Now it was time for the fun part. He would rattle off questions that she wouldn’t answer. He would continue using her as a punching bag until he grew tired, then they would leave her. Which was when she would make her grand escape—after snapping their necks of course.
After the third fist that smashed against her face, she began to reevaluate the situation. Holding true to her form, she kept her resistance strong, not muttering a single sound despite the brutal bashing. When he seemed to grow bored, he stopped and grabbed her face between his grungy forefinger and thumb, squeezing hard. “Who sent you?” he grumbled in broken English through rotten brown teeth. Saliva strung along them, dripping and stringing out of his mouth with each word. She tried to turn away so as not to toss her cookies all over him, and forced herself to breathe through her mouth to avoid the gingivitis shit smell of his breath. His grip tightened, bruising the tender flesh of her cheeks. Still, she remained silent. He didn’t bother asking again. Instead, he kicked her chair over, making her fall frontwards onto the dirt ground. Her knees took most of the jar, but when he shoved his foot against her bound wrists and made her tip over farther to face plant, she felt her nose split and the irony taste of blood flood her mouth. That was about the last straw. The ropes that tied her ankles to the chair slid off the ends easily from her current position, and she rolled, unhooking the rope while flipping to her feet in a total ‘Charlie’s Angels’ fashion. When the ogre charged her, she spun, using the chair as leverage to sling her legs up just as he dove down, wrapping her legs around his neck in her signature move. Once secured, she threw her body sideways, twisting her legs tight. He fought for air, momentarily stunned and rendered at her mercy. Despite the pounding against her legs from his fists, she squeezed on while she still worked the ropes on her wrists with the small knife she kept tucked under the wristband of her top. She got them free just as one of the others came rushing to his aid. Vice swung the small blade just in time, dragging the sharp edge across his cheek. It filleted open like a gutted fish while he screamed like a little bitch. Finally the fucker went slack between her legs and she kicked off, sliding across the room to flip over the back of the chair and land on her feet…face to face with the barrel of an AK47. Fuck. This was a waiting game, and time wasn’t on her side.
She was dragged to a tub of water that sat over in the corner. Its murky color and stagnant smell made it hard to tell if it had been used as a toilet, or if this was the reason they didn’t bathe but once every six months. Either way, chances were she would get an up close and personal look if she didn’t act now. Spinning around in their grip, Vice raised her foot just in time to make contact with one of her attacker’s groin, crumbling him to the ground. It didn’t take long for more to flood in, making the odds stack up against her. She fought back viciously, using every tactic she could to break free. There were a couple times she almost had the upper hand, but somehow more assholes always seemed to appear in place of the ones she disabled. She fought until five or more got ahold of her and held her motionless. Fuck. It seems my SEALs training is about to be tested. Lord, help me through this. Vice focused her mind, preparing for what was about to happen. She slowed her heartbeat and steadied her breathing, taking in deep, full breaths. Even while they yelled and wrenched her arms and head around painfully, she remained calm.
The first dunk under the water seemed to last forever. Panic threatened to take over when her lungs began to burn, desperate for oxygen. It took all of her willpower to keep from fighting, but she succeeded. Her body went lax, carried by the thoughts of everyone back home who counted on her and her survival through this exact moment. She had three kids who would be heartbroken if Aunt Vice died. Putting Skyler, Heather, and Lizzy through any more trauma was unacceptable. Just as she felt consciousness slipping through her fingers, they pulled her out of the raunchy water. “Who sent you!” the one holding her by the hair yelled in broken English.
“Fuck you.” He must have studied up on American insults, because her face slammed back down into the tub of muck. This time, he proceeded to dunk her over and over, not giving her a chance to catch a breath between each shove. Little by little she was able to suck in air, helping immensely when she went submerged for another long bout. This time when she was raised, a slam to her jaw caught her off guard. The next dunk leaked into her lungs, drowning her. She had no choice but to fight back. Using the last bit of strength she had, she kicked and pushed until the metal tub tilted enough she was able to use her body weight to flip it on its side, dumping the water all over the dirt floor. Coughing and sputtering, Vice struggled to get free. The more she fought, the more gorillas joined in on the fight. The rebels yelled their chants—obviously unhappy at her actions. A few extra jabs to her ribs later, she was restrained once again, and forced to wait for their next fun little event.
