by Susan Stoker
They had to get inside and get the remaining hostages out…and if that meant some, or all, of the militants were killed in the process, all the better. Thirteen men against an unknown number of tangos might seem like an uneven fight to a lot of people, but Hollywood knew they weren’t just any thirteen soldiers. They were SEALs and Delta Force. They were trained for this shit. They were a part of the two most lethal groups of Special Forces soldiers the United States military had.
Hollywood spoke into his throat mic. “B to base. All is go.”
“Ten-four, B. Ready for flight,” came the quiet response through the radio.
Hollywood and Dude backed away from the last charge they’d set. As soon as they were a safe distance away, they’d give the high sign to Truck, and he’d simultaneously set off all of the charges at the same time. It should create enough chaos inside the building for the teams to sneak in and, hopefully, escort any remaining hostages out.
The men were paired up, a Delta with a SEAL. Typically the SEALs would stay teamed with their own and the same with the Deltas, but since they’d worked together briefly in the past, and trusted each other, they decided to split up the teams to capitalize on their strengths. It was highly unusual, but neither of the groups typically worked by the book.
“B to base. Countdown to flight,” Hollywood informed Truck tonelessly.
“Prepare for takeoff,” the other man returned immediately.
Dude and Hollywood crouched down against a wall in an alley not too far from the building, covered their ears, and waited for all hell to break loose.
* * *
Rayne tried to concentrate on her memories, but that damn voice kept forcing itself into her consciousness. She heard one of the men speaking faintly, presumably to the boy, and the asshole who spoke English felt the need to translate every single fucking word.
“He is telling Moshe to make sure your legs are spread as far apart as possible so he can get as far inside you as he can go.”
Rayne felt the baby-smooth skin of Moshe’s thighs against her own. She felt him scooting up and forcing her legs farther apart in the process. Her legs had already been spread, but as much as she resisted Moshe, he was still able to push her legs obscenely wide. The chains on her ankles pulled taut as Moshe spread her thighs farther than what was comfortable, tearing the flesh around her ankles. She was still wearing her underwear, but knew the barrier it was currently providing would soon be only a memory. She squirmed against her bonds, despite knowing it was futile. No, this couldn’t be happening.
The fucker kept up the blow-by-blow of her imminent rape.
“Now they are telling him what it will feel like when he gets inside. You’ll be dry, which provides more friction for his root. They are trying to get him to explode before he gets inside, holding off will prove he’s man enough to resist temptation.”
Rayne was going to throw up. All over Moshe and all over herself. This was horrific and she needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She couldn’t hold back the whimper that sneaked out of her throat. Her hands fisted in their bindings and she trembled, every muscle in her body tense, readying itself for the invasion about to come.
Just as she felt Moshe’s soft, boyish hands touch her upper thighs and squeeze painfully, an explosion ripped through the room.
Rayne screamed in terror like a cornered dog, not understanding what was happening. She’d been ready for her body to be violated, but instead the bed shook under her as the walls crumbled. Rayne watched as large cracks appeared in the ceiling above her head.
She glanced over at the men who had been leaning toward the bed in anticipation of Moshe’s initiation and first foray into manhood, and saw that they were no longer sitting with lust in their eyes staring at her, but had stood up and were all trying to push out of the room at the same time. Running like the cowards they were deep inside.
A hand gripped her breast, hard, and Rayne gasped at the sensation. Looking up into Moshe’s eyes, she saw no trace of the boy she’d thought to try to gain sympathy from. He was pissed his initiation was being interrupted. He cruelly squeezed her breast through her bra once more and hissed something at her in his own language before springing off her and quickly pulling his pants back up, holding them closed with his free hand, not bothering to tie them shut.
As he was leaving the room, he turned back and said in perfectly understandable English, “I’ll be back. I will become a man today,” and he ran out the door.
Rayne shivered and frantically pulled at the chains holding her to the bed. All her actions did was make her wrists and ankles bleed more.
There was another explosion, closer than the previous one, and the last thing Rayne remembered was watching the blocks in the wall shake and threaten to crumble as she passed out from fright.
* * *
The six Special Forces teams of two fanned out across the now crumbling complex. It was complete pandemonium, just as the teams had planned and predicted it would be. Knowing the general areas where the hostages were being kept, each team headed for their preassigned area. The plan was to find as many hostages as possible and lead them out and to safety…and to kill any militants who got in their way.
Ghost and Wolf were point and were stationed in the square. They’d direct any hostages who ran out of the now burning and destroyed building to safety. Blade was the odd man out and was waiting at the rendezvous point for everyone to gather.
Watching in relief as small groups of men and women poured out of the building, each guided by a team member, Ghost and Wolf kept vigilant, ready for any terrorist to decide the escaping hostages should die rather than be rescued. After forty minutes, the flow of hostages slowed to a trickle and most of the teams had checked in. Fletch and Mozart and Truck and Benny had joined Blade, and had been transporting the dazed and confused hostages to safer territory.
