It never leaves.
And…and I think I may be having delusions by now, because the reason I just forced myself up even though I want to cry just doing it is because I keep hearing Gunny.
Hilarious, huh? I’m going to die in this shit box, messed up and bleeding, thinking of the man who created Shadow in the first place. It’s fucking ironic if you ask me.
It’s been at least a week. I think. I’m not sure anymore because time in here is endless, and with the constant pain it’s likely that everything feels longer.
Do you know what the worst thing about torture is? What it does to your mind. And the sleep deprivation, because there is no way you can sleep when you know they’ll be coming for you sooner or later, whenever they feel that they’ve screwed with you enough.
I’m lucky though, they’ve only used some beating and water techniques with me so far, and I still have my nails and skin. At first, I was okay. The techniques that I use to leave my body when the pain gets too bad were working. Springfield. Rachel and her family walking my way, huge smiles on their faces.
Until it became memories of Gunny and me making love like we used to do for hours when he got a day off. Him and me in my hotel, sheets tangled.
Sweat. Heat. His mouth between my legs, licking and sucking at me for so long I’d beg him to take me…
“God, I adore you, babe.”
“Yeah? Is this you speaking or the dangling bit above your nuts?” I ask softly, giggling when he rolls me over and pins me beneath him, my hands trapped in his as he stares down at me with caramel-colored eyes ablaze with lust and something I hope is love.
“Me. And my dick, of course,” he chuckles, pressing into me.
The feel of his shaft sliding through my slit where I’m wet with both our juices fires my blood. I moan when he starts slicking himself over me, hitting my wet clit with every upstroke.
God, I love this man. It’s so new and scary and wonderful that I can’t think for a minute as my chest tightens. He’s my everything. Something I never thought would happen because I’d sworn years before that I wouldn’t fall in love. Not ever.
I love Gunny though. His brown hair and caramel eyes, his body that makes me drool just thinking of putting my mouth on all that hard flesh. His mouth, even when it’s twisted in a smirk and…
I gasp when he rears up a little and pushes his erection into me without warning, his thick flesh separating tissue swollen and tender from long hard hours of nothing but sex and need.
“Stop thinking, babe. Just feel.”
I obey because, as with everything else, Gunny owns this part of me, too. I crave him, need him, and want to be his with every fiber of my being. And I am, I think, as he starts slamming into me, my ankles held wide at his shoulders.
I feel every scrape of him inside me, every inch of his dick as he hammers home without cease, almost painful in his movements. When I come, it’s so brutal I have to bite into my own hand to stifle the scream of surrender as he stiffens above me and pours himself into me, silently.
He never lets go fully, no matter how rough or out of control the sex gets. That frightens me somewhere deep inside—
“Get up, bitch. Time to chat.”
I’m wrenched from my memories with a suddenness that has me crying out when my arm is grabbed and I’m dragged out of the cell. Pain shoots through me, but I ignore it, gritting my teeth so hard I hear them crack.
I focus instead on breathing through the nausea that’s grabbed hold of me since yesterday. I haven’t eaten in so long it doesn’t even hurt anymore, but it’s the lack of water that has me now.
It’s been days, I know, even if I don’t have an idea of the time frame. I’m dragged down the long, sandy corridor and take yet another peek at the place. The walls aren’t smooth but carved rock, holding underground battery lamps. The sand all around is another indication that I’m not stateside anymore, though I’ve been in denial about this for a while.
I remember places like these. No one gets out.
Shouts ricochet around me, and I sigh as yet another truth hits home before I can squelch it. I know that guttural language being barked, and it’s not a good sound. I mean, I’ve heard the accent for as long as I’ve been here, but hearing the actual language is like being ice bathed again. It hits home that I’m really screwed, and though I want to crumple and cry, I don’t.
Not because I’m strong anymore, I think morosely, as I’m pulled into my own private hell in the form of a tiny room holding nothing but a naked bulb, a chair, and some other paraphernalia that I can’t look at.