Back at the ranch, the women fawned over a pimped out Vince who stood before the full length mirror. Clad in a ridiculously tight pair of jeans and a bright blue button up with pale pearl snaps, a black Stetson sitting atop his head, and black boots, he was a sight for sore eyes. Violet and Alaina let out a few cat calls, whooping it up at the man who stood before them. “Hot damn, Vincie! Talk about a devil in blue jeans! Whew, if you weren’t gay I would be all over you, darlin’!” Violet teased. Alaina smacked him on the ass playfully, pulling her hand back as if the mere contact burnt her palm.
“Eat it up, girls. I am determined to get me a little rodeo action tonight! So, you don’t think it’s too much?” Vince went to remove the hat, only to be stopped by Mrs. Sanders who sauntered in.
“Trust an old woman and keep the hat, boy. It adds that little bit of mystery and raw edge.” She spun him around in a full circle, taking in the whole view. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. You look good enough to eat.” The room erupted in laughter.
“Well, Mrs. Sanders, look at you getting all frisky. Michael might have a run for his money,” Alaina chided. About that time, Bella and Michael walked in from doing afternoon chores.
“Aw now, there’s no harm in lookin’. Even us elders know a hottie when we see one.” Bella burst out laughing, loving how Mrs. Sanders talked younger than her years at times. She was always a breath of fresh air, and you never knew what to expect. They hadn’t noticed Michael who stood in the doorway until he spoke.
“As long as it’s only lookin’ your doin’ I won’t have to mess up Vince’s pretty face.” Everyone turned to stare, never knowing when he was serious. After a monumental pause, his features drifted into a grin, showing his mature distinguished handsomeness.
“That’s okay, Michael. I’d be too busy checking you out in all of your rustic true cowboy glory.” Vince winked playfully at the now blushing older man. When the jokes and giggles died down, Michael spoke up.
“You look nice, son. I want you to be careful tonight. These men around here aren’t like those city boys. They can get a bit rough and rowdy. If anything happens, just give me a call and ol’ Betsy and I will be there faster than they can yell ‘Yee haw’.”
“Betsy?” Vince said confused.
“Betsy is the .12 gage shotgun that sits above the mantle. Ain’t nothin’ she can’t handle. That girl and I have been through many brawls and never been beat.” The corners of his mouth tilted, sparking curiosity in everyone as to what ‘brawls’ he had been in where a gun was needed. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Mrs. Sanders, who turned into a smitten school girl yet once again. Seeing the two together gave Vince hope—somewhere out there was a love like that for him, and with any luck, he would find it tonight.
Vince smiled and thanked him, saving that discussion for a later time. With a final once over, they all wished him luck as he set out on the hunt for a hot cowboy to call his own.
The team drove as close to the Pakistan border as they could going unnoticed and parked in a dried up secluded creek bed. Hulk and Juju popped open the crates and extracted weapons and gear, passing them out to each soldier. With their new gadgets and extra f
irepower, they were a force to be reckoned with. “I want every extra pocket you have to be loaded with extra ammo. This is going to be a shit storm and we need to go in prepared,” Pop stated.
“Roger, LT,” the others answered as they proceeded to stock pile every weapon and clip in the box. Pakistan may keep normal forces from crossing the border, but they weren’t normal.
Taking extra precautions, they covered the vehicles with leaves and other brush along with camouflage tarps to keep prying eyes from spotting them as easily. Rock gathered them all together for a prayer before they headed out, asking for the protection they were sure to need. When he finished he readied his weapon and smiled at the clicks as each of them did the same. “These fuckers have our girl. Whatever we have to do to get her back, we do. Am I clear?”
