Leaning against the wall by the window, I shove my hands into my pockets and take a deep breath. “I was stationed in Venezuela for twelve years. The CIA was after this terrorist group—the Loma Collectivo. They ran drugs, guns, women…anything profitable. Anyone who got in their way disappeared. Sometimes a few body parts would be found a few weeks later, but that was rare—only when they needed to make some sort ofstatement.”
Domina wraps her arms around her knees, watching me. I could stop. Tell her I was wrong. That she doesn’t need to know any of this.
Too bad my brain won’t listen.
“Being a CIA officer isn’t like what you see in the movies. It’s not all chasing bad guys and running covert sting operations. There’s a lot less running, fighting, and shooting than most people expect. We listen. Observe. Analyze patterns.” I angle a glance through a part in the curtains, checking out the street below. Light traffic. A couple of pedestrians. Nothing suspicious.
“No one ever knew the assholes running the Loma Collectivo, but we had dossiers on a few dozen of the lower-level guys. They were spread out all over Caracas, Barquisimeto, Valencia, and Maracay. The first week of April, we intercepted a call between two of their grunts. A member of the Venezuelan government was causing trouble, and they were planning on putting an end to him. My SSO sent Trevor and Gil—he was Austin’s adopted brother—down to Venezuela so the three of us could stop the attack.”
“Wait,” Domina says. “I thought Dani was Austin’s sister? And she’s with Trevor.”
I nod. “Gil was Dani’s brother. Different fathers, same mother.” Even saying his name brings back too many memories. I wish I could pace without pain. Or even open the damn window. I need to move. To feel fresh air on my cheeks. Anything to keep me in the here and now.
“Was.” Sadness laces her tone. I’m not surprised. She doesn’t know what Gil did. Yet.
“The op was a success. We killed two members of the Loma Collectivo, kept the Deputy Finance Minister safe, and Gil and Trevor went back to the U.S. We’d been careful. No one from the Loma Collectivo had any idea who we were or how we got our intel. My SSO and I agreed I should stay at my post. I had all the contacts, knew the language…hell, I was at the top of my game.”
I’m parched and grab the half-full glass of water off the nightstand. My hand shakes as I set it back down again, empty.
“Two days later, I went to a bar. No current mission, so I figured I could tie one on without any consequences beyond a hangover.” I can’t look at Domina now. Not and admit what happened next. “I don’t know how they got to me. Whether they spiked my drink or shot me up with something…I was at least three drinks in. But I woke up bound to a chair in a room not much bigger than this one.”
“Leo…” It’s concern in her voice now. Concern I don’t deserve.
Shaking my head, I turn to the window. The drapes may be closed, but I can still see a sliver of the street. “I’d never seen the guys who worked me over. They weren’t from Caracas. Made a special trip. Just for me. Six of them.”
Their voices haunt me—along with my own screams.
“You will pay for what you have done, cabrón. But not until we break you.”
The punch takes me by surprise. I can’t see shit with a bright light pointed right at my head, and I’m groggy as fuck. Blood fills my mouth, and I spit it onto the floor.
“Break me?” I laugh. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Leo Francis Basher. CIA Senior Field Officer stationed in Caracas for the past three years. We know everything about you.”
“They took turns. Two or three at a time.” I let the curtain fall closed and turn back to Domina. Pinning my gaze to the corner of the bed, to her slim, bare feet, I list off my injuries. “Broken arm. Four cracked ribs. Metal pipe to my cheek—that’s what caused the facial paralysis—crushed fingers and toes…”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I force another breath. “They cut out my eye, broke most of the bones in my knee and ankle, had lots offunwith a car battery… There’s more, but…” I shrug. “The only time I wasn’t in constant agony was when I passed out. They wouldn’t let me sleep. Loud music, bright lights, stress positions. Every enhanced interrogation technique they could think of. After eight days, I knew I was dying. Still hadn’t talked, and they were about to take my other eye.”
“Do it,” Asshole #2 says. “And after he can no longer see, take his dick too.”
“Even without…my dick…I’ll still be…twice the man you are,” I manage. My right leg is completely numb, but the left is on fire. Blood drips onto the floor from both wrists. Asshole #1 swapped out the thin ropes for razor wire hours ago. I can’t hold my head up, so Asshole #2 grabs my hair.
A quiet pop, and blood paints my face. Another one, and the switchblade clatters to the floor, followed by two bodies.
I find the strength to look around me. I’m alone. The other four left hours ago, saying they’d be back tonight.
“Redemption,” a man whispers.
The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak, but I manage a single word. “Deliverance.”
“Trevor had to carry me out of there. He came alone, against orders, because after eight days, everyone else at the agency believed I was dead.”
“Dios mio. What about the other four men?” Domina asks. Twice now, she’s made a move to get up, but I’ve stopped her. What I’ve told her so far? That was the easy part. What comes next? She’ll never look at me the same way again.
“I didn’t know their names—or anything about them. They disappeared. Fled back to whatever rathole they’d climbed out of. For almost nine years, they were in the wind.”
“Were?”
