Two Doms For Angel
By
Holly S. Roberts
§
A Club El Diablo Book
Published by H.S. Roberts
[email protected]
http://clubeldiablo.blogspot.com
Two Doms For Angel
El Diablo: Book V
Printing History
First Edition: January 2013
All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
This is a work of fiction. ALL characters are derived from the author’s imagination.
Chapter One
Two years ago…
The gray gun smoke dissipated leaving the house dark and eerily quiet, though the usual watery burn hit Lieutenant Zachery Kebb’s eyes. He would take the acrid smell home on his clothes and his eyes would remain red until he slept off the effects.
After hours of preparing his SWAT team’s entry, the violence was over quickly and several bullet-riddled bodies lay on the bare floor. The underground intel led them to believe there were only three men inside but where there was one gun, there were two; and with two, there were three. Training dictated you never forgot the plus-one rule.
The entry team suffered no injuries though a piece of sharp splintered wood from the doorframe nicked Zach’s face. He didn’t notice the sting or the thin line of blood; his attention was on the safety of his men and finding the women.
“Clear, clear, clear.” The cries sounded from other team members spread out and checking all the rooms. Their boots made barely a sound on the tiled floor and the swish of their pant legs was hardly a whisper.
The house was bare; little furniture, no comforts, and no warmth. It wasn’t what the structure was for.
Zachery’s gaze flowed over the great room. His team steadily made their way back to his location. He radioed for an ambulance as he and his fellow teammates handcuffed the fallen men and then checked each for a pulse. Only one showed signs of life, but not much. An unsteady heartbeat vibrated slightly beneath Zachery’s fingers.
“Rogers, grab a triage kit and apply pressure to this worthless son of a bitch. Maybe we can save him for prosecution.”
“Yes sir.”
No one relaxed; their job was only half over. They had to find the women. His informant described a trap door hidden inside the front closet and then a narrow flight of stairs. Hopefully, they would find the prisoners below.
“Loftner, cover that door.” He pointed to the only closet in the room.
He would bet his intel was accurate but didn’t trust his men’s lives with the who or what that might be waiting downstairs.
Rogers took over and Zach lifted his hand from the dirty jacket he was using to apply pressure on the bloody hole in the fallen man’s stomach.
“We’re going to do another entry downstairs. Everyone ready?”
“Uh.” The quiet assented grunts echoed softly.
“Be alert.”
Chapter Two
The smell hit them when the trap door opened; human death— sweet, sickening, and intrusive—not quite overpowered by excrement and urine. The quiet was as absolute as the darkness. The narrow stairs equaled a tunnel of death. He signaled two members: high and low. They would go down almost in each other’s pocket with one taking the top position and one taking the bottom; only their built-in AR-15 strobe lights illuminated their passage.
It killed Zach not to be on the entry but as a new SWAT lieutenant his job was to give direction and hang back from the action. He waited, holding the rest of his men back. Moments passed.
The female scream had his foot on the stairwell before the sound of his teammate’s voice, “Fucking clear! Get down here, L.T.”
With his flashlight pointed downward so he didn’t blind his team members, he traveled the stairs with the remainder of his men following. The smell was stronger as he drew closer to the bottom. His light illuminated the unadorned cement floor.
The screaming woman was secured naked and spread eagle on a plywood table. Lash marks and bruises covered her bloody body.
His hand swept up and with horrifying brightness, he saw the cages full of women. No, not women. They were just girls, God help him; some of them had to be under eighteen. They hid naked in the backs of the small metal enclosures.
“This is fucked up, L.T,” one of his men murmured lowly over the strangled cries of the bound woman.
His flashlight went down and off the females.
“That’s enough! Campbell, get on the phone with dispatch and have social services called along with multiple ambulances. Everyone but Slade and Kip, back upstairs. When you finish with the calls, Campbell, bring down another triage kit. Hell, take the one from Rogers too. If the son-of-a-bitch dies, I won’t put a bullet through his dick. Michaels, go to the vehicles and bring back every blanket, jacket, and covering you can find.” His voice didn’t betray the fury pounding through his blood.
In seconds the noisy sounds of his men going back up the stairs gave way to softening sobs and Zach’s light came back up.
“Slade, see if you can locate an overhead light.”
He was afraid to touch the woman and cause her more pain. His knife came out and he made short work of her leg restraints and then moved to her wrists. The following day he would have no idea what he said to her as he worked. She rolled to her side and curled into a tight ball. Zach quickly removed his outer Kevlar vest, divested himself of his tactical shirt, and placed it over the shaking woman. He then placed his vest back over his black t-shirt.
“We’re here to help. I need to know if you’re okay or need immediate medical attention?”
Soft mewling sounds were his answer.
His eyes followed the flashlight as he trailed it around the room. Someone was dead down here.