“You will break today, or we will make you wish for death,” the short fat one says somberly, his black eyes trained on me in a way that makes my spine crawl.
I can’t break. It would mean betraying that one last part of me that I’ve clung to for years. I can’t do that and survive. Keeping Zulu a secret has been the one and only thing these assholes and the agency haven’t taken from me.
At first, after I got canned, I was so angry with him that I considered outing him. He was dead, after all, so why should I give a shit, right? But I loved Gunny, no matter what and no matter how he betrayed me in the end, I still felt as though letting him go in peace was the last token of love I could give him before I let him go.
A slap registers, and I feel my lip split again, as does the cut in my tongue where I bit it previously when they used electric shock to get me to talk.
I ignore the pain and stare ahead blankly, going back to my thoughts.
After I realized what he’d done to me, I was devastated but determined. I had Nick; Nick who loved me and brought me through the trauma of losing Gunny, though at the time he thought it was PTSD as a result of my kidnapping and torture.
I was living in dreamland by then, clinging to him in a way that should have shamed me even then. I used him, used what he felt for me, to collect those remaining tatters of myself and pretend that I was moving on.
So, yeah, I never said a thing about Gunny. Not to Nick, who was also devastated by the loss, or to my boss, who would have reinstated me on the spot if he’d had the information.
I let it die with the man I loved. Not because I had a choice, you understand. I didn’t. I vowed never to reveal him to anyone, vowed on the love I had for him, and I haven’t said a thing to this day.
And I still won’t, because the truth is that it wouldn’t save me anyway, so why bother? Oh, it might save me added pain. I’m pretty certain that if I tell them what they want to know that they’d kill me quickly, mercifully.
I’ll still end up dead though, and as my dad used to say, “Spilled milk goes sour, Jess, but you can turn those curds into cheese if you do it right.”
Sounds weird I know, but I got what he was saying. I can cry over what I lost and lament my circumstances, but the milk would still go sour, so why not make the best of what I have?
The best I have would be not to reveal an intelligence order that still exists in the shadows, and thereby save a lot of people I don’t even know.
See. Making cheese.
I scream a little and grit my teeth when a fist lands in my stomach, knocking the air right out of me. It hurts so much that I’m suddenly grateful to be starving and dehydrated, because it means I don’t get the unholy honor of puking all over myself this time.
“Where is he?”
It’s the same questions all over again. Where is the man known as Phantom? Who is he? What was his mission?
A lot more really, but I stop listening after the forth blow and instead concentrate on what I do know, on making peace, on setting those ghosts to rest before I become one myself.
You know what hurt the most? Not that Gunny betrayed me, or that he’s gone and will never explain to me why he did it. It hurts that just hours before I was snatched, we were so wrapped up in each other that I risked it all and confessed my love.
It hurt worse remembering that he didn’t say the words back even as he continued to thrust into me before coming. Th
at’s the thing that still stings.
It was just the two of us in bed, the heat of the desert clinging to our sweaty, sexed-up bodies, my juices all over us both. I’d been so sure when he slowed down and started making love to me as he never had before that I couldn’t help myself.
So, I said it. I told him how desperately I loved him.
Turns out he didn’t feel the same way though, and believe me, that was a killer because the minute he came—leaving me behind for once—he was off and out of me and reaching for his clothes, those eyes of his hard and empty as he looked at me.
“There’s no place for love here, Rachel.”
Another fist to the head has me blinking away from the memory, and I feel my mind skip a few beats before I can blink myself back to the present. I want to scream my denial when the big rusted tub is dragged from the corner and set up behind me.
I don’t. I’m done. There’s no more fight left in me as my head lolls forward, too heavy for me to hold up any longer. My hair, my once long, golden hair, is now bloody chunks of raggedly hacked hair, my face is a mass of bruises that are swollen and painful, and my mind…that’s gone too, I realize.