The teams had come across pockets of militants hunkered down inside the massive building, trying to hide until the initial breach had been completed, but they’d been no match for the SEAL and Delta teams.
Beatle’s voice crackled across the radio. “We just sent a group of about fifteen men your way, G. They say there was a group of women, including some of their wives and girlfriends, who had been separated from them two days ago. They were last seen being led to the blast zone.”
Ghost knew what he meant. He hoped they hadn’t been the women in the room the militants had set the bomb off in. “Ten-four. We’ll intercept and see if we can’t get more intel.”
“We’re standing by,” was Beatle’s response.
Ghost saw the group of men staggering toward them. They looked haunted by whatever had gone on inside the building. Ghost motioned them over, and they gladly ran toward the American soldiers.
“Who had a partner that was separated?” Ghost questioned, all business.
Six hands went up. Wolf passed the remaining men on to Abe, who was waiting to take the last groups to safety.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
A tall, older gentleman said in a broken voice, “We were all being held together for the first couple of days then we were asked to stand in two lines, men in one and women in the other. One man protested and he and his wife were shot. Then those bastards shot another couple just for fun and threw all of them out the window. We were then led to another room, without the women. We’ve been there ever since. We heard some explosions, but don’t know anything about what’s going on. Did you get all the women out? Are they safe?”
“We’re working on it, sir,” Wolf tried to reassure the man. “We’ll do our best to find your women, if they haven’t already been freed.”
“Thank God,” the tall man breathed.
Ghost heard Beatle begin speaking through the radio again. “Problem, Ghost. We found another group of hostages. Women. They’re busted up, some worse than others, and hysterical. Said they were locked in a room with a bomb.”
“They’re alive?” Ghost asked incredulously
. Simply being alive was a miracle, especially having seen the damage the bomb had done.
“Yeah. Apparently after they were shut in the room, and before the bomb exploded, they hid behind a big-ass piece of furniture. Details are still a bit sketchy as they’re obviously traumatized, but they were damn lucky.”
“No shit. Jesus.” It was the best news Ghost and Wolf had heard all day. They’d thought everyone in that room had been killed.
“Thing is,” Beatle continued quickly, “one woman said her friend was dragged out of the room before the explosives went off.”
“Fuck,” Ghost said fervently. “Okay, get those women out of there. If you have time, see if you can track down the missing woman, otherwise get the fuck out.”
“The one woman is refusing to go until we find her missing friend.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what she refuses, get her out of there, Beatle,” Ghost threatened in a low voice. The last thing they needed was the hostages calling the shots.
“Ten-four.” Ghost could tell Beatle was switching to the all-network channel, the one which all of the SEALs and Deltas could hear. “We’re going to start on this end of the building and do one last search for the missing American woman. Her friend says her name is Rayne, and when we find her, to make sure we tell her Sarah and the others are all right. She says she’ll worry. Everyone be on the lookout for an American, average height and weight, wearing a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt. She should easily stand out from the terrorists.”
Ghost felt his heart stutter in his chest. It couldn’t be. No fucking way. “What was the name of the missing woman again?” he barked into his throat mic. He couldn’t even follow proper protocol, he had to know.
How many women had the name Rayne? Not very many, and with the way the hair on the back of his neck was standing up, Ghost knew it was his Rayne.
“Rayne Jackson.”
“Copy that,” Wolf answered when Ghost didn’t say another word.
“Talk to me, Ghost. What’s putting that look in your eye?” Wolf demanded, putting his finger on the trigger of his M-4 rifle and looking around as if the enemy was staring down his sights at them.
“She’s mine. The missing woman…she’s mine.”
Wolf didn’t bat an eye and didn’t ask any questions. “Well fuck, man, let’s get in there, find her, and get her the fuck out this fucking mess.”
Ghost nodded once and started toward the building. Ghost had no idea what Rayne was doing in the middle of a coup in Egypt, but at this point, it didn’t matter. If the missing woman was his Rayne, he’d do whatever it took to get her out and safe. He wasn’t thinking about the lies he’d told her or how she’d react to seeing him like this, all he could think about was holding her in his arms…safe and sound. If anyone got between him and his woman, they were as good as dead.
Chapter Twenty
Rayne yanked at her chains, trying to slip her hands out of the metal cuffs, to no avail. The blood on her wrists and ankles from her struggles helped her to almost free herself, but her hands and feet weren’t quite small enough to slip out of the shackles, even with the extra lubricant. No matter how hard she pulled and twisted, she was stuck.
She’d woken up, realized she was alone and immediately started trying to escape. She’d gotten a reprieve, but had no idea how long it might last. Moshe and his sick relatives could be back any moment.
The dust was thick in the air, making it difficult to draw in a deep breath, and the rubble from the ceiling and the walls, which had crumbled in places during the explosions, was covering the floor and the bed. The door had come off its hinges and was partially blocking the entryway into the room.