A girl squatting in the first cage began trembling when his light focused inside her small prison. Her head tucked down into her shoulder and against her chest. Long matted hair covered much of her body.
“They don’t speak English.” The voice was throaty, trembling, but fierce with a touch of an accent.
His light traveled, stopping three cages down on a woman with eyes squinting from his flashlight’s glare. He lowered it a bit.
“Sorry, can you communicate with them?”
“Yes, if your intention is good.”
“We’re here to get you out. Do you know how many are alive?”
She inhaled then exhaled jaggedly before speaking, “Sahar is gone but I think that’s it. She’s next to me.”
Her ragged voice tore at his soul and his light drifted to the next cage.
Two hands; one belonging to the woman speaking, held tightly to the lifeless, darkened, dead hand of the woman next to her. In all his years as an officer he had never seen anything more horrifying. It must have shown on his face even in the dim glow of his flashlight.
“I… I told her I wouldn’t let go. She was so afraid.” Her voice ended on a quiver but her face remained stoic.
Even with the discoloration of the body, he could see bruises highlighting the postmortem lividity. His light traveled back to the solemn face of the woman speaking; her own bruises stood out in the illuminating glare.
“L.T., I’m setting everything I could find here on the floor. Do you need my help?”
“Yes, Michaels. Wrap the woman on the table in a blanket and carry her upstairs. And for the love of God, be careful.”
Zach’s head snapped back to the woman in the cage. “Can you tell her we’re getting her to medical treatment?”
Her words were soft and lilting, in what sounded to Zach like an Arabic dialect. The woman on the table relaxed while being wrapped more completely in a blan
ket. She didn’t utter a protest when Michaels picked her up and quickly made his way to the stairs.
“Do you need immediate medical assistance?” Zach attention snapped back to his little fighter.
“No.” The word was so soft he could barely hear her reply.
“I’m going to help you out of the cage. If the other women see you’re safe, they’ll be less terrified.”
“Please.” Her voice begged, “I can’t let go. I told her I would hold on.” Her vocal cords quivered with an echo.
He didn’t focus on her words or her clasped hand, knowing he couldn’t give into her plea. He needed to get the women upstairs and then he could see to her friend. Thank God, he thought, someone else up there would see to this one’s emotional well-being.
Small padlocks secured the cages. He used his flashlight and located a string of keys hanging on the wall by the stairs.
“Sorry, L.T. No lights.” Slade’s voice startled him and he realized the horror was getting under his skin.
“It’s okay. Keep your light over here.”
He grabbed the keys from the far wall along with a blanket from the pile on the floor and made his way back to the cage. Squatting down, he tried each key until the lock opened. The soft squeak of the cell door seemed loud as he slowly placed his hands inside.
“I’m going to help you let go. The rest of these women need you.” He put just a touch of command into the gentle words.
Carefully, he pried her fingers, one by one, from her dead friend’s hand. The cold from the lifeless body had seeped into her fingers stiffening them further. Her body began shaking uncontrollably but she didn’t resist his slight pull.
“I’m Zach,” he whispered. “What’s your name?”
His body was too large to fit through the cage’s small door, but he reached out to her.
“Hooriya.”
“Okay, Hooriya, I’m going to help you and then get you covered.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, Zach. Okay?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t use his name but it didn’t matter. He was just saying anything calming that came to mind. He was completely out of his league.
He scooted back but kept hold of her hands, pulling her toward him. Her naked body scraped the sides of the small door. She didn’t make a sound, and when she was through, she didn’t straighten up, but remained hunched over with bent knees. It took Zach a moment to realize that her posture wasn’t by choice. How long had she been in that cage so small it didn’t allow a person to stretch or stand? How long did it take, he wondered with rising rage, for someone’s muscles to tighten up so badly they couldn’t stand up straight?
A tangled mess of dark hair covered much of her body though he could see where her skin was dark in too many places, and it wasn’t all filth or her own waste. Sharp purple-to-black bruises covered large areas, contrasting with faded yellow patches, so he knew her suffering had been ongoing. He placed the blanket around her naked shoulders and felt her quivering body lean into his.
“Do you have any broken bones or other medical issues I need to be aware of?”
“No, sir,” she whispered.
He didn’t bother correcting her this time. He held her to his side but knew his touch must be excruciatingly painful.
“Okay, take all the time you need and then we’ll get the other women out.”
“I will do it now.” She straightened slightly with a soft groan and then began speaking to the other women in a soothing voice again.
“What do you want us to do, L.T.?” This came from Kip.
“Let’s get the cages unlocked and the girls covered. We need to assess who can be taken up stairs and who will need to be treated down here. Kip, go tell all the men to clear the house so the ambulance crew has a place to work. Have Stewart snap a few pictures of the bodies and weapons but just enough to cover our asses. Then get those bodies moved so the women don’t see them. I don’t care if the third POS is dead or not, get him out too and then get back down here.”
