Unleashed (Mr. Black Series Book 1)

by Penelope Marshall

  As I rounded the corner, a bullet ricocheted off the floor next to my boot, creating a spark, which startled me. Looking down the hallway, I paused for a moment to take in the situation. There were five guards at the very end, all holding automatic weapons, obstructing the only available exit.

  “Get down,” one guard yelled from the other end.

  I contemplated his demand. I looked at my knife, realizing it was no match against a slew of automatic machine guns. All this knife was going to do was get me killed.

  “Put your hands in the air!” the guard screamed, the vein in his neck popping out as the blood rushed through it.

  “Okay, okay,” I hollered back as I got on my knees.

  The guard saw the knife in my hands and screamed, “Throw down the fuckin’ knife.”

  I threw the knife onto the ground and stared at it as the guards ran down the hall, their guns pointed toward me the whole time.

  One guard picked up the knife as the other walked up to me, and said, “You thought Amadi fucked you up before, just wait ’til I get my hands on you.”

  He whipped his head around to the right, where he heard yelling coming from the hallway I had just ran out of, “Come here! Come here! Amadi is dead!”

  I glanced away from the hallway, and up the scrawny body of the guard that had been barking all of the orders.

  The man’s eyes were ablaze with anger as he yelled, “Amadi was my brother, you fuckin’ American!”

  That was the last thing I heard before the guard whipped me in the side of the temple with the butt of the gun, making everything go black.

  WAKEY, WAKEY

  “Wake up, princess,” the guard said as I slowly came to. I woke up just in time to feel the guard kick me in the ribs. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey. Isn't that the dumb shit they say in America?”

  I coughed and grabbed onto my already cracked rib.

  My beard, dirty and bloody, swept over the concrete crumbs on the ground, clearing a path. “What the fuck?”

  “Oh, did you already forget?” he asked. “You killed my fucking brother, Amadi!”

  “Oh yeah, I remember now. Amadi…he was that piece of shit asshole that used to be in charge, right?” I asked sarcastically.

  The guard kicked me in the ribs again, sending a blinding jolt of pain straight into my chest. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

  “Who the fuck am I? Who-the-fuck-am-I?” the guard echoed.

  “That’s what I asked…did I stutter?” I asked as I coughed out sprays of blood in the air.

  “I’m your muthafuckin’ worst nightmare,” he said as he spit on my face, the blood and saliva running together.

  BANG, BANG.

  There was a knocking at the door. A moment later it creaked open and Nasima poked her head in. “Dakar, there is a situation down the hall and the others need you.”

  “Fuck!” Dakar screamed as he stole one more swift kick to my leg as he walked out. “Stay here and make sure he stays alive long enough for me to come back and kill him.”

  “Yes, Dakar,” Nasima said, lowering her head as he passed by and slammed the door shut.

  Nasima fell to her knees and ran her fingers through my hair. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, nothing a few shots of tequila wouldn’t fix,” I groaned as I rolled over onto my side and grabbed my ribs.

  Nasima cupped her hands over her mouth and started to cry.

  “Don’t cry,” I said as I reached over in complete agony, not caring about my own comfort to wipe the tears coming from her eyes.

  “I hate them for doing this to you,” she said as she unveiled herself. Her heavy hair fell and swayed back and forth before settling down the length of her arm as she used the material to wipe my face of the dirt and blood that covered it.

  I grabbed her hand. “Nasima, put it back on. I don’t want you to get caught without it. I can’t imagine what I would do if they hurt you.”

  She swatted my hand away. “Stop worrying about me, I know what I am doing,” she said confidently as she continued to wipe my swollen face clean. “What were you thinking, trying to escape?”

  “I was thinking I wanted to get the hell out of here,” I replied.

  “Not like that,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Then like what? All you have proposed was for me to sell out my country, and even then, my chances of escape are slim to none,” I said, irritated with the situation, but then saw some slight disappointment in her face. I caressed the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m a big girl, you don’t need to tip-toe around me,” she said as she shifted my hand from her face and proceeded to wrap her veil back around her head. She pushed herself off of her knees and stood up. She leaned her back up against the wall adjacent to me with her hands clasped in front of her. “What is your next move?”

  “I hadn’t planned that far ahead. I feel like making it through the night is a good plan,” I said sarcastically.

  “Is this how you Americans are? Always sarcastic and deflecting with jokes?” she asked. “I’m trying to help you, but you trying to escape is only going to make them mad. Killing Amadi was the wrong move, because if you thought he was bad, his brother has even more evil in his soul.”

  She made her way back over to me.

  “I can handle it, and if I can’t, then at least I will finally get some rest,” I said as I laid my head back on the cold ground. Every part of my body ached for some reprieve.

  Nasima cradled my beaten body in her arms and started to hum a sweet melody as she slightly rocked back and forth. The tenderness she surrounded me with lulled me to sleep.

  I woke up to Nasima screaming as she was dragged across the floor by her hair.

  “Let her go!” I screamed, trying to reach out to help her, but my broken ribs kept me from being of any use.