Rayne would’ve yelled for help, only she was afraid of whose attention she would gain by doing so. The absolute last thing she wanted was to have Moshe show back up to complete his barbaric ritual, and lying there in her bra and panties meant she wasn’t exactly dressed for anyone else to see her either.
She lay back and tried to catch her breath. What could she do? How in the hell was she getting out of this one? Her legs were spread open and the iron shackles around her wrists and ankles didn’t give her much, if any, wiggle room.
Hopefully the explosions were the results of the good guys. She had no way of knowing, however. The bottom line was that she couldn’t do anything but lay there and wait for someone to unlock her chains. She was stuck.
Every now and then, Rayne would hear a faint echo through the walls of her prison. Was it the good guys? Was it the bad guys? She had no idea. Eventually the sounds would fade and she’d be back to feeling utterly alone again.
She was doing pretty good until she heard the gunshots.
Rayne began to panic, once again pulling frantically at her chains. She needed to get out of here—now. She couldn’t wait one second more. Her wrists and ankles didn’t even hurt anymore, she barely felt the skin tearing further, or the fresh blood that slowly dripped out of the jagged wounds the metal was leaving with every tug. It didn’t matter. She was going to die one way or another, and she much preferred it be on her terms instead of the terrorists’.
* * *
Ghost held up his hand, letting Wolf know to stop. They’d informed the rest of the teams they were coming in and were assisting in the search for the missing woman. They’d started on the third floor, since that was where the woman, Sarah, had said she’d last seen Rayne. Beatle was on the second floor, clearing the building as he went.
Methodically they’d cleared room after room in the east wing. They’d only run into three people. Two men and a boy. They’d been hunkered down in a room at the far end of the hallway. Ghost wasn’t willing to give anyone a chance—not now, not when Rayne’s life may or may not be in the palm of his hand.
After the air cleared, Ghost absently noted, as Wolf searched their pockets, that all three were holding rifles and that the young boy’s pants were undone. He had no idea what that meant, but standing there wondering was only wasting time. Rayne was somewhere in this building and he had to find her. He knew he’d feel jittery and out of sorts until he saw with his own eyes that she was alive and unhurt.
Wolf finished his search of the dead men and he and Ghost continued down the hall, clearing rooms, some reduced to nothing more than rubble. At the other end of the hall, closest to where one of the last explosives had been set, the men saw a door hanging on to the doorframe by the upper hinge. It was diagonal across the doorway, blocking it so they couldn’t make a stealthy or easy entrance.
Ghost looked at Wolf and held up three fingers. Wolf nodded and stood on one side of the ruined door as Ghost took a position on the other side. The men nodded at each other as Ghost counted down on his fingers. Three. Two. One.
They burst into the room at the same time, rifles drawn and ready to take down anyone who might be hiding inside, just as they had for the countless rooms they’d already cleared in the long hallway.
A feminine screech greeted them as they made entry into the small room. Ghost and Wolf turned as one to the bed, rifles aimed and ready to fire. Wolf was the first to raise the barrel of his rifle up and away from the sight before them.
Ghost was only seconds behind him, but had his rifle slung over his back and was on his knees at the side of the bed before Wolf moved.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” The words were quiet and heartfelt and something inside Ghost died when Rayne flinched away from him as he got close.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me, God, please, don’t.”
Ghost didn’t turn toward Wolf, but heard his muttered curse.
It was his Rayne. She’d been chained with her arms above her head and her legs spread apart. There was blood staining the mattress under her. A fine layer of dust had settled over everything in the room, including her. She lay on the filthy mattress in only her bra and panties. As much as he hated seeing her barely clothed, Ghost was thankful she was still wearing something. A small consolation, but he was relieved nevertheless.
> She was breathing hard, as if she’d just run for miles, and her eyes were fully dilated with shock and terror. The chains holding her prisoner rattled as she tried to jerk away from him when he reached his hand out to her.
Ghost knew he’d never forget the sight of her—chained, bleeding, and helpless—for as long as he lived. He’d dreamed about seeing her again, about what their reunion might be like, but this was something out of a nightmare.
“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine. We’re American soldiers and we’re going to get you out of here.” For now, that’s all she needed to know. He was wearing black from head to toe, and had black face paint on. If she looked closely, she’d probably recognize him, but she was simply too full of panic and adrenaline to know who he was at this point.
Ghost could see his words slowly sink in and saw the second she forcibly stopped herself from giving in to a full-blown panic attack. Whether it was the English words coming out of his mouth, or just plain ol’ desperation, Rayne calmed and turned toward him with a blank look in her eyes. Seeing him, but not really seeing him.
“Please, get these off me, please. He’s coming back. He said he’d be back. Get me out of here. He’s coming back to be a man. Please, get them off.”
Ghost looked down to see Wolf studying the chains and the cuffs circling her delicate ankles. He didn’t understand Rayne’s words, but it didn’t matter. He was getting her the fuck out of there. “No one will put their hands on you. We’ll get you out of here, Princess, hang on just a little longer for me. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”