RETURN TO ME

by Christy Reece

  Stumbling, Samara jerked away from her. “That’s okay … I … hold it, just a minute. I don’t …” A hand came up, headed for her face. Samara jerked back and screamed, “Noah!”

  She heard him shout, “Mara, don’t—” and then the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

  Before she could react, the hand covered her mouth with a noxious cloth. She gasped … then gagged. A burst of light streaked through her vision and then nothing.

  Pain seared, throbbed, and drilled. Heavy eyelids blinked rapidly to force away the nightmare visions. Noah willed himself awake. Muffled sounds of a woman and man whispering fiercely in both English and French caused him to turn his head toward the voices. He made out blurred images of two people standing a few feet away from him. Swallowing hard, he croaked, “What happened?”

  A soft sigh from one … a vile curse from the other. The images grew clearer. Eden and Jordan stood over the bed. Eden’s expression was a mixture of concern, worry, and anger. Jordan’s was all fury.

  “Well, the son of a bitch is finally awake.” Jordan’s furious voice set up a fresh throb of pain in his skull.

  “Stop it, Jordan,” Eden snapped. “Your anger isn’t going to get Samara back.”

  Samara.

  Noah jackknifed from the bed. Pain ripped and roared through his head and side, nausea washed over him. Gritting his teeth against both, he rasped, “Where is she? What happened?”

  “I’d say, by now, she’s been raped a few dozen times, you bastard.”

  Eden whirled around at her husband. “You’re not doing anyone any good. The most important thing is to find her.”

  The room swayed and lurched as he placed his feet on the floor and fought for control. They had Samara. Agony, more vicious and hideous than any physical pain, swept through him.

  Sweet Jesus, they had Samara.

  To get his bearings … to focus, his bleary eyes took in his surroundings. Samara’s apartment … her guest room. While Jordan and Eden continued to argue, Noah gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet.

  “Noah, you can’t be up. You’ve got a concussion. A bullet grazed your rib cage, cracked a rib. You’re in no shape to do anything.”

  He glared at Eden, her concern for him unappreciated under the greater need to find Samara. What the hell had gone wrong? Gripping the bedpost to stay upright, he ground out between clenched teeth, “Tell me what happened.”

  Apparently realizing she wasn’t going to convince him to lie back down, Eden gave him a brief account. “We don’t know if they realized it was a setup or not. The men you placed in the parking lot, Peter and Eli, were shot. They’re both in serious but stable condition. Joseph was knocked unconscious, but he’s okay. No one saw them after they got her out of the bar. We found their abandoned car a few blocks away.”

  “So, we don’t even know what kind of vehicle they’re in?”

  “No.”

  A fresh wave of pain almost overwhelmed him. What had spooked them? And what did any of this matter while Samara was most likely being brutally tortured?

  “How long ago?”

  Jordan and Eden exchanged anxious looks. “Over twenty-four hours now.”

  Noah closed his eyes. Shit. Jerking his head up, ignoring the piercing throb of his head, he snapped, “We get any of their people?”

  Jordan nodded. “Two. One’s in bad shape. The other one won’t give us shit.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Stashed in an abandoned warehouse a few miles down the road.”

  Jaws clenched to keep his spiraling emotions locked inside where they belonged, he headed for the bathroom. “Give me five minutes, then take me to them.”

  Jordan blew out a sigh. “Hell, Noah. We’ve done just about everything but kill them. They’re not talking. Besides, you don’t look as though you could intimidate a rabbit. You look like shit.”

  Walking with exquisite care to avoid jarring any part of his body, Noah made it to the bathroom and closed the door on Jordan’s words. He might look like shit, but he felt worse than shit and nothing and no one could make him feel better. Samara was in the hands of some of the most vicious and evil men he’d ever known. He had to get to her, had to save her.

  Knowing what she was going through was made even worse by the knowledge of who had her. A fresh wave of pain had him almost bent double. Precious, innocent, sweet Samara. He had promised she would be safe. Told her she had nothing to worry about, that he would protect her with his life.

