Callan

by Bartel, Sybil

  Faster than I could blink, I was on my back, his hand was on my throat and he’d kicked my legs apart before dropping to a squat between them. Rough fingers grabbed at my underwear. “Should I check for myself?” he asked, his voice eerily calm.

  I should’ve been terrified. Or struggling against his hold, but something snapped. Snapped wasn’t even the right word. Resignation was closer. Defeat and exhaustion warred with the knowledge that he needed me a virgin and this fucking boat ride wouldn’t last an eternity, and I simply exhaled. “Go ahead,” I taunted. “Defile me and see if you make any money off me then.”

  A sick smile spread across his face. “Maybe I will keep you for myself.”

  The wheels in my brain started turning. I couldn’t win this round. And I’d definitely lost the fucking round when he’d drugged and kidnapped me, but that didn’t mean I was out of the fight. There would be an opportunity to escape. There had to be. Because goddamn it, I was going home.

  I glanced toward where he had the gun in his waistband. “Maybe you should.”

  Throwing his head back and laughing like a hyena, he released his grip on me and sat back on his knees. With a glint in his eye, he threw his arms wide. “Go ahead, princesa, reach for my gun.” He grinned so hard, it looked like a sneer. “See what happens.”

  “You wish.” I wasn’t stupid enough to try that. At least not while he was awake.

  Still sneering, he stood. “Get up.”

  My back hurting, my ribs killing me, my face stinging, I got up. Holding my side, my feet tender as I stood on grated metal, I glared at him. “I want a shower.”

  “We all want many things in life. Come.” He started walking, confident I would follow him.

  Stupidly, I did.

  Weaving through cargo containers, down steps that were more like a ladder, through halls and past machinery or an engine, or whatever the hell made this ship run, he kept a quick pace until he used the side of his fist to shove a door open.

  I stopped in the hall and looked behind me. Our whole walk, I hadn’t seen another soul. I could’ve run. I could’ve gotten to the captain of the ship and told him I was kidnapped. I could’ve….

  “Nowhere to go, princesa.”

  I stared at him.

  His arms crossed, leaning on the open doorframe, he smirked. “But by all means, have at it.” He gestured toward the hall we’d just come down. “Deck’s that way.”

  I’d never considered fear before. There was shit I was afraid of. Heights, spiders that jumped, not making rent, but I’d never been truly terrified. Nor did I know that that kind of fear had layers. When I woke up in the pitch-black cargo container, I’d thought I would die of fear. I thought my pounding heart would give me a heart attack and that would be it. Then when the asshole had shoved me down and reached for his belt, I felt rage-fear. I was so enraged and so fucking afraid of his diseased dick and of pain, when ironically the pain of being kicked in the back had to surpass losing one’s virginity.

  Then there was this moment.

  I wasn’t shaking anymore.

  I wasn’t thinking about the horrible diseases I could get from a dirty asshole rapist’s blood that had gotten in my mouth. I wasn’t even thinking about my family.

  I was looking at that hallway and counting the turns and steps we’d taken to get here and wondering if I could outrun him. I was wagering my speed against my future. Because that was what was truly terrifying.

  My unknown fate.

  Would I be sold to some whorehouse where I was shot full of heroin and fucked fifty times a day against my will while collecting STDs and an addiction to drugs I’d never escape?

  That fear, that terror, it added layers to everything else I had been through and it transcended it.

  Seriously transcended it.

  I was so terrified, I was counting turns and judging distance to the side of the ship and the vast ocean. A cold, unforgiving, unsurvivable ocean I no longer saw as an easy out for my kidnapper, but as a viable alternative to an unknown future.

  Death over an unimaginable future.

  “Still deciding?” Javier asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Let me help.” He leaned toward me. “You run, I’ll not only duct tape your hands again, I’ll make you wish I hadn’t killed the last man who tried to get in your panties.”

  I didn’t listen to his threatening words. My traitorous brain was telling me ships had schedules, and they wouldn’t stop for one overboard, stolen virgin. It was telling me I wasn’t worth that much. I wasn’t young. I wasn’t complacent. I wasn’t special. I was just one inconvenience….