“Hooah!” came the answer from the group of pissed off, heavily armed, highly trained killing machines. If burning the whole fucking country was necessary, they would do it. Vice would be back safe in their custody before they knew what the hell had hit them.
They had been trekking for hours, using the GPS coordinates of the compound in question. Thanks to a handy gadget still in the testing phase, Vice’s dog tags had been implanted with a tracking chip that could be picked up on the new computers that were now strapped on each of their wrists. Its signal beeped strong, and gave them all hope to find her before it was too late. They all knew forty-eight hours was the normal timeframe before a rescue became a body retrieval, and pushed them into a slow run.
Dom’s heart thudded in his chest, aching with each palpitation more and more, but not from the march. With each passing minute, fear tore through him more at the thought of her being at their mercy. She was tough, but even the strongest man couldn’t stand up to some of the methods those sadists were so well known for. The only thing that gave him comfort, besides planning on his revenge, was knowing if they slipped up even a miniscule, Vice would hang them with their own intestines. But…what if she wasn’t able? She was still a woman. Not an ordinary one, but female none the less. Torture on her would be different than on one of them. They had all heard stories of insurgents using razor blades to slice off the lips of a woman’s pussy and their clit removed, branding irons shoved in their vagina, and objects ripping their ass out. One report had come through of a woman who had her tits cut off and left for dead, only to survive weeks in agonizing pain and brutal beatings after the men had their fill of raping the victim day in and day out. The possibilities were endless, and made Dom want to puke. He knew he had to block his mind or he would never make it. Swallowing down the acid that had risen in his throat, he focused on the mission. Over and over he rolled different scenarios and what to do in each one. It was what he did. He prepared for any and all possible situations. Thankfully, his obsession tamed the worry down to a livable level and let the anger and hate take over. When this was over, Ziploc baggies would be needed for the body parts.
After the maggot had forced her, via the barrel of a gun shoved against her temple, between two support columns in the middle of the room, they strung her up by her wrists spread like a starfish. Her knife had been discovered and confiscated, after another long bout of punches and kicks to her ribs, face, and stomach. It had taken five of them to hold her, and the slightest bit of satisfaction still lingered from the memory at the two she had managed to mangle before they had to get help. Both had broken bones, open wounds, and enough blood seeping from them in random areas it had amplified her inner strength ten fold. One mistake. Just one, and you will all beg for mercy, motherfuckers. Let’s see how deep you can swallow your own cock after I slice them off and shove them down as you're strung up by the throat.
He hoisted her in the air, stretching her arms over her head painfully causing the ropes to cut into the flesh of her wrists. Her shoulders and biceps throbbed in a heated ache. Her body hurt all over, but the pain wasn’t what had her down. This place was crawling with insurgents. The team should be getting close, and she had no way to warn them. The cool metal of her dog tags hung safely between the swell of her breasts under her clothing, and away from prying eyes—for now. If the chip worked, they would know exactly where she was. There was no doubt in her mind the men were the best of the best…but when it came to one of their own in this situation, she wasn’t sure if they could keep their thoughts rational and focused. Dom especially. Dom—he was her kryptonite. He pissed her off, aroused her, and made her heart both ache and palpitate at the same time. She sent up a silent prayer thankful it was she in this situation and not any of the others. After all of the trauma she had been through in her life, this was nothing. She was jaded and knew torture. Growing up, her father had worked long hours, leaving her alone with her manic depressive, bipolar, schizophrenic psychotic mother. The mental and verbal abuse were almost as bad as the physical.
From guns being shot at her to being burnt with an iron for leaving her shoe on the floor, Vice had been through a hell no others could imagine. Which was why as soon as she were able, she had fled and moved as far away from them as possible and joined the Army. She was in control of her life. No one could ever hurt her the way her parents had, and no one ever would again. These fuckers thought they could break her down. All interrogations were the same. They started by physically weakening their prey, then moved on to mental and emotional torture, before resorting back to physical. What they didn’t know was nothing they could say or do would come close to hurting her spirit. She was iron inside to most of the world, except the very few people she let in and loved. If one of them were to be harmed to hurt her, that would kill her. So, whatever these assholes thought they could do, she could do more. The time would come, and she would get her revenge. When the team came for her, she needed to be ready to fight.
