by Tori Carson
* * * *
Chantel woke to find Ed mere inches from her face, his lips twisted upward in what might have been a smile. Smiles, though, were supposed to be reassuring. This had just the opposite effect. It chilled her to the bone.
Instinctively, she jerked back against the bars away from his evil glare. The wrenching in her arms and shoulders meant little. She was used to pain now. It kept her company.
Fear sent her nervous system into overdrive. She had drifted off. Closed her eyes. She knew the punishment all too well. Would he do that to her now? Is that why he was smiling?
She couldn’t still the tremors shaking her body, jangling the chains against the pulley. To her exhausted brain, it sounded like a death rattle.
Chantel watched Ed’s face transform into a scowl. Her stomach twisted into a tight ball. That scowl was the precursor to a painful trip down the rabbit’s hole. To maintain her sanity, that was how she thought of it. A nightmare journey into an alternative universe where up was down and nothing made sense.
She had always loved Ed, her eccentric ‘uncle’. He had taken her fishing, taught her how to tie her shoes, done everything her dad wanted to do, but never had the time. He was family, not a rapist and certainly not a serial killer. Yet it was impossible to argue in his favor while he swung an electrified paddle back and forth between his hands just inches outside a cage he held her captive in.
“Your sins are greater than even I imagined, Jasmine. I’m not certain even the cleansing blood can wash them away.”
She had no idea what his demented mind had concocted now. She vaguely remembered that he’d had a girlfriend named Jasmine. According to her mother, he had loved her deeply and her death had affected him so severely that it had ruined his military career.
She knew now that Ed had killed her. If she’d been his first victim or if he’d been unhinged before that, she didn’t know. In his ramblings, he occasionally called her Jasmine. He was at his worst then. She tried to steel herself for what was to come.
“Your whoring ways killed a remarkable man. He suffered greatly because of you.” His eyes glazed over. His lips twitched upward. “I promised him, just before he died, I would avenge his death. I would punish you. Slowly.” His voice grew raspy as his free hand rubbed the outside of his jeans. “Repeatedly.” Her blood ran cold as his gaze traveled over her bruised and bleeding body.
The tremors strengthened. She wrapped her hands around the chains to try to hold herself steady. What was he talking about? Was Teague dead? Had he killed him? Her heart was in her throat.
“Until you pay for your crimes.” His humming began again.
God help her.
Ed unlocked the cage. He needed more room to maneuver. Punishment was a serious thing. He kept the paddle handy as he reached in to remove the manacles from the pulley.
From the grimace on her face, he knew that the blood was rushing back into long-starved muscles. Knowing that the pain was excruciating sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock.
Switching the paddle into his left hand, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her face to within an inch of the electrified device. Her hair danced in the static field. Heat radiated toward her, scorching her swollen purple cheek.
“He died from heartache, you know,” Ed taunted her. “He was a silly monkey, but he didn’t deserve a wretched whoring daughter like you.”
“My father? What happened to my dad?” She paled a little further.
“Of course, he’s dead. You killed him.”
He continued to talk, but she didn’t hear him. The roaring in her head prevented it. Was this another trick? Was he using this to break her down? She could have told him, he needn’t have bothered. Her sanity was teetering on the brink.
His hand on the back of her skull forced her to watch as he lowered the paddle near her breast. The heat blistered her skin. Her vision blurred, obscuring her view of the power setting. She knew it was too high. It was very likely that she wouldn’t survive a shock from it.
It was now or never. Chantel threw her body weight against the back of the cage, rocking it and her away from Ed. Locking her hands through the bars, she prayed that her arms still had the strength to hold her as she brought both feet into Ed’s torso. The paddle hit him square in the chest. The force of the impact sent him backward. He lost his footing on the slippery, blood-covered floor and went down hard. Chantel gagged at the sound of his head smashing into the concrete.
She spared him only a glance as she jumped out of the cage. The stench of burning flesh had her stomach rebelling. Dehydration and near starvation limited the amount of bile that rushed up her throat.