“Yes, L.T.”
Chapter Three
Zachery finally propped Hooriya against the wall by the stairs so he could help assist the other women.
“Stay here, I’ll carry you up when the others are taken care of. I need you to keep assuring them that we mean no harm.” Soft soulful cries were now coming from several of the cages.
Hooriya’s voice spoke shakily but with a soothing quality. Even if he didn’t understand the words, he understood the tone.
A female paramedic arrived and helped to assess the victims. Zachery didn’t know the paramedic well but understood the tight set of her jaw as she took in what they were facing. Slade and Kip carried the women one by one up the stairs. Zachery chose the two men because they were both married and known to be tight-lipped. Cops loved to gossip and Zach wanted to keep the women out of as much of the gossip as possible.
Hooriya was barely standing on her own when the last woman was removed.
“I’m going to lift and carry you up the stairs,” he said.
“No, I can walk.” Her voice was barely audible and her shaking increased.
He felt bad for not giving her a choice but he knew she wouldn’t make it. He wanted her checked out and off his watch. Her quiet strength and dignity were causing his anger to boil, and he needed to keep a lid on it for another few hours. The sight of her torturous bruises would be forever imprinted on his brain.
She didn’t fight but her body went stiff in his arms. “You will be soiled.”
The embarrassment in her voice made him pull her firmly against his chest.
“I’ve been soiled before. Hush now, and let’s get you checked out.”
“Please don’t leave Sahar.”
“Kip, stay here with the other woman. I don’t want her left alone. Understood?”
“Yes, L.T.”
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
Upstairs, there was crying and quiet murmurs. The E.M.S. crews were just as out of their league as he was. They quickly loaded the women one after the other onto stretchers and wheeled them out to waiting ambulances. He held Hooriya in his arms until a young paramedic took notice.
“You can put her here.” A padded blanket lay on the floor by a wall.
“I’m okay until you have an available cart.”
“It could be a while.”
“I’ll wait.”
He felt her body relax into his bulletproof vest. He carried every conceivable SWAT accessory known to mankind on the front of his vest and belt. He realized she couldn’t be comfortable but he wasn’t laying her on the floor and her legs would no longer hold her up. If she didn’t complain he would continue to hold on.
He watched what happened around him still having trouble accepting the horrors that surrounded these women.
When a stretcher was finally available, he put his burden down gently. The med team took over and he stepped back. Her hand came out seeking his, and his hand closed around the same fingers that had offered comfort to a dead woman. He would never forget the sight of those two hands — one dead, one alive — clutching each other in such desperation.
He walked beside the crew as they wheeled her out to the ambulance. When the stretcher was pushed inside and a bright light shown down on her, his eyes met unexpected vivid blue gazing at him with one lone tear sliding down her cheek.
He wanted to taste the salt from the watery trail gliding over her beautiful face. He was a sick bastard and desired an incredible woman who would probably spend the rest of her life hating men.
***
His unwrapped fists hit the bag. The pain exploded in his knuckles and it felt damn good. He couldn’t see the blood on the black bag but it didn’t matter, he knew it was there and he would clean it off later.
“Thunk, thunk.” He lost count after the first one hundred punches. Wet trails of sweat poured down his bare chest and absorbed into the waist of his low-slung sweatpants.
; His legs were no longer moving. He just stood and planted one fist after another. His memories burned with the pain. The third human trafficker died and there was no need for a trial. In some ways, it was a good thing. The women would not be re-victimized by lengthy court proceedings, but Zach knew there was one woman who would fight for a chance to speak out.
He hadn’t seen her again and now, three months later, he had no idea where she was. His life continued but her eyes invaded his dreams. His hands punished the bag until his mind could no longer picture her haunting face.
Chapter Four
Two years later…
At his last appointment, the doctor said Zach could walk without the knee brace but his stride was tentative. He traveled slowly to his computer and brought up his email account: junk mail, a short “Just to say hi,” from one of the secretaries at the department, and a greeting from his mother asking when he was visiting.
He almost missed it but buried in the fifty plus emails was an urgent message from Nathaniel. Nathaniel Monroe. Zach stared at the name and his mind drifted back.
1998: Location South Africa, classified
The team had two goals; rescue the hostages and everyone return back to camp alive.
Zach blew it and took a bullet to the shoulder. Now, he was being held in place of the rescued captives. He wasn’t afraid, but he was one pissed-off Marine.
They had him secured to a chair with his arms and legs bound. The captain of his team would get the hostages safe and then come back for Zach. Marines never left wounded comrades behind. They would take him to medical care or his dead body back home to his family, but he knew he would be getting out.
Concentrating on his shoulder wound internalized the pain and allowed him to prepare himself for more. He was stripped from the waist up and his blood flowed freely. He couldn’t make out the rapid words passing between the four men in the room but he didn’t think it mattered.
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