash away the grime. She would probably be mortified to know two strange men were giving her a bath, but it is necessary to get the grime off so I can see what kind of injuries we are dealing with.
As I wash away the dirt and blood, bruising in various stages of healing become visible. Her eyes are swollen. There are several deep abrasions along her forehead. It takes several attempts to get all the dried blood off her face. It has several lacerations and her nose has been broken as well as the busted lip. I move down to her chest and see the bruising of bite marks on her breasts. They look fresh. My blood boils and red flashes before my eyes. They have violated her. I will kill them all.
The feel of broken ribs as I rub the washcloth over her torso makes me sick. Large areas of purple discoloration covers her sides and abdomen. There is bruising in the shape of a boot print on her right lower back. She has fresh fingerprint bruises on her hips and thighs. Blood drains from her lower lips. Bile rises in my throat, but I manage to swallow it back and continue what needs to be done. I can’t allow myself to think about what those men have done to her.
Once her body is clean, I reposition her to wash her hair. The water runs a brownish-red as we wash away the blood and dirt that is caked in her hair. She has a couple of deep lacerations on her scalp. They look like they have been there for a while and infection has set up. After we have gotten her washed and dried off, I carry her to the bed and place one of my t-shirts over her body and we slip some boxer shorts on her lower half for modesty.
Deadeye gets the med kit out and begin to dress the lacerations. Straw comes in and gets an IV started. He hangs some fluids and antibiotics. Using a stethoscope, I listen to her breathing to see if I hear any dead space that would indicate a collapsed lung. Feeling confident that we have done all we can for the poor woman, I settle in a chair at her bedside to wait and hope against hope we have gotten to her in time. It feels bizarre that I am this drawn to a stranger, but there is an undeniable connection to her that makes me want to protect her, keep her safe. I look to see if she is wearing rings to indicate she has someone waiting for her, but her left ring finger is bare.
“Hawk? You want me to take first watch?” Deadeye asks as he nears the bed.
“No, I’ve got her.” I reply. He knows to let it be. Even though I haven’t slept much for a couple of days when I set my mind to something there is no changing it. He shrugs and follows Straw out to help the team and make sure everything is secure. There’s no doubts. The best men in the Marines are on our team. I never have to worry they aren’t doing what needs to be done.
Time passes slowly as I wait for her to regain consciousness. Her breathing is steady, but I have noticed some rattling at times, and she has developed a fever. Using cool wash clothes, I wipe her down to cool her skin. We haven’t been able to give her anything for the fever since she hasn’t awakened enough to swallow any Tylenol. Worry has become a constant state for me. Will she live to make it out of here? Yes, she will make it out alive and back home, if it’s the last the last thing I ever do.
Chapter 5
Charlotte
When will this pain be over? I’m so tired of hurting. Why don’t they just kill me already? What did I do to deserve this? I am basically a good person. I try to help others; I donate to the Salvation Army at Christmas and always get a couple of angels from the angel tree. I know I’m not perfect, but come on, do I really deserve this? I must have voiced my ramblings out loud, because a deep rumbling voice said, “No, love, you don’t deserve what they have done to you.”
My eyes fly open to see the beautiful green eyes looking down at me. I try to scoot away but I’m so weak my efforts are pathetic. The most handsome looking man I have ever laid eyes on, smiles down at me. Am I dreaming again?
“You are safe, love. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.” I’m confused. He is not one of my captors. It’s the man from my daydreams. I look around to see where I’m at. The room isn’t very large, but clean. There is a small window to my left where the sunlight is streaming in providing light. There are few furnishings in here. A table sits beside the bed and a few folding chairs are scattered around. I see an open door in the wall on my right that appears to lead to a bathroom. I’m in a large bed with the softest sheets, or perhaps they just feel soft since I have been sleeping on the ground for God knows how long. I notice I have an IV dripping into my left arm. It still hurts to breath, but I can at least get some air in my lungs.
“Where am I?” I croak. My voice is weak. My mouth is so dry. My throat feels like it is covered in shards of glass, it hurts when I try to swallow. When did I last have water? Or food for that matter?
“The Columbian jungle at a safe house.” The gorgeous man declares. “I’m Staff Sargent Jordan Jackson, US Marine Corp, but my guys call me, Hawk. You are with a group of Marines and Navy SEALs. Can you tell me who you are and why you were laying in the middle of a trail in the jungle tied up and beaten half to death?”
As the bed dips down, I look to see the green-eyed man sit down beside my right hip on the bed. He is truly a handsome man. His black hair has smatterings of grey and is longer than I would expect a military man to have, but it looks just right to run your fingers through it. His face is now covered with a thick black beard and mustache again with streaks of grey. My gaze travels down the length of his body that is visible, and it is just miles and miles of muscle. I wonder if he has a 6 pack of abs. Large thigh muscles bulge and flex as he adjusts himself on the bed. As my eyes return to look at this handsome man, they stop at his lips. His lips look so warm and soft. What they would feel like against mi
ne? What he would taste like? His thick beard and trimmed mustache cause me to imagine what they would feel like on my inner thighs as he devours me.
He is staring at me with his eyebrows raised in question. He did ask me a question, didn’t he? And I was ogling him, having wicked thoughts. What is wrong with me? This is so not the time to be having these kinds of thoughts. I lick my dry and cracked lips to moisten them without success. He notices my feeble attempt and reaches over me to the nightstand and picks up a cup. He slides his arm behind my shoulders and helps me to sit up.
“Go easy, only small sips.” His voice rumbles through his chest and into my body, doing wicked things to my lady parts. “You will get sick if you drink too fast.” When I have taken a few sips, I tell him my story.
“My name is Charlotte Williams,” I wince as I try to take a deep breath, but I continue. I tell him about myself, the girl, and the events leading up to my capture. “Once I realized there was no friend it was too late. I was ambushed, beaten into unconsciousness, and taken away. Wait! Did you say Columbia? How did I end up here? That’s a long way from Guatemala, right?”
“Yes, it’s quite a long way. When were you taken?” Hawk asked.
“June 2nd. We had been in country for about a week when I was taken.” I reply. “What day is it?”
“August 20th.”
“Oh God! It’s been that long? Everyone must think I’m dead. I have to let my kids know I’m alive and my employer, if I even still have a job. Oh Lord! My bills and my patients at the clinic. Do you have a phone? I need to start calling people, “I rattle on until his laugh cuts me off.