Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense

by Leslie Johnson

  He’s even scarier looking when he smiles.

  Fortunately, I don’t have to see his face for long because he turns back around, ignoring me completely. I scoot forward, desperate to get to Jax. He’s so still. He’s not moving at all.

  Please don’t be dead.

  When I’m close enough to him, I place my head on his chest. It lifts a little with a shallow inhale. Oh, thank you God. His heartbeat is strong in my ear. He’s not breathing deeply, but he’s breathing. His heart is strong.

  What do I do?

  Keeping an eye on the men in front, I turn around until my back is to Jax and I can use my bound hands to check his pockets. Empty. No phone. No wallet. No keys. Not even any change to jangle around. I move down his legs. Maybe they didn’t find his gun or his knife.

  Click.

  I freeze and slowly turn my head. Popov is pointing Jax’s gun at my face.

  “We are not stupid, suka. You got away once. Your luck will not hold out for a second time.”

  If I’d been able to talk, I would have reminded him that we’d gotten away twice and to screw himself with Jax’s gun. Looking into the dark barrel though, then the equally dark eyes, I suppose it’s better I don’t have the ability to speak.

  I don’t know how much time has passed, but my arms and legs are numb and my jaw is in agony when the van finally slows. I can see the fence, a gate opening in front of us. Soon, we’re inside, driving past a line of huts, but all the doors are shut and I can’t see any people. We don’t stop until we pull next to a large white building. Knowing that we’ve reached our destination is more horrifying than being abducted and the ride combined.

  Behind me, the door to the van is pulled open and I scramble to the front. Popov pulls his gun. “I do not play games, suka. Out. Now.”

  Swallowing hard, I scoot toward the door, but stop, crying out when they yank Jax out by his feet. He hits the ground with a hard thud and a little moan. Popov smiles at me. “That will help wake him up.” Then I’m tossed over someone’s shoulder and carried into the building.

  Everything inside me screams. My ribs wake, remembering the fractures, while my legs and arms fill with needles of returning blood. My headache and fear make me cold.

  What do I do?

  Trying to break the icy grip of fear in my brain, I kick my legs, realizing I need to struggle. I’m rewarded with a sharp slap on the back of my legs and another to my head from whoever is walking behind me.

  Please someone, tell me what to do.

  There’s a clock on the wall and it tick, tick, ticks. The sound driving me insane as a minute passes, then ten, then sixty. Then I’m no longer sure.

  My mind and body are in agony. Fear crushing all thought.

  I’m tied to a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor. My wrists are bleeding, my ankles too. Each time I move, the thin razorblade sharp metal wire I’m tied with cuts into me even more.

  The room is stark white with gleaming glass front cabinets along one wall. There are hooks on the ceiling, a few of them on the wall. What looks like an incline bench and a huge stainless steel tub filled with water.

  Across from me is Jax, tied to an identical metal chair, his chin still drooping onto his chest. He’s moaned a few times, moved his head, his fingers. His head raises a bit, then drops down. It raises again.

  “Jax.”

  The word comes out as a moan. My tongue is too thick, too dry, too scraped from trying to push the cloth out that’s still gagging me. I try again. It’s a little better.

  This time, he manages to get his head all the way up, but it lolls back on his shoulders as if it’s simply too heavy to lift.

  “Jax!”

  The sound gets his attention and with what looks like great effort, he looks at me, blinks hard and looks again. I watch him come back. Back to awareness, back from the dark place he’s been.

  “Mia,” the word is a croak. “Where are we?”

  I’m helpless to communicate, and try to do so with my eyes, but I realize he already knows. He yanks on his hands and blood immediately appears on his wrists. I try to tell him to stop, that it’s no use, but he’s shaking the chair, working the restraints as if the red dripping onto the floor around him isn’t coming from him.

  To my right, a door opens and Popov walks in. Jax stops moving and stares at the man with the deathliest glare I’ve ever seen.

  “Let her go,” he commands and the Russian laughs. He walks behind me and trails a finger down my cheek.