  I stared at my abductor, and fate intervened.

  My stomach growled.

  It was all I needed to make the decision.

  I would rather die hungry than sold, raped and addicted to drugs.

  I turned and ran.

  “TYLER, COLLINS, TANK, REPORT,” Luna said through the comm.

  Tyler answered first. “Still in position, dock clear.”

  “No change on the access road,” Collins added.

  Silence.

  “Tank, report,” Luna ordered.

  “Tracking movement, hold,” Tank whispered, before coming back thirty seconds later. “Okay, those API fucks are closing the port authority office. They locked the door and are heading toward personal vehicles now.”

  “I thought the port didn’t close,” Luna interjected.

  “It shouldn’t,” Neil answered.

  “Come on,” Talon scoffed. “You think any container on that ship is legal? Those fucks leavin’ were paid mad pesos to go have a liquid lunch. Tequila if they’re smart.”

  “Doesn’t look like they’re coming back,” Tank added.

  “Hold up,” Luna cut in. “We got movement. Two guards from the panel vans that pulled up are boarding the ship.”

  I trained my scope to the rear of the ship and tracked the two men.

  “Okay,” Luna drew the word out. “Here we go.”

  When we’d arrived twenty minutes late because of the incident with our driver, the ship had been docked, and there had been men in two panel vans waiting close by. Having split up the few weapons and ammo Tank had gotten, we had then approached the port from two different directions, spreading out in degrees to avoid being seen.

  Talon, Luna, and I had rifles with scopes. Neil had a 9mm and a shotgun. Tank had an AK-47, and Tyler and Collins had their 9mms. Luna had parceled out the weapons. No one had objected until we saw the men in the panel vans had automatic weapons. Then Talon had tried to unsuccessfully bargain with Tank for the AK-47.

  “They’re headin’ toward one of the containers and openin’ it,” Talon said quietly. “Oh yeah, showtime.”

  I watched through my scope as one of the men opened the container while another held his machine gun pointed at the door. I could see his mouth move, barking orders, but I could not hear what they were saying.

  Slow, as if it were rusted and heavy, the door swung open.

  A disheveled female who was not Emily stumbled out with her hands on her head.

  My heart kicked against my chest.

  “One hostage,” Luna whispered.

  A second later, a blonde female came out with her hands on her head.

  “Two hostages,” Luna added.

  I stared through the scope as André counted off. Three… four… five women came out of the container.

  Not six.

  No Emily.

  “Jesucristo,” Luna swore through the comm as the last female emerged and one of the guards closed the door. “I’m going to kill that pendejo. That last one is a child, a fucking niña.”

  “Do not shoot,” I warned in a whisper. “No Emily.”

  “I see, I see.” Luna swore again. “Christensen, what do you have on your side? Any movement?”

  “No change,” Neil answered, his voice too deep to whisper.

  “Talerco?” Luna asked.

  “Port’s still cl
ear,” Talon answered. “But the captain and crew disappeared when those fucks with automatics boarded. This place is makin’ my skin crawl. Shit ain’t right. Come on, let’s just pluck these fuckers off, grab the girls and get the hell outta here.”

  “No,” I warned. “No visual on Emily yet. We wait.”

  “Confirm. Hold positions,” Luna ordered. “I’ve still got visual on the two guards with the women. There heading off the ship. Anyone see anybody else on board?”

  Talon, Neil, Collins and Tyler answered in the negative.

  I scanned the length of the ship again. On my second pass, I caught movement on the far side of the deck. “I have movement. Wait for confirmation.”

  “Oh, shit,” Tyler swore. “We got company, boss.”

  “Convoy coming this way,” Tank confirmed. “Two, three… now four semis, and three more panel vans like the ones already parked are pulling in.”

  “What the fuck?” Talon asked. “For six stolen women?”

  “Christo,” Luna cursed. “I wish they were old enough to be women. Heads-up, Christensen. Two guards and five girls coming your way.”

  Neil said something in Danish.