  God, what had he done?

  Her head pounded with vicious intent. Samara thought she might be able to handle the pain if she weren’t so incredibly terrified. Only seconds ago, she woke to darkness and the feeling of movement beneath her. Based upon the noxious fumes almost choking her, she assumed she was in the trunk of a car.

  Though unable to see, perhaps she could find the taillight and knock it out. She’d read somewhere that if you were ever trapped in the trunk of a car, you should kick the taillight out and stick your arm or hand through it to attract other motorists. She wiggled slightly and blew out a sobbing sigh. The article failed to mention what to do if your hands and feet were tied together. Bowed up like this, there was no way in hell she could kick anything. Agonizing cramps in her shoulders and numbness in her legs told her that when she did get out of the trunk, she’d be unable to run. The lack of circulation in her legs and feet would render her legs powerless.

  Memories of what had happened were sketchy and dim, but she remembered two things vividly. Noah had shouted her name and then she’d heard the blast of a gun. Had he been shot? Killed? Dear God, was Noah dead? Grief swamped her, consuming her fear and physical pain. Anguish overwhelmed her for the man he’d been, and what they could have had together, if they’d been different people. Whatever he’d done to her, however he’d hurt her, Noah had done some remarkable things in his life and she knew she’d have a gaping hole inside her forever if he was indeed dead.

  The movement beneath her slowed and stopped abruptly. Fear crashed upon her again. Swallowing past the panic, Samara prepared herself to fight and survive any way she had to. Would she be killed? Raped before she was killed? Sold into sexual slavery like other young girls that’d been kidnapped? No matter what they had planned, she set her mind to overcoming and enduring whatever she had to and staying alive.

  Bright sunshine flooded the small space when the trunk lid flipped up. Her eyes closed automatically against the painful intrusion.

  “Get her out.”

  The voice, harsh and devoid of emotion, startled her and she blinked up at the giant leering down at her.

  “Shit. She’s awake.”

  This voice came from another man standing beside him. Her eyes still adjusting to the brightness, Samara couldn’t make out either of their faces. Hard hands grabbed her shoulders and a groan escaped before she could hold it back.

  “Cut the rope. I love to see ’em try to run.”

  A loosening of her wrists and legs was her only warning. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders, lifted her from the trunk, and dropped her on the ground. Slamming down onto the hard surface of the dirt road jarred her but barely penetrated her consciousness. Only aware of stinging needles tearing and ripping through her limbs, Samara gasped against agony, a jagged edge from passing out.

  A heavy, muddy boot kicked at her shoulder almost playfully. “Come on, get up and try to make a getaway.”

  Samara gritted her teeth, refusing to move. First of all, she couldn’t. There was no way her legs would hold her. Second, doing anything this vile creature wanted her to do went against every instinct she had. Would she run to get away from him? Hell yes. But only when he least expected it. Her best bet right now was to play weak and dumb, and see what she’d gotten herself into.

  “Aw shit. She’s just gonna lay there.”

  Crude laughter sounded above her. “Yeah, but when they’re quiet like that, it makes for a easier screw.”

  Another foot nudged her, e
ven harder. “She’s about the skinniest one we’ve had. Good thing they don’t charge us by the pound.”

  Dread and nausea slammed into her at the words. Frozen on the ground, Samara lay there while panic, fear, and rage twisted within her.

  “Come on, little girl.”

  Yanked up by her hair, Samara screamed with pain and fury. The world lurched as she swayed drunkenly on her feet. Her vision blurred and thick, she made out the outline of two men, one oversized and one average. Before she could comprehend anything about her surroundings, the biggest man pulled her to him and threw her over his shoulder.

  Hanging upside down, Samara squirmed and beat against his back as nausea almost overwhelmed her fear.

  Hard fingers pinched her butt. “Be still.”

  As they walked, Samara forced herself to concentrate on their conversation. If she heard something she could use to escape, she had every intention of using it.