  “No, Elijah…stay there!” Nasima screamed as Dakar slammed the door behind him.

  The stare he had given me before the door shut completely was one of revenge. I knew Dakar had caught her holding me and now he was going to take out his anger on her.

  I pounded my fist on the ground as Nasima’s screams grew fainter the further she was taken. Gritting my teeth to bear the pain, I pushed myself up from the ground. The excruciating pain filled my body as I positioned my back on the wall, contemplating how I could possibly save her in the condition I was in. I hung my head, the feeling of weakness not something I was accustomed to.

  ***

  Nasima

  “Stop, Dakar!” I screamed as Dakar dragged me down the hall by my hair. Elijah’s door disappeared from sight as I was dragged toward the torture room.

  “Stop struggling―you brought this on yourself. What the fuck were you doing holding him like that?” he screamed as I struggled to get out of his grip.

  “You told me to keep him alive,” I said as tears started to roll down my cheeks from the sheer pain of my hair pulling the weight of my entire body. “Please do not do this, Dakar.”

  “Keep him alive. Not fuck him.”

  “But…”

  “Shut up, Nasima! You fucking whore!” he blared an inch away from the side of my face, causing a brief deafness in my right ear.

  I sobbed uncontrollably as Dakar, with the assistance of another guard, picked me up and threw me down on the wooden chair, restraining my wrists and ankles with metal handcuffs. They adjusted them so tightly I couldn’t move a centimeter without feeling the hard metal pressed up against my bones.

  “Please, Dakar, do not do this to me. I am very sorry. Please do not hurt me,” I pleaded.

  “Stop begging,” he yelled, pacing the room.

  “Please,” I cried.

  “You deserve this. You are supposed to be married in a few weeks. A few fucking weeks,” he repeated.

  I nodded.

  “Do you think Ibrahim is going to want you now that you are sullied by that American filth?” Dakar yelled angrily.

  I
shook my head, which hung between my shoulders, and whispered, “No, I do not think he would not want me after this.”

  “You’re fucking lucky we need Ibrahim’s money to continue funding the cause. But you are not to see that fuckin’ American anymore.” Dakar yelled so viciously, he sprayed saliva into the air.

  The vein on the side of his neck bulged out further than I had ever seen it. I knew I had made a grave mistake by getting caught anywhere near Elijah, and now I would pay for it.

  “Let’s show the world what the American got to see before poor Ibrahim ever had a chance.”

  Dakar took out a knife from his back pocket and slashed at the material that made up my dress, ripping it to shreds in a fit of rage, leaving me on the weathered wooden chair with nothing more than my bra, panties, and a few tattered pieces of cloth that still hung onto my body.

  “In fact! I will let him see you one last time…after we are done here. I will let him see what he has done to you.”

  “No,” I begged, shaking my head.

  He laughed. “And the embarrassment you will feel will more than compensate for me having to lie.”

  “You’re evil, Dakar!” I yelled in anger.

  He leaned in to me, his face a centimeter from mine, so close I could smell what he had for lunch. “Evil? Well, at least I’m not a whore!”

  I lowered my head again, ashamed that Dakar and the other guard could see most of my uncovered flesh. I tried to bring my knees together and slump down to shield my most private parts from their view, but to no avail. The warm air crept over me, touching all of my exposed areas, a feeling I definitely was not used to.

  My skin crawled as their gaze undressed what small amount of fabric was left clinging to me. It was a feeling I hated Dakar for, and although I knew it was wrong, I wished nothing less than a thousand painful deaths upon him. He whipped his belt out from the belt loops, slapping the leather against the floor to induce fear in me. It worked.

  “How dare you?” I said, sobbing, the tears rolling down my cheeks as the first blow from Dakar’s leather belt came thrashing down onto the soft flesh of my thigh.

  The impact knocked a pause into my breathing, and I struggled to regain the natural rhythm through a series of short labored breaths.

  “How dare I? I’ll show you!” he said as he inserted his cigar into his mouth to get a better grip on the leather belt.

  One strike, then another came with more force than the last. With each passing lash, the meat of my flesh began to puff up into long, rectangular welts, taking on the shape of the belt. I screamed after every snap against my skin, until finally I couldn’t feel the pain and my body became numb to the beating. I felt like I was having an out of body experience, sitting in the corner of the room, watching a man I grew up with beating a poor, defenseless woman restrained to a chair like an animal.

  “Tell me you’re sorry!” he yelled, slightly panting from the workout.

  “I…I…I’m sorry, Dak―” I was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “I’m fuckin’ busy in here!” he yelled through his cigar, straightening out his posture to await a response from the other side of the door.

  “Dakar…they are here,” the muffled voice hollered.

  Dakar turned to the guard and threw him the belt. “Here, finish up. don’t get her face…that takes longer to heal.”

  The guard caught the belt and nodded, his lips snarling at me, salivating at the chance to have a go at me.

  “Send them in,” Dakar ordered.

  The door opened, and one of the guards poked his head in. “Are you sure you wanna talk in front of the whore?”

