Please God, if you give a shit about me, don’t make me.
Bracing myself for the worst, I manage to mutter out the words.
“Tell me.”
“She’s missing.”
My relief is short-lived because the news isn’t much better. “How the fuck is that possible? She’s on base.”
“She went on an aid mission. They found the Humvees yesterday.”
“What’s the Humvee’s condition?”
“Blowed-up.” IED.
“Ambush?” I gather, and his silence confirms as much. “On a fucking aid mission, whose bright idea was this?”
“It was routine. Two trucks left in pairs of fours. Five bodies accounted for.”
“Who is with her?”
“You know I can’t disclose any more than I have.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Every word he speaks has me sinking deeper into my seat. Noah kicks the ball and looks up at me to make sure I’m watching—that I’m proud. Deep blue eyes search mine as he reads my expression, and I feign a smile, hoping he believes it. All I want is to tell him I’m proud, but the sight of him blurs as I clear my throat.
“They’ve got birds up.”
“Who took her?”
Silence.
“Roger,” I grit out. “Who?”
“We think it might be militant extremists because of the type of blow-up.”
“Militia?” I pace the porch and turn my back to Noah. “Jesus. Fuck!”
“We’ve got eyes everywhere. Try and sit tight, and I’ll get back to you when I know more.”
“Roger—”
“I’ll keep you updated.”
“Roger!”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Gavin. I’ll keep you updated.”
The line goes silent, and I run a hand over my jaw as I try and will myself to calm down. Noah watches me silently from the grass.
“Daddy, why are you cussing?”
“Sorry about that.” Cool sweat beads at my forehead. They’ve got her. They’ve got my wife. Turning my head briefly, I suck in a breath trying to reign in my emotions before I address my son. Keep it together, Gavin. “Hey, buddy, want to go spend the night with Mikey?”
He shakes his head.
“I bet he really misses you. Let’s pack you a bag.”
Noah stomps up the steps, his big blue eyes solemn, and I can see the protest on his tongue, but it doesn’t make it past his lips. He’s intuitive and can read my every mood, which makes me both proud and fearful that I could fuck this up by being the backbreaking bastard to him that my father was to me. His ability to scope feelings will make him the best kind of human, like his mother.
Closing my eyes, I try to tamp down the reaction still threatening. She’s a fighter, and I need to believe she’s capable of surviving this. It’s the only way I’m going to make it through.
All she wanted was to help wounded soldiers, to be her father’s daughter, and to set an example for our son.
Clearing my throat again, I nod toward the back door. Words escape me as he removes his grass-covered sneakers just as a cool breeze sweeps over the porch. Looking back at the swing, an eerie feeling envelops me, and for a split second the thought that she’ll never see it shakes me to my core.
“Come on buddy, let’s get you packed.”
Noah sits quietly in the back seat playing on his tablet as I drive toward his best friend’s house. It’s pouring down rain, and I’m doing everything I can to concentrate on driving and failing miserably. Thoughts racing, I’m choking on fear that refuses to let up. Extremists are ruthless, and far more radical than the Iraqi army. Katy’s never been in combat; she’s never been at the opposite end of a rifle. She served her first term stateside and got activated shortly after she re-enlisted.
She can’t handle this.
She won’t handle this.
Skidding to a stop at a sign I never miss, I check on Noah in the rearview. He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. “Careful, Captain.”
Pain radiates through my chest at the imitation of his mother’s favorite way of scolding me. Running my hands through my hair, I check the dash clock. Ten more minutes of driving and I’ll be free to react. Inside I know I should be clinging to my son for comfort, to draw strength, but the reality is, I can’t handle it myself. I’m hemorrhaging, and I don’t want him anywhere around when it breaches the surface.
Minutes later, I pull over into an abandoned church parking lot, making an excuse to Noah about a tire I need to check out.
I welcome the rain on my skin as it quickly soaks through my clothes. Air is scarce as I bend down to shield myself from innocent eyes. I’m failing him—I’m failing them both. Katy would be pissed if she knew just how much I was letting the fear win.
She is my mystery, my question, and answer, my wife, my reason for wanting a forever. From the minute she approached me at that crowded bar, I knew half of that truth.
“Excuse me. I was just wondering, on a scale from one to America, how free are you tonight?”
Stifling my grin, I take a sip of my beer and turn on my stool to face her, unprepared for what I see. She’s the quintessential American beauty: long, curly blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, perfect tits, and subtle curves.
“Wo bist du hergekommen?” Where did you come from, beautiful?
She leans in, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” She glares at the woman sitting at the cocktail table behind her, then looks back at me. “Wait, you’re bullshitting me, right?”
“Sprichst du Deutsch?” Do you speak German?
“I’m sorry, I think I had you confused with someone else.”
I nod, trying to maintain a steady face. “Have a good night, Soldier.”
Cheeks flaming, she pauses in her retreat and turns to me with a beaming smile. “Jesus, I feel like a fool.”
“With a line like that, you should.”
“Would it have killed you to be flattered?”
I shake my head, taking another sip of my beer. “Would it have killed you to use a little more imagination?”
“You’re going to make me work for it, huh?”