  “You know what you’re going to say?”

  “Yeah … like we talked about. The bitch screamed out for somebody named Noah. We shot the bastard and two others in the parking lot. KJ and Billy both took hits and they’re dead.”

  So it was true. Noah was dead. As she bounced against her abductor’s back, tears poured from her eyes as grief seared her. Samara made a silent vow to avenge Noah’s death in some way.

  “But we don’t know if KJ and Billy are dead. The radio just said several dead. We don’t know if that included them.”

  “They looked dead to me. … You gonna tell him we left ’em without checking?”

  The large man blew out a ragged sigh. “No, but he’s going to want to know what went wrong.”

  “Hell man, you were there, too. You tell me. One minute the bitch was coming right at us and then she screamed. We didn’t have any other choice than to pop the pricks.”

  The giant holding her rubbed her butt, then pinched it again. “Sure as hell hope she’s worth the trouble.”

  “She’s so small, she can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. I heard that the big boss is getting upwards of ten thousand for the real young ones. Bet nobody’s even popped her cherry yet.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Sure wish they’d let us. We’re the ones taking all the risks.”

  The big man holding her stopped abruptly. “Hell man, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to do that. I’d let you have her back there.”

  Her heart stopped. Was it about to happen? Was she about to be brutally raped by these two gorillas?

  “Naw, she’s too scrawny for me. … I like that bitch we got a few weeks ago. … You know, Lara something or the other … the one with the big tits.”

  Samara closed her eyes at the small reprieve. The longer she could hold out, the better her chances of surviving and escaping this nightmare. Though upside down and fighting through nausea and terror, she’d been able to look around. They were in a heavily wooded area. Where, she had no idea. Were they still in Alabama? How long had she been unconscious? Hours most likely since she’d been knocked out around midnight. The sun was shining bright in the sky, so the chances of her being even close to Birmingham were slim.

  The one holding her froze with tension and came to a grinding halt. “There’s the boss. Damn, he looks pissed, too.”

  “Hell, it ain’t our fault. He’s the one who set this up.”

  “You want to tell me what the hell happened?” The deep voice, thick with a southern drawl, sounded strangely familiar. Where had she heard that voice before?

  The big man shrugged, almost dislodging Samara from his shoulder. “Hell, boss, we just did what you told us to do. Go get the bitch … is what you said. It ain’t our fault somebody come with her.”

  “She brought someone with her?” Funnily enough, he sounded insulted.

  “Yeah, some guy named Noah.”

  “Shit! Noah McCall.”

  Their boss had evidently heard of Noah. So if he knew about LCR, would he automatically realize she was a plant … bait for them? What did that mean for her? Would she be punished … treated more severely since she’d double-crossed them?

  “Bring her on in here and let’s tag her. Then we’ll figure out what we need to do.” She heard footsteps going away from her, then he stopped. “Where’s KJ and Billy?”

  “They got kilt, boss.”

  “And you just left them there?”

  “Well, we had to. The police were sure to show up, so we took the bitch and ran.”

  The man blew out a disgusted sigh. “Did you at least take care of the man with her?”

  “Yeah, shot him up good.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  There was a long pause and the man beside her mumbled, “We think so.”

  “Idiots. Get in here.”

  Though filled with terror of what was about to happen, Samara knew a brilliant triumph. Noah might not be dead. He could still be alive and if he was, he would do everything he could to rescue her.

  She vowed to stay alive, do whatever it took, enduring whatever she had to. Yes, she would try to escape when the opportunity arose, but just knowing Noah would be looking for her too gave her hope. And Samara desperately needed hope.

  They entered a building and she felt a slight, quick relief when her captor pulled her off his shoulder and dropped her to the floor. Trying with all her might not to cower, to be brave, courageous, and strong, Samara flipped her long hair out of her face and raised furious eyes to the man responsible for so much misery.