  “She is not going to want to talk after this.” He laughed, shooting me a wink.

  An older Persian man walked in, dressed in a finely tailored suit, holding a small brown leather bound briefcase. He shook Dakar’s hand and looked around the room.

  “Where is your brother?” the man asked.

  “He has been killed by a fucking American.”

  The man shook his head. “I am very sorry to hear that. Was it for the cause?”

  Dakar turned to me, shooting me the look of death. “No. It was just a dirty American, doing what they do best.”

  The man rested his hand on Dakar’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Once again, I am very sorry.”

  “Thank you. He will be missed,” Dakar said, shaking his head.

  The man patted Dakar’s shoulder one last time. “Well, down to business, if you don’t mind? Maybe this new plan will avenge your brother’s death. A life for a life.”

  “Yes. That would be nice. I have some private matters to get back to after our meeting, so let’s move this along,” he replied, glancing back over to me as they made their way to the door.

  “The men are here to pick up the extra pipes, ball bearings, C4, and the other things, for the added attacks that I planned with Amadi.”

  “Okay. Thankfully he already told me the targets, days, and times. I will make sure these attacks are especially heinous. Someone needs to pay.”

  The man motioned out the door. “They will pay!”

  Dakar turned to me as he walked out the door. “Bye, Nasima, be a good girl, I’ll be back soon.”

  “Don’t leave me here with him, Dakar,” I screamed.

  Hurt, angry, and alone, I let out the wail of a banshee that I was sure could be heard from every corridor of the building. The guard smiled as he walked toward me with the belt, bestowing upon me a beating that I would never…could never forget.

  ***

  Elijah

  A high pitched scream of a woman careened through the hallway and straight into my cell, jolting me from my seated position. I ran straight for the door, pressing my ear up against it to listen. I didn’t hear anything else for hours; not until I finally heard the clanging of the keys as they neared my cell door. I pushed myself away and readied myself for my turn at the whip.

  Five men burst in and tackled me to the ground, covering my head with a black sack as they dragged me into the hallway.

  “Where the fuck are you taking me?” I yelled.

  “Shut the fuck up,” one voice said as he kneed me in the face.

  I woke up to the black sack being ripped off. My eyes focused in on Dakar leaning against the wall, staring out the window.

  “Are you ready to talk?” he asked, moving toward me.

  I didn’t reply.

  “I’m not going to ask you again, but if you don’t tell me what I need to know…” he said, holding the muzzle of the gun to my throat, “…you’re going to die.”

  Again, I didn’t reply. He motioned to the man standing across the room, holding a large syringe.

  “One more chance. What makes you Americans think you can stick your nose in our business?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about, bitch.”

  Dakar motioned to the man to inject me with the syringe, filled with a milky white liquid.

  “What the fuck is that?” I asked.

  “It’s a little something I have been playing with. Makes little birdies sing pretty.”

  “What the fuck is with you people and singing pretty?”

  The man jabbed the needle into my forearm, forcing the liquid in.

  “Fuck!”

  It was cold, and I could feel it coursing through my veins as my heart pumped.

  Dakar shooed the men out of the room. “Get the fuck out of here. I’ll finish this.”

  “Such a big man when the other guy is drugged up and restrained!” I taunted.

  The men walked out and closed the door behind them. The room began to spin, and my body became flushed with heat as the liquid began to take effect. My head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, way too heavy for my neck to hold upright on its own. It fell forward as the sound of Dakar’s voice turned almost ghostly.

  “Are you feeling good yet?” he asked, his voice ringing through my ears.

  My words slurred. “Fu…uu
…ck you.”

  “Are those the only two words you know? The military doesn’t teach anything other than shooting bullets, and saying fuck you?” he asked as he walked behind me and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back.

  His face was blurry, but the cigarette smoke on his breath burned through my nostrils.

  “Brush your teeth,” I said, as my jaw began to slacken.

  Angry, he threw my head forward. “Tell me about the ground forces. How did you know about my trafficking route?”

  I could feel the truth want to spill from my lips. His serum had begun to work, and it was doing a damn fine job, disintegrating years of training with a single push of a syringe. I knew I would have to keep my mouth busy with other truths.

  “Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231,” I murmured.

  “Tell me about the routes and the bombs!” he yelled next to my ear, his spit flying onto the side of my face.

  The decibel, coupled with the serum, was enough to blow my ear drums right out of my head.

  “Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231.” My words began to slur as my head bobbed.

  He pulled out a cigar, along with a lighter, lodging it slowly in the separation between his lips. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply, flicking the ashes toward me as he exhaled a ring of smoke.

  “Tell me, you piece of American shit,” he said quietly.

  “Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231.”

  “Fuck!” he bellowed as he pulled his gun out and shot me through the meat of my thigh.

  Luckily, the truth serum also acted like a muscle relaxant, and the pain from the bullet felt like the slight pinch of a flu shot.

  “I gotta give it to you…” he said an inch from my face, “…you are one tough piece of shit.”

  “Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231…” I said one last time before he knocked me out with the butt of his gun.