  My scope trained where I saw the movement, I waited, but nothing else materialized.

  “Vikin’, you want me to take the guard in the rear when you’re ready?” Talon asked.

  “Ja,” Neil confirmed.

  “Convoy’s past the gate, pulling in front of the panel vans now,” Tank interjected. “Semis are trailer ready. Panel van drivers are talking.”

  “Anyone see that? Far side of the ship?” Collins interrupted. “I’ve got movement. No uniform, it’s not crew. There’s someone else still on the ship.”

  “Front end?” I asked.

  “No, midship now,” Collins answered. “All I caught was a glimpse of dark hair and a blue shirt. It was male.”

  I pulled away from my scope and looked across the sea of cargo containers stacked two and three tall to where Luna was lying prone on top of one, exposed, just like me. I lifted my chin.

  Luna nodded at me in response. “Collins, get a visual. Estevez was last seen in a blue shirt.”

  “Copy that,” Collins replied. “Hold.”

  My heart racing, my pulse pounding, my anger mounted. Where was she?

  “I need a head count on that convoy, Tank,” Luna ordered.

  “Two with each semi, looks like two with each van. Twenty head count so far, all armed.”

  “Mierda.” Luna rolled out of position and reversed his aim, looking through his scope. “Neil, Tyler, Collins, Tank, you good to cover the semis?”

  “We will handle it,” Neil replied.

  “Talerco, you and I are covering the vans.” Luna issued more orders. “Anders, you got the ship. Keep an eye out for her.”

  I watched the two guards walk down the plank with the females. “I need to board.”

  “No,” André barked. “It’s too exposed, and you’ll have no backup.”

  I always hunted alone.

  “Got a visual, back of ship, coming toward the plank,” Collins reported. “Looks like Estevez. He has a woman in tow, and shit, we got more company. A crane operator swinging his crane toward the Altamira, and… yep. He’s starting to unload the containers off the ship.”

  Tank cut in. “Semis are moving. Heading toward the crane.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the containers. We’re not letting them take the women,” André warned. “They’re closing in on the vans.”

  “Gotcha covered,” Talon drawled. “Vikin’, you ready?”

  “Ja.”

  “We fire, we’re going to have twenty guns shooting back,” Tyler warned. “We let the vans leave and follow, we double our odds.”

  “Negative,” Talon replied. “Half the streets ’round here ain’t marked, and who the hell knows what kinda bullshit trap they could lead us into. Window’s now. Vikin’ and me’ll take ’em out, you and Ivy grab the girls, Tank will cover. We’ll be right behind ya.”

  A dark-haired man came around the side of a cargo container dragging a woman. Barefoot, her head down, her hands duct taped, it was her. He had my angel.

  Rage hit.

  I did not use the comm to confirm her sighting. I did not broadcast my intent. I did not say one word.

  I was moving.

  Shouldering my rifle, I was off the container and running through aisles and aisles of stacked metal. Before I cleared the last container, I swung my rifle back around. Leading with the muzzle, I got the man dragging Emily in my sights just as shots rang out behind me.

  Halfway down the ramp, the man’s head whipped up and he froze for half a second.

  It was all the opening I needed.

  I pulled the trigger.

  TWO SHOTS RANG OUT.

  His hand gripping my arm hard, dragging me down the plank off the ship, the asshole Javier stopped midstep and looked up.

  A third shot fired.

  Instinct kicked in, and I hit the deck.

  Releasing my arm, Javier followed my drop. Gunfire erupted, echoing all around the port, and I panicked. Turning toward Javier, opening my mouth to tell him to cut my taped wrists so I could run, I fucking froze.

  A bullet hole, dead center of his forehead, stared at me like a third eye.

  “Ohhh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Rolling, pushing with my feet, I scrambled backward, not even realizing I was heading back up the ramp toward the ship.

  Heavy footsteps shook the plank, the vibration rattling my entire body before I lifted my head.

  Then I was looking at a dream.

  Callan.

  My Callan.

  A giant rifle in his hands, wearing beige camouflage pants and a tight T-shirt with a black vest over it, he slipped an arm through a shoulder strap on his gun as he rushed toward me, swinging the weapon to his back.