Ed flailed about as the electricity raced through his body, scorching everything the paddle landed on. His screams and guttural cries were something out of a horror film. She couldn’t watch as his body convulsed on the ground. He was evil incarnate, but God help her, she wanted to end his pain. Part of her demanded that she unplug the paddle or at least toss it away from him. Survival won out. After she had escaped, she’d send help. She refused to acknowledge that it would be too late.
His leg thrashed out, catching Chantel as she skittered by him. She landed hard on her hands and knees. The concrete was still wet from the hose he’d used on her earlier. Her blood flowed freely from several wounds and mixed with the water, making it impossible to get a solid footing.
Before she could get her wobbly legs under her, he kicked out again, catching her squarely on the buttocks. Her face and torso scraped across the cold, wet surface adding more of her blood, streaming from a fresh array of cuts, into the mix.
In her haste to get away, Chantel hadn’t realized that the screams had stopped and that Ed no longer thrashed about on the concrete.
* * * *
Sid’s almost perfect interpretation of a dove’s cry told Teague that it was safe to proceed. A moment later, Sam’s version of a quail call sounded from the bluff, alerting Teague that Sam was in position around the back of Ed’s guest house.
Teague crawled military fashion across the open ground. As he neared the steps, he realized that the entire place was wired. It may have looked like an innocent casita, but the security system was primo. Each trigger had a redundant system making it nearly tamperproof. Nearly being the key word. Teague’s brain needed puzzles. He thrived on a challenge—the more complex the better. Normally, it was impossible for him to stop once he had noticed an incongruity.
That had been his downfall. He’d noticed a failsafe program built into Mr. G.’s software that shouldn’t have been there. He hadn’t even considered the ramifications of his actions when he’d set about to unravel the mystery. To his knowledge-craving brain it was the same as a gauntlet being thrown down.
Now, with Channy’s life hanging in the balance, he’d never let it stump him. Time ticked by. Sweat ran down Teague’s face as the tension jacked his internal body temperature. His shirtsleeve was damp from wiping his eyes.
Teague rocked back on his heels in triumph as he rerouted the final wire. Sid whispered into the microphone hidden inside Teague’s ear, “Great job. Pull back. We’ll wait for backup.”
Fuck that! Teague thought, as he entered the house. Channy was in there, at the mercy of that whack job. Fuck waiting.
Sid yammered on, demanding that Teague pull back. He ignored him.
The casita was small—one bedroom, two bathrooms and a combination kitchen and living room. Teague searched the rooms quickly and efficiently. Finding nothing, Teague searched again, more thoroughly and slowly. He still found nothing.
Teague had watched Ed enter the house. Sam had the back under surveillance and since he’d never exited the building, Ed had to be here…somewhere.
One bedroom and two bathrooms. That wasn’t right. Not in a place this small. The bathroom off the living room had a used look to it—water spots on the mirror, half-used toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. The master bathroom had all the necessary supplies, but they appeared unused. You’d think t
hat it would be the other way around.
Meticulously, he searched along the walls, looking for a hidden door or compartment. Finally, in the back of the shower stall, he found hinges hidden by loose caulking. Teague spent more precious time making sure that there were no hidden alarms before he slowly, millimeter by millimeter, opened the trapdoor.
A dark, hand-dug tunnel lay before him. Because of the slope, it was impossible to see the end. With his pistol in one hand and his knife tucked between his teeth, he made his way into the tunnel. Staying against the wall, Teague followed the passageway to a small home-office type area illuminated by three computer screens lining one wall.
Teague paused just outside the room. He used a mirror to get an idea of what was inside. To his horror, he found the area plastered with pictures of Channy, each one more horrific than the last.
His eyes had quickly adjusted to the low lighting. In hopes of maintaining his vision, he avoided looking directly at the glowing screens. Instead, he focused on the shadows. Anyplace Ed may have been hiding. He used his other senses as well, listening intently for signs of movement or even breathing.