I swallow as she purses her beautiful lips. I have no business egging her on. This woman obviously has no clue who I am.
“Why not?” I shrug. “I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of making them sweat.”
“Wow.” She motions to the bartender, who doesn’t even have to ask her order, setting her shot and beer down in front of her. She throws back the shot and then sips from her beer before taking a deep breath and turning back toward me with a sly grin.
“Baby, if you were words on a page, you’d be what they call fine print.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile.
“Tough crowd.” She clears her throat, her eyes sliding down my frame as she speaks.
“Damn, did you sit in a pile of sugar? ’Cause you have a pretty sweet ass.”
Standing, I pull out my wallet, and she lets out a hard breath. “You’re kidding, right? You’re about to cost me a hundred bucks.”
“Sorry, I’m holding out for more.”
This time she bursts into laughter as she eyes me.
“Well, I certainly hope she has better game than me, or that you remove that stick from your ass before she approaches you.”
She lays a twenty on the bar and speaks to the bartender. “His beer is on me.”
When she moves to join her friend, I say five words that change my life. “Do you want to dance?”
Chapter Twelve
Katy
Darkness seeps in as warmth trickles between my lips. I start to succumb to the sweet relief of pitch black but get ripped away by the feel of knuckles against my cheek. Aggravated I’m unable to make my escape, I attempt to open my eyes just as another blow lands across my temple. Ears ringing and dazed by the blinding pain, I’m brought fully conscious by a bruising kick to the ribs.
“Astayqiz al’amrikia!”
Omph.
Another kick.
Agony.
I bite my bleeding lips to stifle my scream. I don’t want to give these assholes the satisfaction. I spent twenty hours in labor without meds. So far, they haven’t come close to touching that marathon. But I know acting cavalier is the quickest way to give it away. My chest rumbles with my slow exhale, and I choke on the mix of bile and blood lodged in my throat.
I’m fairly certain I have a distal radius fracture, a few broken ribs, and now I can add a broken nose to that list. Sustainable and healable injuries. I can deal with it.
Soldier up, Katy. It’s just the beginning. God, if you’re listening, I could use a hand today, maybe two if you’re feeling generous.
“Astayqiz al’amrikia! Astayqiz!”
“Wake up, sister.” A soft hand smooths the hair from my forehead, and still, I remain mute while blood drips down my chin. I make no move to wipe it, in hopes the sight of it may bring them some satisfaction and buy me a little reprieve. I open my eyes and survey my surroundings. We’re encased by sandstone. I’m in a bunker and judging from the four-foot gap above, we’re about twelve feet down. Nothing about these surroundings surprises me. It’s a nightmare I’ve watched unfold over and over again in the media, a nightmare that happens to other soldiers.
Another blow to the side of the face has me mewling.
“Stop! You’re going to fucking kill her!”
Briggs.
Relief filters through me, though I mask my elation at the sound of his voice. Any show of emotion concerning Briggs makes him a weakness. I swallow the blood and phlegm I can’t manage to spit out. I’m already exhausted with the painful position I’m in—arms and legs bound, rope cutting into my aching wrists. I desperately want to move to get away from the pain, but it’s inescapable. Seductive darkness beckons again, and I sway in its direction, in the easy escape.
“I’ll kill you,” I hear in a thick Iraqi brogue, and that is enough for me to force my eyes to open.
It’s dark, and I have to blink a few times to adjust to the lack of light. Black eyes command mine from a foot away. Bearded men dressed in black surround him in the small cavity. If I’m trusting my own perception, there are ten of them.
“Shhh, you tell them, sister. They will stop. Please, tell them.” I turn my head toward the gentle voice in my ear and am met by a tiny woman. She wears a black abaya, and her head is almost completely covered. All that’s visible are her dark brown eyes. Kind, sympathetic eyes.
She’s a liar, Katy.
“So beautiful,” she whispers, lifting a curl from the crown of my head and letting it glide through her fingertips. “You do as he says…you live. My husband likes pretty eyes.” She nods at me, and the corners of her mouth lift in a smile that infuriates me.
I blow out a frustrated breath.
Tell them? Tell them what?
Bile climbs, and when I retch, I’m rewarded with a swift boot to the stomach. I begin to choke on the vomit that sprays from my mouth and feel the burn as it bursts out of my fractured nose.
The man who just stomped on my abdomen spits at me before turning and taking a few steps away. He says something in Arabic to the other men, and they all turn to follow.
All but one.
My body shakes violently, and I bite on the inside of my cheeks in an attempt to hold my tears.
The man who stayed behind barks orders at the young woman in their native tongue and then turns back to address me in perfect English. “Your answer when I return, or I kill them both!”
Once he’s up the small set of wooden stairs that’s quickly pulled up following his departure, the girl pulls a cloth from a ceramic bowl that seems to materialize out of nowhere and begins to clean my face.
“Scottie, talk to me…” Briggs calls out.
Now that the bunker is mostly empty, I’m able to see that they have chained his biceps to the wall across from where I lie with my hands and feet still tightly bound. He hangs limply, like a scarecrow, hands dangling at his chest. I don’t see Mullins anywhere. “Briggs…where’s Mullins? What do they want from me? I don’t even remember getting out of that SUV. I must’ve blacked out.”
