Taking Liberty
The Next Generation
Riley Edwards
Taking Liberty
The Next Generation
Book 7
Riley Edwards
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Riley Edwards
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All Rights reserved.
Cover design: Lori Jackson Designs
Written by: Riley Edwards
Published by: Rebels Romance
Edited by: Rebecca Hodgkins
Proofreader: Julie Deaton and Rebecca Kendall
Taking Liberty
Print ISBN: 978-1-951567-07-1
First edition – January 2020
Copyright © 2020 Riley Edwards
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Riley’s Rebels
Also by Riley Edwards
About the Author
Acknowledgments
To my family - my team – my tribe.
This is for you.
1
“Tell. Me!”
My head jerked to the side violently and I let a groan slip before I sputtered and coughed.
I could no longer feel the plank I was strapped to. My body had gone from aching, to tingling, to finally numb. I remained still, having already learned that even if I could no longer feel the rough wood, if I fought my restraints the damage it caused my back and legs was goddamn painful. And the last thing I needed was infection setting in. It wasn’t like the rebels who’d ambushed my team were putting me up in the Ritz.
“Tell. Me!” the man shouted again, this time close to my ear. My jaw clenched as pain radiated through my skull—I’d be lucky if I got out of this mess with my hearing intact.
“McCoy. Five, five, one—” I started to tell him through the wet towel pulled tight against my face.
Without warning, another bucket of water poured over my face before I could hold my breath.
I tried to close my mouth but it was too late—I couldn’t stop the liquid from pooling in my mouth. Swallowing wasn’t an option, it was coming too fast. The sensation of being smothered and drowned at the same time was too much. I had no choice but to accept what was happening.
They were in control.
If they wanted to kill me here and now they would and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it—not restrained and weaponless.
The only thing I had left was my integrity.
I would die before I told them what they wanted.
Embrace the suck, McCoy. My SERE instructor’s words played in my head. Keep the circle and get out of your head.
My mind drifted from the torture.
What would be, would be. But I would die a proud United States Army Ranger.
Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps of my Ranger Regiment.
Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move farther, faster, and fight harder than any other soldier.
“Are you fucking listening?” I tasted blood before the pain registered.
The water had stopped at some point and now the towel was off my face, but even as I blinked the wetness off my lashes, I couldn’t see. My eyes hadn’t adjusted and the room was dark.
Always fucking dark.
“This would stop if you’d simply tell me what I want.”
Never.
Something I’d learned during my incarceration; no amount of training could’ve prepared me for capture. You cannot simulate real fear. My SERE instructors were the best of the best, they’d pushed us to the brink of breaking. But what happened when that last bit snapped? The part you couldn’t train for, when the enemy stripped all of your humanity. When the torture wasn’t in a controlled environment. When the only thing you had was your will to survive. When you’re faced with death—knowing at any moment your life could end.
One thing I knew for certain was I couldn’t control the manner in which these men killed me, but I could and would control how I died—and that would be with my mouth closed. My secrets would die with me. They’d get nothing out of me.
I was yanked from the plank and the room spun from my head being at an incline for however long they had me strapped down, with that goddamn towel over my face.
Stupid idiots should’ve shoved a rag in my mouth, their waterboarding would’ve been more effective.
Before my legs buckled two men rushed me, one on either side. Both not so gently held my biceps as a third man stepped in front of me.
“I will break you,” the masked man grunted.
Then in a fury of fists he set about breaking me. The first strike to my kidney had me crying out in agony. By the fourth blow, I’d slipped away.
I would never break.
Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong, and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be. One-hundred-percent and then some.
Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well-trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress, and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow.
Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.
“Talk, you fucking bitch!”
Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor.
RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!
I don’t know how long my beating lasted, I never did. But the aftermath was something I couldn’t ever forget.
Two guards unceremoniously dropped me onto the floor of my cell and slammed the metal bars closed, locking me in. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d laid crumpled on the dirty, cool stone. The ag
ony was indescribable—from the soles of my feet to the hair on top of my head, everything hurt. The ache so unbearable I prayed for the darkness I knew would take me.