  “She is very beautiful. Too beautiful to let go, don’t you think?” I shiver when the finger moves down my neck, pulling my sweater off my shoulder as he walks around me. “Da. Ochen’ beautiful.” My face ignites as he slaps me hard, the sound cracking through the room. “You look very much like your mama.” He lifts my chin and I try not to cry, my heart hammering in my throat. “She was a whore, you know. She traded sex for secrets for many years. Do you follow her same path?”

  He turns to Jax, who is looking directly at me. He gives me a slight shake of his head.

  “Does she lay down for you? Does her sweet cunt give you pleasure, Mr. CIA Man?” Popov walks behind me again and I don’t take my eyes off of Jax. Not even when the monster pushes my sweater off my other shoulder. Not even when he bends and lays his lips on my ear, runs his tongue down my neck.

  Revulsion shutters through me, but I keep my focus on Jax. He’s my rock. My steady presence. My future husband. The future father of my child.

  Liar. You have no future beyond this room.

  “Do you talk in your sleep, Mr. CIA Man? Have you spilled secrets as easily as you spill your seed?”

  Drops of blood drip to the floor as Jax once again struggles against his bonds. Popov walks away and opens a drawer set in a wall of cabinets to my left. Tears spill over. I can’t make them stop when he turns with some type of long nosed pliers.

  He’s behind me again. I can feel the heat coming off of him. Smell the sweat. I jump when the gag is pulled out of my mouth. I take great gulps of air. I could breathe before, but this is different. The air is sweet. Delicious. I can’t get enough.

  “Pizda, I’m going to ask you a question, but be warned … I already know the answer. If you tell me the truth, I will cut one of the wires from your wrists. If you choose to not tell me the truth, I will cut off a finger. You decide.”

  I think I might pass out. My heart is too fast, my breathing too ragged. My ears are ringing in panic.

  “Did you know your mother was a spy for Mother Russia?”

  “No.” I spit the word out.

  “Very good. See, this is easy game.” He snips the wire holding down my left wrist and the relief is exquisite.

  “Next question. Why were you in your mother’s house on the day of her death?”

  My teeth chatter so hard it’s difficult to speak. “She called me and, well she sounded strange and it worried me. I left work to check on her.”

  Snip.

  I pull both hands up to my chest; wrapping my hands around the wounds is sweet relief.

  “Next question. Why did your mother give you the safe deposit key?”

  He’s playing with me. I can hear the humor in his voice. But why? Why these simple questions?

  “She said that fate had brought me to her and I needed to fulfill her mission.”

  Snip.

  My foot burns as blood rushes to my toes. I look around. I’m nearly free. What should I do the moment he makes that last snip? Go for his knees. Jax said go for the knees. There are also tools on the cabinet. I can go after them after I’ve knocked him down.

  “Last question.” I almost can’t hear him; my heart is pounding too hard as I frantically decide what to do. “Once you had fulfilled your mother’s mission, where were you supposed to take the documents?”

  Thank God, I know the answer. I inhale deeply, ready to strike the moment he bends down. I cannot hesitate. I cannot think.

  Be brave.

  “Russia.”
>
  Snip.

  At the sound, I use every bit of available strength to leap out of the chair, bringing both fists down on the back of his neck while he’s still bending. My foot’s asleep, but I bring a knee up and connect with his jaw. He lands on his side and I jump over him, but trip when he catches me around the ankle. I land hard on the floor. Kicking as hard as I can, his nose explodes as my foot connects a solid blow.

  But he doesn’t let me go.

  He has both ankles now and I’m clawing at the floor for leverage, something to hold on to. But there’s nothing, and he’s pulling me backwards.

  “Mia!”

  Jax is shouting my name, telling me to fight. Kick. Claw. I try. Oh God, I try.

  But his hands are around my knees now. On my thighs. He’s holding me down with his tremendous weight. Then I can’t breathe as he’s on my stomach, his hands pinning my shoulders to the floor.

  “Pizda.”

  The blow to my cheek causes the world to go white, but I reach for his neck, his eyes, anything I can touch. My nails sink into his face, peel away skin and he screams. “Pizda! Suka! You will die!”

