He could count one blessing, though: his arms had finally gone numb.
He’d come to days ago, at least he thought it was days, dangling from the ceiling. They’d placed a thick rough-cut log across his shoulders, draped his arms over it and tied his wrists to the ends. From the log, another rope stretched to the ceiling, pulled tight, so that he had to balance on the balls of his feet. But those weak moments when his legs gave out and his shoulders and arms took his full weight – excruciating agony stole his ability to think. To focus. To do anything but grit his teeth to keep from screaming.
Merc shifted his weight to his right foot, that small movement enough to send a spike of pain across his body. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew he’d taken the brunt of the explosion on his back. He could feel the dried caked sores all over. But worse than that were the newer cuts, the ones imposed by his captor, Salaam.
Blood dripped from his face, thetap, tap, tapon the sand at his feet another constant in the tent. The other was the bone-eating hunger and thirst that consumed him. When his mind got really fucked up, he’d dream of a huge slab of steak, its edges kissed by the fire of a wood-burning grill.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was his deal? He was a trained special forces operative. He’d killed at will for years, dealing his own malicious torture to the evil assholes who’d deserved it.
He had to concentrate. He had to be prepared for the next time Salaam entered the tent for another one of their friendly chats, because he wanted their next session to have an entirely different ending. All he had to do was get Salaam close enough for Merc to wrap his legs around the man’s head and snap his scrawny neck.
Caroline needed him.
There was no telling what she’d had to endure ‘til now. The torture these animals could inflict on her delicate body…Don’t think about that now.As long as she was still alive, and he told himself she was, he would find her. The rest could come later.
If only he hadn’t hesitated at the palace. Mr. J’s proximity had drawn him like a drug, stealing his logic and shadowing his thoughts with the dark need for revenge. He’d been so close, so fucking close…
Merc could have taken one step and got to the bastard if only he hadn’t had Caroline by the throat. A true and honorable soldier would have easily put his own wants behind him and saved his target, but around J, Merc’s honor was as solid as the fog in his mind. His hesitation, even with Caroline shot and bleeding in his arms, had put them within the circumference of the blast zone.
His gut tightened, the small movement tearing open the fresh wounds on his stomach. New blood leaked out, blood he didn’t have to spare, and absorbed into the already soaked material of his tactical pants. He deserved it. As a result of his own agenda, Merc hung strung from the ceiling, oppressive heat and hunger eating him alive.
“You’re awake. Good. I was worried I’d gone too hard on you.” Salaam, his captor, strode into the tent. In his hand, his favorite razor tipped flogger.
Merc forced a grin, ignoring the salty taste of his own blood dripping down his lips. “You call that hard?”
Fuck, he’d had worse, at least he told himself that lie as Salaam edged closer, flicking his whip as he came. “Your woman has finally woken. My master is overjoyed. He plans to keep her, at least until she no longer holds his interest.” Salaam cracked the flogger, its metal tips clinging together. “Then he’ll gift her to me. After I break you.”
Merc ground his teeth together, refusing to rise to Salaam’s bait. If he could keep him occupied long enough to distract him, Merc stood a chance of escaping and saving her. A slim chance, but it was there, and it was all he had at the moment.
He could take whatever Salaam dished out if it meant saving Caroline, even for another hour. “Bring it.”
