The camp was in a grassy meadow. The bandits’ vehicles—falling-apart Toyotas and a couple of ancient American trucks—were parked to one side. Smoke from half a dozen cooking fires rose into the sky.
Heavily armed men—Annie upped her initial estimate to forty or more—stood around in small groups. They had bearded faces, filthy hands and clothes. They were laughing and passing bottles of a colorless liquid that was probably vodka from hand to hand.
Some kind of celebration was underway.
Three men stood ahead of her under the branches of a tall pine. The man in the center was enormous, well over six feet tall and weighing at least three hundred pounds. From his bearing, she knew he was leader. Her fate surely lay in his hands. He was looking straight at her. She knew she was expected to look down and show submission.
The hell with that.
She kept her head up and her eyes on him. Seconds dragged by. Then he motioned her forward.
Her chin went up.
He folded his arms over his massive chest and said something. The men who’d taken her from the shack laughed. Her heart pounded, but she kept her face blank. No way was she going to show how frightened she was, and neither was she going to jump and obey commands.
The bandit who’d kicked her jabbed her with his rifle. She staggered forward. That sent everyone into paroxysms of laughter.
Annie’s eyes narrowed. Without thinking, she swung around and glared at the man who’d poked her with the rifle.
“Put down that rifle and let’s see just how brave you are!”
Did anyone know what she’d said? They certainly understood her tone of voice. It drew a long “oooh” from the crowd, as well as more laughter. She spun on her heel, drew her tattered silk gown as close around herself as she could, and strode towards the fat man.
“Princess,” a voice whispered.
She shot a quick glance to the side and saw the American ambassador, hands tied, face bloodied and bruised.
“My wife?”
She hesitated, but only for a second. “Your wife is fine.”
The ambassador shut his eyes, then opened them again. “Don’t fight them,” he said softly.
Annie kept walking. She saw a pile of crimson-colored rags with black polka dots out of the corner of her eye.
Ah, God!
It was a pile of bodies in a sea of blood, dotted with huge black flies.
She tried not to react, but it was impossible. She gagged, and that turned out to be a true knee-slapper. The bandits—the barbarians, she thought grimly—howled with laughter. So did their fat leader.
Annie took a long, steadying breath. Don’t, she told herself. Don’t get sick, not with them watching.
It was hard, but she dragged her gaze from the bodies, forced down a mouthful of bile and kept going.
When she was a couple of feet from the fat man, she stopped.
“Who are you?” she said in English. “Identify yourself immediately.”
Okay. Maybe they all spoke English because there was a gasp behind her. The men on either side of him went stone-faced and reached into their robes.
This is it, Annie thought. They’re going to kill me.
But, to her astonishment, Fat Man laughed. The men standing with him dutifully followed suit. Ha ha, they said, ha ha.
“You are either very brave or very foolish,” the fat man said.
Annie drew herself up. “Do you know who I am?”
Another knee-slapper. Maybe she had a future in stand-up comedy—assuming she had a future at all.
“I am,” she said, “the Princess Anoushka of the Royal House of Qaram.”
Not even a blink.
“Do you know the power of the Royal House of Qaram?” she said. “You will be hanged for this insult unless you set me free.”
“Why would I set you free when you are worth two millions American dollars to us?”
It was Fat Man doing a comedy routine now. Her uncle would never pay that kind of money for her.
“Qaram will not pay you. It will destroy you. You have a band of useless fighters. Qaram has an army. It has planes…”
Fat Man stepped forward and grabbed her arm. His thick fingers dug deep into her flesh. His stench was overwhelming and she tried to turn her face away, but he clasped her chin and forced her to look at him.
“Qaram is weak. So is Tharsalonia.” He smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “And neither will fight to get you back, not when they know who has claimed you.”
Claimed? Why did the word make Annie’s pulse skitter?
“You were on your way to be claimed today,” the fat man said. “By the Tharsalonian king. How disappointed you must have been to learn that you were not going to be a bride.” He leaned closer. Annie tried not to inhale. “But there is no need for disappointment, Princess. You will not be married to the bridegroom you expected, but you will be married. Does that please you?”
Annie felt her courage falter, but she knew better than to let that show.
“You speak in riddles,” she said.
Fat Man snapped his fingers. One of his men handed him a framed photograph. He shoved it into her hands.
“Look,” he commanded.
She stared at the photo of a bearded man in his thirties or forties. His arms were folded over his chest, and he held a long, curved knife in one hand. The blade dripped with something dark.
But it was his eyes that were the focal point of the picture. They blazed with what could only be defined as insanity.
“Altair Amjad,” Fat Man said. “Our Gift from Heaven, the Deliverer of Our People.’
Annie could almost hear the caps. And she knew the name. Amjad was said to have killed, tortured, raped and mutilated hundreds of people in these mountains.
She looked up from the photo. Fat Man’s eyes burned with the same flame as Amjad’s.
“He has need of a new wife.”
Annie felt her heart kick into her throat.