  “Wrap him up!” Jax yells and I remember to grab hold, pull myself tight against him even though the thought makes me sick.

  “That’s it!”

  I hook my ankles around his waist, my arms around his neck and sink my teeth into his ear until I taste blood. He roars, trying to shake me off, but I refuse to let go. I hold on, biting and clawing, squeezing his middle with all my strength.

  Then he drops to the floor, crushing me beneath him. And I can’t breathe. I can’t hold on anymore. I curl into a ball when he kicks me.

  Grabbing me by the hair, he hauls me up.

  “You little bitch, games are over.”

  His fingers dig into my shoulders as I’m pushed backwards, stumbling and holding his shirt to keep my balance. A clang of metal rings in the room as the back of my legs connect with something solid.

  “No!”

  Jax’s scream is cut off as I’m forced underwater, my spine hitting the bottom of the steel tub. My shrieks pierce through the water as I scratch and claw at his arms. Then I’m pulled up, gasping for breath.

  “Who is your father?” Popov yells in my face.

  Father?

  I shake my head. I don’t know.

  I’m under again. Swallowing water. Clawing. Choking.

  “Who. Is. Your. Father?!” He’s shaking me this time.

  I can’t talk, there isn’t enough air. I shake my head frantically. Jax is screaming, “She doesn’t know! She doesn’t—”

  I don’t get to inhale this time. There’s too much water in my throat and my lungs are burning before I hit the bottom of the tub.

  He isn’t letting me up.

  He isn’t letting me up!

  My body is screaming for oxygen and I fight the need to inhale. My lungs beg, plead for just one breath. Just one.

  The edges of my vision turn gray then grow darker as inevitability makes itself known.

  I’m going to die.

  No.

  I’m dying right now.

  I’m sorry, Jax, I want to tell him, as his voice continues to penetrate the void. Please live. Move on. Promise me you’ll find love again.

  But he won’t. I know that with the certainty that my next inhalation will be my last. He’ll blame himself. He couldn’t save his wife and he can’t save me now. Forgiveness won’t be an option.

  I’m sorry.

  My lungs contract and water scorches its way into the vacuum inside my chest. Pain. Almost as agonizing as regret.

  I love you.

  Chapter 13 – Jax

  No!

  Noooo!

  “Pull her up! Pull her up! I’ll tell you everything. Pull her up!”

  My voice is hoarse, the words raw in my throat as I beg this madman to let Mia live. She’s fighting him, but he’s playing with her. Taking her under and not giving her enough time for air when she’s up before dunking her again.

  “I know her father. I’ll take you to him!”

  Lies, but I don’t care. I’d say anything, do anything right now.

  She can’t die. Not here. Not like this.

  Please, God, not like this.

  She’s up, choking, crying, gripping the monster when the first bolt of the chair I’m strapped to loosens. I’m losing a lot of blood from the cuts on my wrists, but I don’t care. I work the chair, work the wires. I need to get up. Now. I’ve got to do something to save her.

  She’s under again, her legs kicking, her hands gripping.

  “How does it feel, Mr. CIA Man, to know you led her to her death?”

  “Let her go.”

  The kicking slows, her hands flexing, reaching for air.

  “She is no longer of service,” Popov says, smiling at me. “And will only be a distraction to you during our next phase of business.”

  I work the chair, the wires, fury burning out of me. “Let her go and I’ll cooperate! If she dies, you’ll get nothing.”

  Popov throws his head back and laughs, but he doesn’t let her surface. Another bolt is loose and I piston sideways, rocking the chair. Popov doesn’t seem concerned that I’m an inch closer to freedom.

  “She’s a strong one, this lover of yours. Yes, we’ve been following you. Watching you fuck.”

  I piston harder, side to side, then front to back. “Let her go!”

  Popov looks down at Mia. “Give up the fight, little one. Just one breath and all the pain will be over.” He looks up and smiles at me again. “It’s close.

  God, no. Please, no. The wire on my left wrist hits bone, but I don’t feel any pain.