Vice inhaled deeply, allowing the stuffy stinky air to wash away her anxiety, and give her a calming that would be needed when the shit storm hit. Sunrise was only three hours or so away. She watched as the two remaining men walked out, securing the door behind them. Finally.
Vice looked around, seeing her full surroundings for the first time. There were two windows and one door. The walls were nothing more than pieces of metal and wood puzzled together to make a shack, leaving cracks and holes all in the walls. Movement caught her eye on the other side. She listened closely to see if she could pick up anything. There were three men speaking, but she could only see one. It was hard to tell in the dark lighting, but the tiny sliver of light that shone through the crack illuminated the side of his face enough for her to tell he wasn’t like the others. His skin was light and his hair matched. Craning her neck to an almost unbearable painful angle, she watched as he spoke. His Arabic was choppy. When he turned to look in the other direction, one rattled off in the foreign tongue, but a lowered voice is what grasped her attention most. The man was speaking English. How many of her fellow countrymen were involved? It sickened her at how money could make people do the unthinkable, and give up any honor and integrity. The others would get what was coming to them…but the traitorous fuckers who were willing to commit treason would get a special kind of pain.
Mac had his nose to the ground with Hulk at his side, leading the team to the compound. Through the night vision goggles, the gates and fences could be seen in the distance. Rock had radioed in their location and requested air support only to be denied. With them crossing the border into Pakistan, they were on their own.
As they reached the edge of the clearing, the troops hunkered down. Silently, Dom and Pop split the team into two groups and turned their separate ways. While Pop led his group around to the front and took his position as sniper from the top of the hill beside the compound, Dom’s team went around the back.
Mac had been commanded to stay with Pop, which had been more for the dog’s protection than Pop’s. Ironically, Mac caught scent of a guard doing a perimeter check and nudged Pop’s leg. Pop lowered himself closely to the ground with Mac doing the same just as the heavily armed man walked by. When he was out
of sight, Pop patted the dog’s head. “Good boy,” he whispered. From his advantage point, he had a good look at the buildings and people within the gates. There were only three guards, which surprised him. There were only four buildings, and from what he could tell, maybe twenty people. Unless this shit hole went underground, this was going to be a piece of cake. He radioed his findings to the group and got into position, readying for their entry.
As Dom and the others neared the back entrance, he heard her. Vice. Her screams echoed around them. He turned to the others with rage in his eyes, giving the nod that signaled them to move. Like ninjas in the night they slid through the gate undetected, keeping to the shadows in a rush toward the location she was being held. Hulk’s voice came over their earpiece quietly, “We are in position and ready to rock. Go get our girl.”
Dom answered a simple “Roger” and led the others to surround the building where she was being held captive.
Hulk went to the west side window while Juju took the south side. Maverick took Dom’s flank, and signaled to the others. “Go time!” Hulk and Juju busted through the windows the same time Dom and Maverick kicked down the door. He quickly scanned the room and found Vice, bound and tied from the rafters by her wrists, while two men took turns slashing her body with a whip. Her clothing hung off her body in shreds. With each crack of the leather strap, their aggression grew. Blood seeped through her clothing. Without hesitation, Dom zeroed in on the one holding the weapon and fired, dropping him to the ground. The other man reached for his rifle but was too slow. Hulk charged toward him firing, filling his body with iron. Juju and Maverick ran to her aid, cutting her down. Her body crumbled into Maverick’s arms. While Dom ran to check her wounds, Juju and Hulk ran out the doorway to help the others. Gunshots pelted against the building, popping from all directions. He heard the troops over the earpiece clearing the area and knew they had it under control. Maverick handed Vice over to Dom and grabbed his first aid kit out of his ruck.
Mission: Compromised Submissive Page 4