  Without breaking stride, he scooped me up into his arms and was running back down the plank. Running.

  The smell of forest, his forest smell, hit me in the chest, followed by metal and exertion and man, and I wanted to cry with the kind of relief that transcends joy, but nothing worked.

  My mouth opened, but no words came out. My arms tingled, but I couldn’t move them. My feet dangled, hitting his thigh with every step he ran, but I couldn’t hold them still. Every muscle in my body on strike, I simply stared at my hero as he ran us into a maze of shipping containers.

  Weaving in and out of the aisles, tilting his head as if he were listening to the gunfire, he didn’t stop until the sound of shots dulled, and I knew he’d put distance between us and the firefight.

  Angled in a narrow space between two stacks of cargo containers, he paused to gently set me down and reach into a cargo pocket in his pants for a hunting knife. Anger contorting his entire expression as his eyes roamed over my face, he cut the tape from my wrists, then touched something in his ear and whispered, “I’m on the north end. I need medical supplies and clearance to the vehicles.”

  I didn’t care about his expression. He could look as angry as he wanted to. He’d come for me. Oh my God, he came for me.

  “Callan.” My mouth parched, my soul rejoicing, my voice broke. But I had to know about the other ones. “Did you get the other girls out? There were five more.”

  Gunfire rained down in the distance like a bad movie set as he nodded once then put a finger to my lips.

  Relief surged despite the cloying, oppressive heat that made the vile blood all over my body sticky.

  Callan’s eyebrows drew even tighter together as his gaze drifted. “Repeat,” he whispered, a second before swinging his rifle around. Shoving me back with one hand, he used the business end of the gun to point around the side of the container and look through the scope.

  A second later, Callan lowered his gun and stepped back as a dark-haired man who was a wall of muscle came around the corner, weapon drawn. When he saw me, he lowered his gun and frowned.

  “Madre de Dios.” The man’s b
rown eyes scanned my length, stopping at my knees. “You seriously injured, chica?” Looking back up, he caught my chin and gently turned my head to the side. “How hard did you get hit?”

  Before I could form the words to ask who he was, Callan grabbed his wrist.

  The dark-haired man dropped his hand from my chin as another man came running around the corner.

  Blond and muscled to hell, but not as much as Callan and the dark-haired man, the new guy had a rifle in one hand and a handgun in the other like he’d been double firing. Holstering his handgun and swinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, he stepped right up to me.

  A grin that didn’t reach his eyes painted on his face, he winked at me. “You start the party without me, darlin’?”

  Callan glared at him.

  The blond man held his hands up. “All right, all right, nothin’ doin’, Cult Boy. Just checkin’ her out.” His expression turned deadly serious as he reached in a cargo pocket on his pants and came away with a bottle of water. Looking at my face, he uncapped the water. “Your teeth okay, darlin’? Can you still move your jaw?”

  Callan knew these men? “I’m fine.” Were they from the compound? I looked to Callan for an explanation, but his expression was murderous, his jaw was locked, and he wasn’t saying a word.

  The blond man chuckled. “Tough as nails, darlin’. No wonder Cult Boy here is so smitten.” He glanced over his shoulder at Callan. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

  Before I could ask him who the hell he was and tell him he better never call Callan Cult Boy again, he dropped to a squat and poured water over my knees. The sting worse than when the asshole had slapped me in the face, I let out an involuntary half yelp, half cry.

  Callan and the dark-haired man instantly moved at the same time. Quicker than I could blink, they both had their weapons drawn and were on opposite sides of the container.

  Just as the blond man lifted a finger to his lips, gunfire started plunking against the container we were standing behind.

  Callan and the dark-haired man started firing back.

  “And we’re outta time, darlin’.” The blond man handed me the rest of the water, pulled a roll of gauze out of another pocket and made quick work of wrapping my knees. “Where else you hurt?” He was squatting in front of me, casually asking the question like there wasn’t a gunfight going on around us that sounded like mini explosions every time a bullet hit one of the containers.