“Fuck…fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he shouts, slamming his hands back into the wall. Then he goes silent, eyeing the woman who is still wiping my face. In the small space, the acoustics are good enough that I can hear each labored breath as he tries to calm himself enough to speak. He’s about six feet away, just close enough for me to read his expression, which makes it clear that his words earlier about being found were a lie.
“They won’t find us.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know,” I challenge.
I can feel his hesitance. “It’s unlikely they’ll find us. Doesn’t mean they won’t.”
I spit the blood filling my mouth. “What do they want?” My voice sounds weak to my own ears, and I hate it.
“They want you to choose which one of us goes first…myself or Mullins,” he explains through clenched teeth.
Realization dawns and the physical pain I feel is nothing compared to the shock that rockets through me.
“Listen to me,” he commands in a tone I’ve never heard. “I’ll make it simple. There is no choice.”
“I won’t.”
“They’ll kill us both and sell you.”
My head spins, my throat thickening to the point that I can’t even swallow.
“They don’t like Americans in our country. My husband get paid lot of money for American kill. More money for selling you alive,” the girl, who I can now see can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, provides. “You are lucky. You are pretty girl.”
Ignoring her, because what she’s saying isn’t news, I engage Briggs. “Where’s Mullins?”
“They claim that she’s being cared for.” Briggs is seething. “I’m so fucking sorry, Scottie.”
“This isn’t on you. I don’t want your apologies. Just tell me what to do.”
He speaks without hesitation. “Choose me. When they asked you before, you refused to answer, and they fucking beat you unconscious. I’d rather die than see them touch you again.” His voice cracks as our eyes lock. “I can’t watch this.”
I shake my head slowly, “I can’t, Briggs. I can’t do this.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m making it for you, and then you do whatever you have to do to get home.”
To Noah, to get back to Noah. He didn’t say it, but it’s implied. And the minute my son crosses my mind, an overwhelming sense of empowerment comes over me. I make a decision then to do whatever I have to do to get back to him. He’s all that matters.
The last man to leave is the first to return, followed by two other men, who drag Mullins between them. They drop her on the ground beside me, and I strain to listen for a breath, but I can’t get close enough.
Her eyes flutter open, just barely, and blood leaks from her blue lips as they part. “Katy,” she rasps.
“Tell me.”
“Hoping for cloudy skies tomorrow.”
I nod. That was our code in the clinic for patients we feared wouldn’t make it through the night. With a limited amount of space in the trailer, it was just easier for us to communicate that way.
“Kafy! Aikhtar ‘ant,” one of the men shouts as he yanks Mullins up like a rag doll, propping her against the wall next to Briggs, just out of his reach.
I hear the telltale click and look up to find two men with cocked pistols pointed at Mullins and Briggs’s heads and my body trembles with fear. This can’t be happening.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
“He says, enough, and you choose,” the girl translates.
I remain mute as I look over at Mullins. She’s lost too much blood. From a medical perspective, it’s a close call. The gash in her leg is likely to get infected. She nods at me in confirmation as the unbearable pain spreads in my chest. I cast
my eyes down as she demands their attention. “Look at me, Katy.”
My eyes meet hers. “It’s going to be okay. Get home.” Home. Noah.
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
More yelling ensues as I crumble under the weight of the decision.
“Alan!” a larger man yells as he whacks Briggs on the side of his head with the business end of his gun.
“He says now. You make choice,” she offers nervously. “Hurry.”
God forgive me.
If I don’t make a choice, both of their deaths will stain my soul.
My breaths come in shallow pants, my heart breaking before the words even leave my mouth.
“You have three seconds.”
Briggs strains with every muscle in his body. “Jesus Christ, Scottie, don’t!”
“I love you, Mullins,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.
“It’s okay, Katy,” she croaks assuringly. “It’s okay!”
“No!” Briggs shouts. I hear him struggling, his chains rattling.
“H–her,” I say as guilt and sorrow lodge themselves in my throat. I pull my eyes closed tighter and choke on a sob while silent tears pool in the dirt beneath my eyes.
I wait for the shot, but it never comes.
More Arabic.
A sudden and imposing bright light filters throughout the hollowed-ground, my new home, hell on earth. A slap to the face has me opening my eyes, and my chin is squeezed painfully between a palm as vile words are whispered.
“You will watch,” he hisses. “Watch, or I kill them both!” Mullins is dragged to the middle of the bunker with the camera trained on her face as Briggs rages in protest. Helpless, I watch as Mullins silently acknowledges her fate with a nod. Her eyes are pressed tight, and her body is shaking. She’s the picture of bravery. It grows eerily quiet when Briggs is gagged. A man steps forward and addresses the camera, speaking in rapid Arabic. No doubt a rehearsed speech, as the rest of them muse at the spectacle with smug expressions. The camera moves around the bunker and lands on me before moving to Briggs. He’s still fruitlessly struggling for freedom. The man continues to rant as he points to the camera, his eyes sharp, his face indifferent as he raises a blade. And before I can take my next breath, she’s gone.
Heartbreak Warfare Page 6