“One who is fair of face and who is of royal blood. One who has been taught to be obedient.” Another smile. “Although the Deliverer has told me that he is willing to teach her obedience himself—if she suits him in all other ways.”
“No,” Annie whispered. She wanted to sound strong, but her voice shook. “Absolutely not. Qaram will never allow—”
Fat Man drew back his hand and slapped her across the face. The blow was hard, and she staggered under the force of it.
“Chain her,” he snarled. “If she makes any protest, beat her. We have the blessing of the Deliverer. He says if she shows signs of disobedience, her training may begin now.” He flashed a yellow grin. “Just avoid her tits. He wants those for his own special training.”
Everyone guffawed.
The same two men who’d taken her from the shed dragged her back to it.
Annie was stunned. No wonder her captors were celebrating. Two million dollars to turn her over to a man who would make the King of Tharsalonia look like a Boy Scout. More than ever, she had to find a way to escape
The two bandits shoved her through the shed door and cuffed her to the wooden post again.
One of them stuck his hand between her legs. She gasped when he pinched her.
“Pleasant dreams, princess.”
She held out until the door swung shut after them. Then she sank slowly to the floor.
Gingerly, she touched her cheek. It hurt, but the damage was negligible. What wasn’t negligible was this nightmare.
It would go on and on and only get worse unless she came up with something.
The ambassador’s wife lay in the same fetal position, breathing hard and fast. Annie leaned towards her.
“Mrs. Carson?” she whispered. “I’ve seen your husband. He’s fine.”
No response, just the same rapid breaths.
“He said to tell you that he loves you.”
Nothing. The woman was probably in shock.
“Mrs. Carson,” Annie said, striving to sound as matte
r-of-fact as possible, “we should try to get away. But I can’t move.” She shook her hand so the steel cuff rattled. “Do you have a hairpin? A straight pin? Anything sharp.” Still nothing. “You know what, Mrs. Carson? I bet that rope’s long enough so you can get to the door. Wait, give the bandits time to fall asleep. Then you could move to the door, peek out, see if there’s a guard outside. Maybe he’ll fall asleep and maybe you could reach his gun…”
And maybe pigs could fly.
Annie slumped back against the wall.
The ambassador’s wife couldn’t help anybody. And even if she had a pin, what good would it do? In the movies, people opened locks with pins, but this wasn’t a movie, it was real life.
Annie had never felt more alone.
No. That wasn’t true.
She’d felt not just alone but abandoned after her parents died. Living in California under an assumed name, terrified each time someone looked at her a fraction of a second too long…
Then Declan Sanchez had come into her life, and everything changed.
A sob rose in her throat. She choked it back, but not for long. Tears filled her eyes; she turned her head, buried her face against her shoulder and cried for all she had lost. Her parents. Her freedom. And Declan, the man she would never forget, the man she had fallen in love with.
The man who surely despised her.
At last, overcome by exhaustion, Annie fell into a dreamless sleep—and woke to a man’s big hand clamped over her mouth and the face of a monster staring down at her through four huge, bottomless eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
A scream bubbled from her throat, but the monster’s hand forced it back.
If she couldn’t scream, she could still fight. Kick. Flail. Twist.
“Stop!”
Despite everything, she almost laughed. Stop? Stop? One of them was crazy and it wasn’t her.
“Princess. Listen to me.”
Annie grunted, jerked her chin down and sank her teeth into the creature’s hand.
“Fuck,” the thing growled, shoving her flat on her back and straddling her. “Dammit, you want to get both of us killed?”
If that was what it took to get this thing off her, yes. She wasn’t the compliant creature her uncle and Fat Man wanted her to be. Her parents had raised her to be strong and courageous, and if that meant fighting until there was no life left in her…
“Dammit, Annie, it’s me!”
Dec felt her go still. An eternity seemed to pass. Then he felt the whisper of her breath against his palm. She was saying something. He couldn’t really hear it.
Had she spoken his name?
There was only one way to be sure she knew it was him. The darkness. Her captivity. The four-eyed night goggles.
Dec yanked at the straps. The helmet came off and fell to the floor.
“Night goggles,” he whispered. “See? It’s me. Declan.”
The woman he’d known as Annie stared up at him.
Thanks to a sliver of pale moonlight that had worked its way through a crack in the wall, he could see her face. She wasn’t convinced. Well, why would she be? She was handcuffed to a post; she’d endured hours of terror. She’d been dragged before the pig who led this bunch of outlaws and humiliated. Slapped in the face…
Dec felt a muscle knot in his jaw. He and the rest of his unit had seen it all from their observation point in the hills above the camp.
He’d almost gone crazy over that slap.
Chay had grabbed his shoulder.
“You’ll get her killed,” he’d said, and after a long minute Dec had nodded, let out his breath and settled back to wait.
There was a plan to get her out. All he had to do was follow it. They’d get the ambassador and his wife, but liberating Annie was the primary mission.
Correction. Liberating Princess Anoushka.
Right now, she was staring at him as if she’d never seen him before.