A scratching sound bounced off the walls in the tight confines of the room. Slunk low, Teague entered the Weasel’s lair. Manacles hung over one of the computer screens like fuzzy dice over a rear-view mirror. Panties were littered about the room. White globs soiled the mid-level pictures.
Sid was threatening Teague with bodily harm if he didn’t exit the casita. Did the man not understand that if Channy wasn’t alive, nothing mattered?
Murderous rage consumed Teague’s thoughts as he scanned the walls looking for another trapdoor or compartment. He tried not to focus on the pictures, but it was impossible. Teague had spent years investigating a human trafficking ring. He was familiar with the techniques used to ‘break’ a victim. While the images still destroyed chunks of his soul, he’d been able to wade through them to find clues and piece evidence together.
None of it had prepared him to view Channy’s once beautiful body, with her silky skin, luscious curves and model-perfect complexion, now battered and emaciated. Yellow, green, black, blue and purple had replaced the golden glow of her skin. Cuts and welts, streaks of blood crisscrossed her body.
Tears burned behind his eyes, his knuckles white in stark contrast to the black finish of his pistol. The expressions on her face in picture after picture, documenting every minute of her captivity, would haunt him for the rest of his days and assuredly taunt him in his sleep.
As much as he wanted to blame Donley, he knew that he was just as much at fault. He’d sent her running straight into this maniac’s hands. It was a crime he could never be absolved of. Her blood would always be on his hands.
Teague’s eyes scoured the floor. It was oil treated dirt. Electrical conduit ran along the top of the short ceiling. Wires spider-webbed along the wall behind the computers. Shelves held hundreds of DVDs. Teague could only imagine what the NBIA would find when they examined them.
Pictures lined the walls two and three deep. It was nearly impossible to see any of the paneling in the low lighting. He used his hearing to narrow the search. The faint scratching was strongest on the wall to the left of the computers. He assumed that the opening would be near the ground. It only made sense.
A metal bar was lying under the desk. Scanning the area, he glanced at the images playing out in real time on the computer screens.
“Oh, dear God!”
Channy lay on the ground with Ed only feet away.
Teague scrambled to the wall near the bar and found the hidden hinges. As he pushed the door open, his heart stopped then jackhammered against his chest. Channy’s bloodied, manacled hands dropped onto his shoe. Immediately, Teague shifted position to crawl through the space. He sought a place to grab her without hurting her further.
Gently, he slid his arm under her. Before he could begin to pull, her body, slick from water and blood, was ripped out of his reach. Channy fought like a wildcat. Her legs constantly in motion, her fists swinging in search of a target, made it impossible for Teague to fire his weapon.
Her amazing green eyes, always full of laughter, were sunken and frantic as they implored Teague to save her.
“Freeze, Channy!” he ordered, hoping that she would obey him. He knew first-hand how hard it was to stop and rely on someone else while in a life and death struggle.
Teague was humbled and bursting with pride when she went limp, trusting him with her life. As soon as she was clear, Teague took aim. He never missed. Not when it counted.
Something wet splattered over her as the roar from the high-powered pistol hit Channy. She didn’t hesitate or look back as she crawled through the muck and into Teague’s arms.
As gently as possible, Teague carried her through the doorway. He roamed his hands over her body to assure him that her wounds weren’t life threatening.
Her voice a mere thread, she asked, “Is he dead? Is he really dead?”
“Yes, Channy, the son of a bitch is dead.”
Her face, which had been cradled against his chest as he rocked her, trying to soothe them both, suddenly glared at him with fire and venom. She tried to push out of his hold, but her energy had been long ago spent.
“Hold still, Channy.” He had no idea why she had begun struggling. He was afraid to grip her with any real strength for fear of hurting her further. “It’s me—Teague. You’re safe now. It’s okay.” He tried to reassure her.
“Don’t touch me, you cold-hearted bastard. He was never a part of this. He loved me.”