I don’t even struggle this time when they grab the chair and tilt me back against the lip of the tub. I can hear ice and wonder again for the umpteenth time how they got it in here without it melting beforehand.
“Don’t make us do this, Shadow. Just tell us.”
“My name is Jessica Keene. I’m an American citizen. I’m a schoolteacher from Austin, Texas. I demand safe passage to the U.S. Embassy.”
Both men hiss at my continued diatribe, and I want to laugh hysterically when the squat fatty shakes his head almost in pity. Because he thinks I’m only hurting myself further, and he feels sorry for me?
He shouldn’t. I’ve already decided my next course of action, and though it goes against my every instinct, I know for a certainty that I’m done. I can’t do another hour or two or ten of this without breaking, and as I once swore to Gunny, I’ll die first.
That thought has tears burning in my eyes for the first time in days, and I even manage to crack a smile as I’m lowered, upside down, head first, into the icy depths of the water.
I hold my breath for a minute, focusing for this last time on my losses and making peace with them. The water stings my wounds, the icy liquid burning my eyes, as I keep them open for as long as I can.
There’s so much I have to work through. I never got to say how sorry I am. Not to Nick or any of the men who became like family to me. I never got to tell Rachel just how much I love her, even though we haven’t been close for a long time thanks to my job and her refusal to support me in it.
I never got to tell her husband that I like him and that I’m grateful that he loves my sister enough to have supported her through years of recovery.
I never got to give my nephew, Dixon, the stuffed bear I bought him at the school market the other day.
So many regrets, and yet I’m left with only one thought as the cold sets in and my mind calms.
I love you, Gun.
And then I do what Daddy once told me is not a cop out but an act of bravery. I breathe in as deeply as I can, feeling my toes curl against the need to struggle. Water fills my throat, streaking down into my lungs, and it’s with a smile that I feel warmth enfold me and drag me under.
God bless America.
***
Trace
The heat is something you never get used to in a place like this, and yet I don’t feel a damn thing, as I plaster myself to the wall and wait for Nick to give us the go ahead.
It’s been over a week since she was taken—a week of anger, yelling, and outright desperation when at first we couldn’t find a goddamn thing. In that time, I’ve run the gamut of emotions, from hate to regret and right back to the emotionless mess that I now am.
Through it all, even with Jericho and Blaze glaring daggers at me, all I’ve thought about is how completely fucked up I am to be what I am. I did this. I got this woman—this innocent, loyal woman—into this mess once again, and if I was capable of feeling anything, I’d be ashamed—
Cut the crap.
I am ashamed. Because the truth is that no matter how much I tried, or what I did to disassociate from feeling, I have never once stopped thinking of her.
That’s why I’ve watched her secretly for so long. That’s why my superiors haven’t been able to get a handle on me as they usually do. That’s why I am here in this shithole of a country, risking exposure to save Jess.
Because she’s still mine, and I will be damned if I let some fucking animal take her from me now.
“Go on three. Mark!” Storm hisses into our earpieces. Just seconds later, our movements silent as we creep slowly down the hallway, the rough rock at our backs testament to the fact that we really are in the bowels of hell, carved out by hell itself.
This place is like a labyrinth, doors everywhere, leading to little holes filled with the acrid scent of fear and blood. We keep moving as one unit, as we once were, and finally make it to the last door, set back down a short corridor right at the end of the tunnel.
Storm stops me from walking right in and motions to Lex, who comes forward on silent feet to slip a camera under the door. The way he tenses has my nerves stringing tight, and I can almost hear his curse when he looks up and nods once.
It’s Jericho that kicks the door in, but I’m the first one in, my gun going off before I’m even up from my roll. I hit one and hear Storm body check the other before I can kill him, too.
“Jesus!”
Lex is yelling and yanking at bindings, as Blaze grabs his field kit and falls to his knees on the other side of…
“No!”
I see Jess then, and what is left of her makes my knees buckle instantly. She’s broken, covered in dried blood and bruises that range from the purple bruises of recent torture to ones just slightly darker than the yellow of healed injures.
