Prologue
“At the risk of sounding like a cheesy American film, I find myself compelled to say it,” Edric Yavuz, the most powerful man in Turkey, remarked. He looked down at his prisoner and smirked. “This will go much easier on you if you simply tell us where it is.”
Using his one good eye, the tortured man glared back at him from the chair to which he was cuffed. With sweat running down his forehead and drops of blood and saliva spewing from his mouth, he muttered, “Fuck…you.”
The comment should have pissed Edric off. This man had the power to singlehandedly destroy everything he had spent years building. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of respect for the former American soldier.
The poor bastard had taken one hell of a beating by Achim—Edric’s enforcer—in an attempt to retrieve the location of the file Edric knew he’d hidden. A broken nose, several cracked ribs, and two amputated digits later and the man still wasn’t talking.
Moving closer, Edric was careful not to step into the pool of blood slowly growing beneath the metal chair. After all, he couldn’t risk the soon-to-be-dead soldier’s DNA being discovered on his expensive, black Oxfords.
“You are much stronger than I gave you credit for, Mr. Wyatt. I had assumed this”—Edric bent over and tapped his prisoner’s metal, prosthetic leg—“would have weakened you long ago. I was wrong. You have been trained better than I anticipated.”
Struggling to talk through the pain, the man took him off guard with a smile. “That was your first…mistake. You should never…underestimate…the strength of…Americans.”
Edric threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, yes. There’s the arrogance I have come to recognize from the people of your country. Americans always think they are smarter than everyone else and can do better in all things. You actually believe youarebetter than the rest of us.” He turned and walked across the dark, musty room. “But, you know…” He faced the man again. “Simply thinking something does not make it so.”
The former Navy SEAL glared up at him but remained silent. With all traces of humor gone, Edric inwardly prayed he would get what he wanted before leaving here.
“I do, however, believe you are a smart man. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you were not. Which means you must understand that you will die today. Here, in this small, pitiful room. Tell me.” He took a step closer. “How much longer are you going to put off the inevitable? How much more pain and suffering is your body able to endure?”
His prisoner narrowed his eyes once more. “Why don’t you…save us both…some time and…kill me now.”
Losing some of his tightly-reigned control, Edric fisted his hands at his sides and yelled,“Tell me where it is!”
But the other man simply let out a half-laugh, half-cough, spitting the blood from his mouth onto the floor beside him. He smiled at Edric again. “Like I said…before, Yavuz. Fuck. You.”
In that moment, Edric knew this man was never going to give up the file’s location. With an angry nod, he gave the unspoken order to Achim.
Understanding what his boss wanted, Achim pulled out his knife, its blade already stained with the soldier’s blood.
The once-formidable SEAL steeled himself for what was about to come. Rather than beg and cry for his mother as so many other men had, the American actually sat up taller. Straighter. Then, he lifted his chin and looked Edric square in the eye.
This was a man who was ready to die.
Craig Wyatt was willing to give his life to protect the one thing that would destroy Edric if it were ever discovered. Ironically, it was the same type of loyalty and strength Edric, himself, expected from his own men.
The man’s one good eye remained locked with his. Even when Achim shoved all eight inches of the knife’s blade into his gut.
A loud grunting sound escaped from the back of the wounded man’s throat. Blood began to pour out over his swollen and split lips, streams of it stretching down like thin bands of elastic before breaking off and falling onto his lap.
Achim twisted the knife before shoving it upward, the tearing of flesh and muscle a sound Edric had never quite gotten used to.
Yanking the blade free, Achim stabbed the man again. And again.
Edric spoke calmly as the ill-fated soldier began choking on his own blood. “You’re a fool, Mr. Wyatt. I could have made your death quick. Painless. This”—Edric waved his hands across the man’s shriveling form—“was all for nothing.”
He could tell from the bulging artery in the guy’s neck that his pulse was rapidly decreasing as a result of massive internal bleeding.
“Your death will not stop me. Iwillfind that file.” Edric took a step toward the bloody, broken man. “And now, you will die knowing this is nothing compared to what I will do to the person who has it.”
In a weak, almost indiscernible move, the man’s eyes widened, and he shook his head before choking out what sounded a lot like ‘no’. Wyatt’s chin fell to his chest, the muscles in his neck no longer having the strength to keep it up.
Using his final breath, the American whispered something. It was too low for Edric to make out, but Achim was standing much closer, still hovering over his kill.
“What was that?” Edric asked excitedly. “What did he say?” His cold heart pumped harder, certain it was a clue of some sort. A name, perhaps?Somethingthat would lead him to what he desperately needed.
Achim turned to his boss. “I can’t be certain, but it sounded as though he said ‘forgive me’.”