Cold dread shook him to his core. Had he killed the wrong man? No way! He replayed the events over and over again until the only answer he could fathom was that she had Stockholm syndrome.
“It’s okay, Little Red, we’ll sort all this out once you’re at the hospital.”
Sid whispered that his time was up. Backup had arrived and they were entering the house. Teague scrambled out of his shirt and draped it over Channy. She still held her body stiff and apart from his.
“I’ve called in another Air-Evac chopper. ETA five minutes. Will she be ready?” Sid advised after he had entered the computer room.
Teague’s heart sobbed in real pain watching Channy cowering inside his shirt. He gave Sid a quick nod and a discreet wave of his hand. A clear dismissal that Sid ignored.
“Chantel, your father is at the hospital waiting for you.”
The top of Channy’s head collided with Teague’s jaw as she jerked to glower at first Sid then Teague. “He’s alive?” she asked Sid. She looked at Teague as if he were shit under her shoe. “You told me he was dead.”
“No, Channy. God, no. Ed is dead.”
“Your father had a cardiac event, but he’s stable and waiting for you at the hospital,” Sid informed them.
Chantel let out a ragged sigh and melted into Teague’s arms. “I know he’s dead. I was there, remember? Though you’re always supposed to fire twice. You should know that. That’s the rules. Fire twice,” she murmured, as she buried her face against his chest and sobbed.
Teague’s heart lightened just the smallest amount, at her scolding. Her spirit was strong. His little firebrand was down, but not out.
Chapter Eighteen
“Channy, damn it, you’re scaring the hell out of me. You haven’t said a word in hours.” He knew he should be softer with her. She deserved gentle and there wasn’t a gentle bone in his body. He wanted to revive Ed and kill him again.
Looking at her in the hospital bed with tubes and wires snaking out from under the two blankets she was cocooned beneath did nothing to quench the murderous rage inside him. It didn’t matter that most of them belonged to monitoring equipment.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. Tears pooled in her over-large green eyes.
“Never. I’m never leaving you, Channy. Please talk to me. What can I do? Can I get you anything?” The death grip she had on his hand was strong. It was about the only thing giving him hope that sh
e would make her way back. He knew it was too soon. It would be a long while before she could begin to heal the damage inside.
He had no idea the last time she’d gotten any sleep. She looked so damn fragile, he wanted to cradle her in his arms and hold her until she dozed off. She had been so stoic since they’d arrived at the hospital. She had answered direct questions, but offered nothing. He knew that she had two broken ribs, and more bruises, cuts and burns than he could contemplate without needing to hit something.
“What do you want me to say?” Her voice was flat, her eyes vacant, just staring at a spot on the blankets.
“How are you feeling? Do you want a painkiller?” She had steadfastly refused both painkillers and sleeping pills.
She shook her head. “Broken.”
God, he wanted to hold her but he didn’t know how. He didn’t want to hurt her and everywhere he looked there was some hospital apparatus. “No, Little Red. You’re not broken. You’re strong. You survived. That’s all that matters.”
“I’m still scared. I know he’s dead and can’t hurt me, but I keep expecting him to walk in. I’m afraid to close my eyes. I hear his voice, the whirl of the video cameras.” She shook her head and batted away tears. “My hearing seems to be super sensitive. I can’t stand it.”
“Channy, it will fade. You need to rest so your body can start the healing process.” Trauma didn’t ever go away, but it faded.
“Not till I know Dad’s okay.” She was quiet for a moment. “Your voice helps. Talk to me. Tell me how you got away?” A small sob escaped.
“Your dad had a man on the inside. We caused a diversion and snuck out.” She didn’t need any of the gory details to add to her nightmares.”
Her lips quivered. “Rule ninety-eight, lying by omission.”
He chuckled and allowed himself to breathe a little easier at the twinkle in her eyes as she scolded him. “Maybe a little.”
One of the nurses popped her head inside the door, “Ms. Donley, your father is in recovery. He came through the surgery just fine. The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”