After he powers it off and removes the SIM card, he drops the phone next to me, picks up a tire iron lying in the corner of the van, and smashes the device into pieces.
My last tether to the life I built lies shattered just beyond my grasp.
Dennis climbs into the passenger seat, holding up my laptop like a prize. “Got it, love of my life,” he declares, and Alec blows him a kiss.
“You’re amazing,” he says sweetly, then pulls the heavy blanket over me, shrouding me in darkness and smothering heat. A few seconds later, the engine rumbles to life.
I start to sob. I’m chained on the hard, metal floor of a van, barely able to breathe and dizzy as fuck, while Alec and his latest conquest laugh at me. At how easy it was. How easyImade it for them to steal me away.
My mind wanders, coherent thoughts slipping from my grasp. Flashes of Graham’s face behind my eyes. Memories of him kissing me. The van rattles over a bumpy road, and my back spasms, the pain consuming me.
If I drift off, let the drugs take me away, it’ll be easier. I won’t hurt any more. Or…I won’t care. That’s better. Right?
The rhythm of the road changes, smooths out. We’re speeding away from my life. From my freedom. Soon, even if Graham does find me, there won’t be anything left of me to save.
* * *
Graham
The brutal hike through the mountains left us all with little energy—or desire—to talk, and as soon as we made camp, West, Raelynn, and I stretched out under a makeshift tent and were out in seconds. One of the benefits of this job? I can sleep anywhere. At the drop of a hat. Unless I’m battling bad memories. But even with as much shit as I’ve seen with Hidden Agenda, the only time I ever had a nightmare on mission? When we rescued Ripper.
Two hours later, West heats up a metal French Press with a fucking blowtorch—the man cannot and will not function without coffee—and pours me a cup. He and Ryker outdid themselves. This is as physically difficult as any mission we’ve been on, and while that’s the point—planning for the worst case scenario—all this time stuck in my own head isn’t doing me any favors.
I dreamed of Q, but instead of kissing him, of worshipping his body, of hearing him shout my name with his—or my—release, I was trapped out here in the jungle, he was the target we were sent here to rescue, and we were too late.
“Spill it,” West says quietly as we check the perimeter. “Whatever’s been eating at you since we left base.”
“You were right. About Q’s ex having Antisocial Personality Disorder.”
“Shit. Sorry, man.”
Raelynn jogs over, her steps nearly silent in the mossy, damp underbrush. A few tendrils of blond hair stick to her forehead, and she wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s hotter than a cow’s teat down here. How the fuck do you two still look daisy fresh?”
“There’s a reason the warehouse is never the same temperature two days in a row. If you can train in those conditions, you can survive in these,” West says. “Any movement?”
“Quiet as a church mouse. Got some broken branches two hundred meters east-northeast, though. Someone’s been here besides us in the past forty-eight hours.” Taking a pull from her canteen, she peers off into the distance. “I can take another look if you two were in the middle of somethin’.”
“No secrets here.” I lift the binoculars and focus in on our target location. From this far away, it’s little more than a square patch of land with three buildings and tall, razor-wire fencing surrounding it. “My boyfriend’s ex is messing with him. Sending him emails, having shit delivered to his house…”
West stiffens and grabs my forearm. “He’s escalating?”
The SEAL’s concern ratchets up my own. “Yeah. But Q’s brother has guys watching the asshole and says he’s still in Dallas. Just hate not being there—or being able to do anything.”
Tapping his earbud, West connects his comms to Wren back in Seattle. “Whiskey to Base.”
“Base here.” It’s not Wren who answers, but Ripper, and a muscle in West’s jaw starts to tick.
“Where’s Juliet?” he snaps.
“Sleeping. Mission wasn’t supposed to start for another half hour, so I offered to be on standby. She’s fine. Relax.”
West blows out a breath. “Sorry. This isn’t mission related. Golf needs some intel.” Turning to me, he asks, “You know the asshole’s name?”
“Alec. That’s all I’ve got. Except he lives in Dallas, and there should be some sort of restraining order against him filed by a Quinton Silver that’s a little over a year old.”
“Anything official should be relatively easy to track down,” Rip says. “What’s this about?”
“This Alec shitstain is harassing Golf’s guy. It’s probably nothing, but in your downtime, find out everything you can about him. Including his current location. If it’s anywhere other than Texas, we need to know ASAP.” West rubs the back of his neck and glances down at the watch clipped to his chest. “Romeo will connect in twenty-three minutes, and I don’t have to tell you what’ll happen if Juliet doesn’t answer.”