  Every muscle, cell, and nerve in her body went still with shock. The man with the familiar voice had the eyes of a cold-blooded killer and a smirk of pure evil. That wasn’t what filled her with horror.

  The man leering down at her had the face of Noah McCall.

  eight

  After splashing his face with water and swallowing a handful of aspirin, Noah emerged from the bathroom, filled with the cold, hard determination he was famous for. Jordan and Eden were in the living room, pacing, planning, and arguing.

  Gripping the doorjamb, Noah interrupted with a growl, “Tell me what’s been done so far.”

  Though glaring at Noah as if he’d rather beat the hell out of him than talk, Jordan nevertheless knew what the priorities were. “We used our contacts to cover the shooting. Took our injured men to a hospital. The authorities, as usual, are helping us keep it out of the press.

  “The two we captured are at a warehouse. One of them was damned close to dying, so we had to bring in one of our doctors. I just got a call that the bastard’s escaped into a coma, so we can’t get anything from him. The other one sustained a flesh wound in his arm and a concussion, so he’s got plenty of life in him. Gabe’s working on him, but he can’t get squat.”

  “What’s the press reporting?” Noah asked.

  “We kept it vague. Bar brawl, several killed.”

  Noah nodded. “Go on.”

  “Hell man, that’s it. We don’t have shit on where they’ve taken her.”

  Noah forced his legs to move forward. “Take me to the warehouse.”

  Noah ignored the look Jordan flashed him as they walked out the door. Jordan thought this was a waste of time. Noah didn’t have time to reassure him that his method for extracting information was almost infallible. When he finished, sometimes even before he got started, most people were only too happy to talk.

  It took barely ten minutes to get to the warehouse, but it felt like a year by the time he walked into the abandoned building. Two LCR operatives guarded the front of the building. Two more stood in front of a door. Sounds of fists pounding flesh and grunts of pain and rage came from the other room. But no answers.

  Nodding at the two operatives, Noah pushed open the door and looked at one of his best men, beating their prisoner to a pulp. “Stop.”

  Gabriel Maddox jerked around. “Hell, Noah, what are you doing here?”

  “Get out. Let me talk to him.”

  Gabe turned toward the man hanging from the ceiling and spat on him. “My plea
sure.”

  The door behind Noah shut, leaving him alone with one of the bastards responsible for taking Samara, as well as countless other young girls. Standing with a quiet stillness that often unnerved the most unflappable, he took a few seconds to assess their captive.

  Blond hair, cut military short, was matted with sweat. The man was muscular and fit … definitely military. Gabe had worked him over good. Eyes swollen shut, nose a bloody mess, lips busted and bleeding. He’d been stripped to nothing but his underwear. Bruises covered most of his torso. A bloody bandage covered his left upper arm. He’d been battered heavily and all apparently for nothing. The man wouldn’t talk. Why?

  Bennett didn’t train his people to withstand torture. If this man was former military, that would make him stronger than most … but why loyalty to a scumbag who preyed on children? The people they’d captured in the raids last year sang like a choir when presented with only the slightest bit of coercion. What would make this man hold out like this? What made him different?

  Noticing a bottle of water sitting on the floor, Noah picked it up and held it to the man’s bloodied mouth. The man gulped it down, but still didn’t speak.

  Though time was of the essence and he didn’t plan on giving the guy much time to change his mind, Noah sensed he would resist to the death what Noah had originally planned to get him to talk. Maybe there was another way.

  Pulling a chair up, he sat down in front of him. “Looks like you’ve been through a lot. Want to tell me why you’d protect such scum?”

  No answer.

  Narrowing his eyes, Noah studied the man’s stoic expression. Though he would have liked nothing more than to beat him within an inch of his life to force the information, the beatings so far had gotten no results. He got the impression nothing would deter him. Which meant something held him back … something very important to him.

  “You’re not part of this, are you?” Noah asked quietly.

  No answer.

  “You’re undercover.” It was a calculated guess, but when something flickered across his face, Noah knew he’d hit pay dirt.