The man behind me grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard I see stars.
“Lies will make this worse.” The tall one bends over me until his face is inches from mine. His hand trails down my neck and around the heaving swell of my breast. “If pain doesn’t make you talk, we have other ways too.”
My lower lip quivers, knowing his threat isn’t idle. He doesn’t give me time to think about it. His fist connects with my stomach.
White-hot pain explodes through me, the bile I’m swallowing down quickly pushing up my throat. I gag on the rancid taste, folding forward as far as the restraints allow, choking on air that won’t come.
Hawk would tell me to stay quiet and calm. That’s how you survive this. But surviving hurts like hell.
A large palm slams across my face again. Blood pools on my tongue before the warm, bitter liquid spills over my lips. Every hit rattles my already throbbing skull, and my vision blurs, swimming in and out of focus.
They ask the same questions over and over. The lies I use as answers met with disbelief and each coming with more pain. When I don’t respond fast enough, they slap me again, harder. The repeated sharp crack of skin-on-skin echoes in the small room. A fist lands with a dull thud against my shoulder, sending fresh agony racing down my arm. I lose track of time.
Minutes.
Hours.
It all bleeds together in a haze of pain and noise.
Chris will come for me.I repeat the thought over and over.He will.No matter what they say or do, I cling to my hope. Another blow knocks the thought loose for a second, but I claw it back, clinging to it like a lifeline.
“You think he will save you?” the tall man sneers, catching the flicker of emotion that must cross my face. “He’s already dead. Rotting in the Humvee we left him hanging in.”
The words slice through me, and for a split second, they shatter the one thing keeping me going. I look up and meet his gaze head-on. “Then you better pray he’s dead,” I whisper, my voice hoarse but steady. “Because if he’s alive, he’s coming for me. And when he finds me”—I let a bitter smile twist my mouth.—“you’ll wish he just killed you.” Because I know Christopher Hawkins. And if he’s still breathing—if he’s still out there—he’ll burn the world to the ground to find me.
The man’s expression hardens, his fist connecting with the side of my face, sending my world a dizzying black for a moment.
When it fades back in, I’m slumped forward, blood dripping from my nose and mouth, my wrists burning where their rough restraints bite into torn skin. My breaths come shallow and uneven, choking around the blood draining down the back of my throat.
One of them mutters something as they step out, slamming the heavy metal door behind them. I’m left in silence again. The adrenaline seeps from my body until pain radiates from every joint and muscle. I tremble uncontrollably in my seat, fighting the urge to cry. Not wanting to give them that victory.
“Chris…” I whisper his name like the universe will tell him where I’m waiting for him to save me.
Every beat of my heart reverberates through my skull. My head pounds in a rhythm that doesn’t match the rest of the world. When I sit up, my head spins so violently that I feel the Humvee flip again, metal grinding as glass showers over us. The metallic tang of my own blood is like a bad memory that won’t dissolve.
The tent lights are dimmed to a dull halo, Jagger and the guys insisting I rest while they work. As much as I want to fight them, my body isn’t cooperating. Not that I am getting any quality sleep with my eyes closed. The moment they shut, all I see is Reese and the worst possible things I’ve seen in this world.
Blindly, I reach across my cot for the satellite phone. The phone that still hasn’t rung with any answers since I laid it beside me. I punch the screen with my thumb, dialing Mattis’s number. If anyone can pull the threads the way they need to be maneuvered, it’s him. He’s managed the impossible more often than not, and right now, he feels like my only hope.
The call rings and rings, my annoyance growing with each that goes unanswered. “Mattis,” I rasp, not having enough calm left in me to sound reasonable. “Updates?”
There’s a pause on the other end that is followed by a heavy sigh. “Hawk–”
“It’s been hours! Fucking find something! Find her!” The command is as much to him as it is to myself. “Where the hell are you on that satellite scrape? That blackout?” My voice gets louder, higher, tearing my throat raw. The tent seems to shrink with every syllable. Pain spikes along my ribs as I shout, a savage reminder of the ambush. But I don’t stop. I don’t know how to.
“I’m trying,” Mattis grouses. His words feel thin, an apology wrapped in static. “I’ve been brute-forcing legacy caches and cross-referencing allocation headers since we got off the phone. Finding her is the only thing I’m working on.”
“Work harder!” I growl my frustration at him. “Trace the trucks, the tracks. Trace fucking anything that might be a lead.” The demands tumble out of me, desperately to find anything that will bring Reese back to me.
I stand, staggering like a man finding his sea legs. Every harsh movement to right my ship sets off hot lightning across my torso. My ribs are on fire, and the pain from my shoulder zips down my arm and into my fingertips.
“Okay. Okay. Calm—” Mattis is cut short as I slam the phone against the canvas. The tent replies with a dull, hollow thud before the phone crashes to the wooden floor. I clutch my side, the prior lightning strike suddenly feeling like a tender kiss compared to the stabbing pain flaringacross my rib cage. I groan, clutching my bandaged side with one hand, pressing on it as if I can push the pain away. It eats around my ribs and down into my thigh. The pain is agonizing, but it still hurts less than my heart.
“Jesus, Hawk.” Jagger storms into the tent. He’s all steadiness, but with that thread of concern I hate being directed at me. “You’re not helping anyone like this.”
“Did you find anything?” I grit through the pain.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Jagger exhales. He’s circled the base like a dog on a scent for hours, and I know it. But I want more. I want Reese in arms and her captors’ blood on my hands.