Where was my team?
* * *
The men had changed tactics. They’d given up the multitude of stress positions they’d put me in while they’d interrogated me. My least favorite was when they put me on my knees, my cuffed hands above my head, and if they fell even a fraction of an inch or if I leaned forward they’d beat me before I was put back into position.
Now I was sitting on a chair, a hood over my head, ankles restrained, and zip ties around my wrists. I preferred the handcuffs, which was something I never thought I’d think. But there you had it, handcuffs were preferable because they didn’t dig into the skin as badly as the zip ties did.
“Are you hungry?” a man asked.
We’d moved on to the next phase, psychological torture.
These assholes were straight-up textbook. The man was going to offer me food, drink, possibly my clothes back since I’d been stripped down to my bra and underwear from the moment I’d been dragged into this hellhole.
“No.”
“Something to drink?”
I wanted to tell the man he could shove his drink up his own ass but my father’s advice rang out in my head.
“Liberty, this is the most important thing I can tell you. Play to your strengths. You’re a woman, men will think you are weak. Let them. Exaggerate everything. Make them believe they have the upper hand. Then when the time is right, you unleash the wrath of God.”
Fear up—that’s what my dad had called it.
I bit back my retort and slumped in the chair.
“Yes, I could use some water.” I didn’t have it in me to tack on a please, though I probably should’ve.
“How long were you out on patrol?” he asked.
So much for my water.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” The pitch in his voice told me he didn’t believe me.
“I… I can’t remember.”
A fist slammed into the bare flesh of my stomach. I seriously wished I had on clothes. Not that thin cotton would lessen the damage, but mentally it wouldn’t have been so degrading.
“I can’t think straight,” I sputtered when I caught my breath. “Everything hurts. My head’s foggy.”
“I think your head is just fine,” the man returned. “I think that you remember everything. I just haven’t found the right motivation. Which is a shame, Liberty, I’d hoped it wouldn’t have gone this far.”
There was shuffling then the crackling and popping of a stun gun went through the room. Fear slithered down my throat and my lungs seized. I braced for thirty-eight thousand volts to electrocute me but it didn’t come.
Instead the man did something far worse.
“Start recording.”
My worst fear.
No, no, no.
“What was your mission objective?”
“McCoy. Five-five-one—”
A crack rang out before my body jerked, convulsed, then every muscle painfully tightened.
“This first video will be my gift to your father. He trained you well, I think he should see the fruits of his labor. Levi McCoy and his Ranger daughter. Tell me, Lieutenant McCoy, was he proud of you when you told him you were following in his footsteps?”
Shit, shit, shit.
“McCoy. Five-five-one—”
Again my words were cut off, blow after blow connected, until I went somewhere else. Somewhere where these men couldn’t hurt me.
I’m so sorry, Dad.
2
“Drake,” Matt called from inside the stone house that had been built into the rocky foothills. “You gotta see this.”
I didn’t move.
Five men from Lieutenant McCoy’s squad laid face down in front of me. Their wrists bound at the small of their backs, their ankles roped.
No woman.
Flashes of all the possible ways Lieutenant Liberty McCoy could be suffering at the hands of the enemy made my skin crawl.
Seven days we’d been on the hunt, only to be too late. I ground my molars until they ached.
Five United States soldiers, face down in the motherfucking dirt.
“We need confirmation.” A voice I didn’t recognize crackled in my ear.
No shit, Sherlock. I locked down my ever-growing annoyance at helmet and body cams that sent a live-stream back to command, where some snot-nosed shithead felt the need to instruct me on how to do my job.
I glanced at Luke who was taking the necessary photos of the men, before we turned them over and prepared their evac.
“You got this?” I asked.
“Check,” he answered.