Dec leaned over her until they were a breath apart.
“It’s me. Declan. You got that?”
She hesitated. Then she gave a quick nod.
“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. If you yell, if you do anything at all except stay quiet, we’re gonna have a problem. Understand?”
Another quick nod.
Okay. She got it. She knew who he was…
Dammit.
She was crying. Well, so what? He didn’t give a crap. It was just that he needed her trusting him, having no doubts about him.
He stroked his hand over her face, relearning the once-familiar feel of her. The high cheekbones, straight nose, softly curved lips.
She shrank back.
Meaning, he thought grimly, she still wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Hell,” he murmured, and in that horrible place that stunk of fear and despair, he knew there was one fast way to convince the woman beneath him that he was real.
“Annie,” he said, and he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his.
She tasted exactly as she always had. Sweet. Delicate. Perfect.
But how could he remember her taste? He’d put all that aside…
Liar.
Everything in him remembered.
Not just her taste. More than that. The feel of her mouth under his. The softness of her body. The scent of her skin.
“Declan,” she whispered. She pressed her hands against his chest. “Declan,” she whispered again, and the way she said his name made him groan, draw her closer, closer…
What the fuck was he doing?
This woman wasn’t his Annie. She was Qarami royalty, and he was here to get her out of the hands of the bandits who’d stolen her from her bridegroom.
Disgust for her, for himself, flooded his veins. He clasped her shoulders and pulled back.
“Convinced?” he said, amazed at how calm he sounded. “It’s me. In the flesh. And if we don’t get out of here fast, we might not get out at all. Can you stand?”
It took her a few seconds, but finally she nodded.
“Yes. But I’m handcuffed to this post.”
Dec dug into his pocket. “Not a problem. I saw the cuffs when they brought you out a couple of hours ago.”
“You mean, you’ve been watching?”
“Yeah. Just waiting for the right time. Hold your hand steady. Like that.”
She leaned forward as he worked. Her hair brushed his face. There were burrs caught in it but the strands that swung free were silky and soft.
“Is that a hairpin?”
“It’s a pick. Comes down to almost the same thing.”
The lock gave way and Annie pulled free of the cuff. “Thank you.”
“Is your wrist raw?”
“A little. Nothing to worry about. Declan? They have the American ambassador. And his wife. She’s right here in this shed.”
“She’s already out. One of my guys has her.”
“Is she okay?”
“She will be.”
“There was another American. Someone from the embassy.”
“He’s gone.”
“Oh God! These horrible men—”
“You can be as upset as you want later. Right now, your job is to do as I say. You understand me, Princess?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“That’s who you are.”
“I’m not. I’m Annie.”
“You’re the Princess Anoushka,” Dec said coldly. He took her hand and drew her to her feet, yanked off his jacket and wrapped it around her. “And I’m here to get you back to your boyfriend, safe and sound.”
“My what?”
“Your fiancé. The Tharsalonian king.”
“Declan. Whatever you think you know—”
“Can you walk?”
“Will you listen? He is not—”
“You want to argue? Or you want to get the fuck out of here?”
She started to respond. Then she nodded.
“Okay,” Dec said. “How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.”
“I know you’re probably a little weak—”
“I am never weak!”
Jesus, she’d almost snapped his head off. Dec wanted to laugh—but he didn’t. Instead, he handed her a water bag. Her hands shook and he covered them with his and lifted the bag to her mouth.
“Not too much,” he warned. “This is no time to get sick.”
She nodded, slowed down, then let him take the water bag from her.
“What I meant about you feeling a little weak was that I’m sure you haven’t had much to eat or to drink, and you’ve been chained up here for hours.” He paused. “Unless I’m wrong and these gentlemen fed you steak and champagne before whirling you onto the dance floor.”
It was a pathetic attempt at humor, but it worked. At least, it won him a grudging smile. He needed more than that. He needed her full cooperation.
“I guess I do feel a little, you know, under the weather.”
“The thing is, you’re gonna have to dig down and work past that. I can’t carry you out of this pigpen—I need my hands free in case we run into problems.”
Annie nodded again. The shock of seeing him had muddled her brain. What he meant by problems were the bandits outside.
“We’ve already neutralized several of them.”
Neutralized. Despite herself, she winced.
“This isn’t a Sunday School picnic,” he said flatly. “I suspect you figured that out all by yourself.”
“Yes. You’re right. It’s just that I never expected—”
“People hardly ever do.”
“What about the ones who haven’t been…neutralized?”
“They’re drunk as skunks and snoring—but there’s no guarantee the whole fucking camp won’t suddenly decide it’s wake-up time. So we’re going to have to be quiet. No talking once we get through that door. You got that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Time to move. Are you ready?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes.”
He helped her to her feet. She swayed a little; he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“I’m going to go as quickly as I can,” he said. “You’ll have trouble keeping up.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m every bit as capable as—”
“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”
Renegade: Special Tactical Units Devision (STUD) Book 3 Page 4