She’s not moving, and I realize suddenly that she’s not breathing either. Lex starts doing compressions and Blaze covers her mouth with his, pushing air into her lungs.
“Christ! Come on, baby. Come on, you gorgeous bitch, breathe for your favorite brother,” Lex hisses, his face a mask of pain when nothing happens.
They continue for what feels like an eternity before Blaze falls to his ass and drops his head.
“No! Don’t you fucking stop!”
I finally move then, and I want to howl when I see her face for the first time. She’s pale beneath the mess they’ve made of her beautiful face and her once red lips are so pale and lifeless that I feel panic swell within me.
“Gun.”
“No. She’s not gone yet,” I snarl, bending to put my mouth on hers.
It hurts to feel her soft lips beneath mine for the first time in so long, but I push aside my feelings and breathe, though God knows I want to howl right now.
She’s limp, unmoving and—
I rear back when I hear gurgling and feel water hit the inside of my mouth, my heart speeding mercilessly when I see her convulse right before Lex rolls her and she starts a muted hacking.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Storm breathes, his knees going weak and dumping him to his ass beside me.
Jess still doesn’t wake, but I feel hope at least when Jericho starts barking orders and the sound of a helo in the distance drones out over the sound of continued gunfire from the Watchers support teams above us.
“Grab our girl and let’s move, people. We have missiles coming in shortly to lay ground cover. Move your asses!”
I grit my teeth when Storm grabs Jess and straps her to his shoulder. My first concern is the possibility of one of her broken ribs puncturing a lung, but I have to ignore that right now and do my job, as we start running, breaking into formation to get the hell out of dodge. We clear the tunnels via a door carved into the rocky ground and duck left just as a group of armed men rush over an incline, guns held at the ready.
Blaze, the explosives genius, just grins and lets them have it, his whoop of glee ringing out around us when the ground in front of them explodes and sends bodies flying in every direction.
Ground cover from support gets us where we need to be to intercept air support, and I breathe a sigh of relief when we’re in the air and almost home free before I look down at where Blaze and Lex are frantically working on my girl.
“They worked her over real fucking good. We should go back and grab the survivor,” Jericho growls darkly, cracking his knuckles with enough force that I see Storm wince.
“Felon will grab him and bring him in, Jericho. Don’t worry, brother, you’ll get your crack at him,” Storm yells over the noise of the rotors, his own eyes holding a rage I haven’t seen on the man in far too long. “And then pretty boy over here is going to explain it all to us again. Aren’t you, fucker?”
The deal right now is this: Storm is plenty pissed at me, as are the others, and I can’t say I blame them. However, they’re more pissed at the fact that our beloved Rachel—Jess—was taken and tortured for over a week.
Not that Storm likes Jess any more than is necessary after their history, but I have got to say one thing for the guy: he’s still an honorable sonofabitch, and all things aside, Jess is one of us.
I tune them out with a grunt and focus instead on Jess. Blaze and Lex are working on her, setting up an IV and oxygen mask after covering her with a thermo blanket.
She’s half-dead. That’s all I can think as I take in her condition. I see bruises upon bruises on her pale skin. Her lips are cracked and split in more than one place. Her hair is gone, hacked short. Her hands hold evidence of electrical shock burns, and her fingers are definitely not in good shape.
My guess is she’s got at least three broken fingers and her right arm isn’t in good shape either if the angry red swelling is any indication. So much suffering, I think as my eyes fall on her hair.
My wince is noticeable, as I take in the bloody mess of her hair, and I feel my fists clench. Her hair, that golden fall of beauty, is hacked off, so short it looks like they nicked her scalp in some places.
“When she’s stateside, I expect more from you than some fucked-up abbreviation of what the hell happened. You got me, Gun?” Storm growls, his hard eyes never wavering from my face, a face that isn’t mine but is testament to the fact that I risked it all four years ago on the battlefield to save those I love.
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 76