I made my way to the entrance and met Matt at the door with a lift of my chin. He led me through an empty room and down a corridor lined with open doors. Metal bedframes and dirty mattresses filled the rooms but nothing else. When we got to the end, Matt pushed open the door. Trey and Logan, already in the tunnel, had their flashlights on, beams of light scanning the area, giving just enough illumination to see the stone walls and metal bars.
Fucking hell, the stale smell of blood and sweat was enough to make me want to gag. I pulled in a breath through my mouth—it did nothing to cleanse the foul taste of failure. The emotion was not one I was accustomed to. My team didn’t fail.
Yeah, tell that to the five dead men and the still-missing woman.
I flashed my light in one of the cells—dried pools of blood marked the floor, the bedroll, and splatters on the wall. The stench was breathtaking. I’d seen a lot of fucked-up shit during my time in the Navy. It never got any easier. The revulsion that coiled in my gut never failed to make itself known.
One by one I went through the lock-ups, each in the same state as the first.
Fucking pigs.
But no sign of Lieutenant McCoy.
“Christ!” Trey exploded, and I quickened my pace praying he didn’t just find the lieutenant.
Matt followed me into the room and I knew immediately what we’d stumbled into. A wood plank at an incline with shackles bolted to the high end for ankles, two more shackles for wrists midway down, and the lower end had a leather strap attached to secure a head. Bloodstained towels were piled on the ground, empty buckets and gallon jugs littered the area. There was a table at the far end with a flat screen television and a DVD player sitting next to it.
“Is there electricity in this place?” I asked.
“Not back here,” Matt answered. “But there is in the front of the house.”
“Get a picture of that. I want to check the player.”
Matt did as I instructed and I continued to look around. A lone chair sat against the wall. I flashed my beam low and saw worn marks on the two front legs. Someone had sat in that chair with their legs bound to the wood and had struggled. I bent down. Droplets of brownish-red had soaked the edges of the seat and the back posts.
Someone small, whose bulk didn’t cover the seat. Fuck.
“Done,” Matt called out and hefted the TV into his arms. Trey grabbed the DVD player and my teammates left the room.
I scanned the area again, bile clogging my throat. I knew what the setup was for. I knew the sickening feeling of despair during waterboarding—you felt like you were dying only to get a reprieve to breathe in air before the process started over and you were drowned again and again. I knew what those men had endured before they were put on their knees and executed.
Where the fuck was Lieutenant McCoy?
I toed the pile of rags making sure there was nothing hidden under them, then left the room. By the time I’d made my way out of the torture chamber and down the dungeon corridor, Matt already had the TV and DVD player set on the floor and plugged in.
“There’s a disk in here,” he told me.
“Play it.”
He pushed the tray back into the machine and the blue screen on the TV came to life.
Suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.
Jesus, I’d been right, someone small had been restrained in that fucking chair—Lieutenant McCoy.
Not that I could see her face. She was hooded and stripped. There wasn’t a single square inch of her that wasn’t covered in bruises. Her bra and panties may’ve at one time been white, but it was hard to tell, they were soiled with blood and dirt. Her dog tags still around her neck hung between her breasts which struck me as odd. A Ranger would never wear their tags around their neck. They’d be knotted around a belt loop and shoved in the back pocket.
Blood, filth, and more blood.
Son of a motherfuckingbitch.
“Have you had enough?” a man in a mask asked.
“He’s American,” Matt growled. “What the fuck?”
“McCoy—”
Her words were cut short when she got a fist to the face. I watched in horror as her head snapped to the side.
“I know your fucking name, McCoy.” The man yanked on the hood, righting her head. “What the fuck was your mission objective?”
“I don’t remember.”
Three quick punches to her middle had her gasping and grunting.
What the actual fuck? More anger than I’d ever known welled inside of me. So much fury I didn’t know it was humanly possible to feel so much hate.
“Fucking tell me!” the man shouted.
“I would rather die than betray my brothers. I will die before I embarrass my country,” Lieutenant McCoy said, her voice sure and strong. Then she shouted, “Sua Sponte!”
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