  “Pull her up. Let her go or I swear to God, I’ll—”

  “Shhh … it’s done now. See.”

  I do see. I see the convulsions that a drowning person has when voluntary apnea turns involuntary. Her body has forced her to inhale, flooding her lungs.

  No!

  No!

  Noooo!

  Another bolt is loose, and the chair totters wildly to one side.

  Popov just smiles at me. Smiles as Mia grows still.

  I look at the clock.

  Pulling her out of the water, Popov lays her, almost gently now, on the floor. I scream when he shuts her eyes and crosses her hands upon her stomach. The chair is teetering at nearly a forty-five-degree angle. If I can get on the floor, I’ll have better luck with the wires.

  Twenty seconds has gone by. It’s not too late.

  Popov stands. “Your turn.”

  “I’ll never tell you anything. Never!”

  My right ankle is loose; my wrists are still bound tight. The metal of the chair is shrieking in protest as it leans farther.

  Popov calmly walks over to a cabinet and pulls a small jar of white powder from a drawer. He turns to me. “Oh, I believe you will.”

  Think!

  Chuckling to himself, Popov pours a small dose in his hand. I look at the clock. Forty-five seconds have gone by.

  With a foot, he kicks the chair until I’m upright again. Then he stands in front of me. My right foot is a little looser, but not enough to kick.

  Come closer, maniac, I will him. Yes, that’s right. Closer.

  He bends until we’re face to face and brings his closed hand up between us. “I look forward to knowing all your secrets, Mr. CIA Man.”

  As he opens his hand, I blow with all the force in my lungs. Then hide my mouth and nose in my shoulder.

  He stumbles backwards, but he’s inhaled the powder, the stupid bastard. Arrogance has brought lesser men than him down.

  I look at the clock. One minute, six seconds have gone by.

  “Untie me,” I order the second his pupils enlarge. Damn, fast working is an understatement. One minute, eighteen seconds.

  He picks up the pliers from the floor. “Faster!” And cuts my bonds. The moment I’m free, I push him out of the way and am on the floor next to Mia.

  “Bri
ng me—”

  Outside of the building, something explodes, then the rat-a-tat of machine guns fills the air.

  “Bring me a gun,” I order Popov as I straighten Mia’s airway and seal my mouth over hers, giving her a long breath. She’s cold and so still under my hands as I begin chest compressions, the blood dripping from my wrists mingling with the water pooling on her skin. I look at the clock. One minute, thirty-four seconds. Shit.

  A gun clatters beside me.

  “Bring me an AED.”

  He stands there, staring down at me.

  “Automated external defibrillator,” I shout, but still no response.

  Damn. I give her another breath and keep compressing.

  Two minutes, six seconds.

  The door opens, the handle slamming against the wall. A tall, thin man rushes in. “Direktor, oni bombyat…”

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  I take him down and turn back to Mia, resuming CPR.

  “Order your men away,” I tell Popov as more gunfire resounds in the hallway.

  He moves to the doorway and yells something I don’t understand. “Shut the door.”

  Two minutes, twenty-one seconds.

  “Come on, baby. Breathe.”

  “Jax!”

  My name is followed by more gunfire.

  “Here!” I yell but don’t stop compressions. I’m her circulatory system right now. If I can keep her blood pumping through her body, there’s a small chance she can be brought back. A small chance is all I need.

  “Adrenaline!” I shout to Popov, and he turns slowly to the cabinets. “Fast.” He speeds up.

  Think! No AED, but…

  “Is there a shocking device? For torture?”

  Popov turns to me. “Yes.”

  I growl, sweat running into my eyes, dripping down on my hands. “Bring it to me. Adrenaline first.”

  He walks to a drawer and pulls out a syringe before heading in my direction. “Throw it, damn you. Then bring me the shocking device.”

  Two minutes, forty-three seconds. I’m running out of time.

  I catch the syringe and pull the tip off, jamming it into Mia’s heart. Her body arches, but that’s it. Nothing more. I begin the compressions again.