The pain, especially around my wrists, reminding me of that horrible day when my life changed forever.
The knife Davis is wielding, the metal flashing whenever the fluorescent light hits it.
The helplessness.
The fear.
The memories crowd in, thick and poisonous and clinging. For a moment, my mind splits.
In one half, I’m in my basement, held hostage by a man I thought was an ally.
In the other, I’m back in Iran. In the chaos. Wells is on the ground, covered in blood. Kai is crouched over him, desperately trying to stem the bleeding. Saint and Ford are returning fire, attempting to provide cover.
I’m just getting into position to take a shot when something hard and heavy crashes into me. I’m knocked over. Stunned. Black edges in.
Then Malik shouts. Feeling as though I’m moving in slow motion, I turn my head to see him emerging from behind a tree with his hands in the air. There’s a rifle pointed at his head. His expression is grim. Resigned.
Someone grabs me, hauling me to my feet. Cool metal presses to the back of my neck.
Malik shouts to the rest of the team to retreat. To save themselves. Get Wells out of there before it’s too late.
Kai looks up, anguish all over his face. He doesn’t want to. None of my teammates do.
Understanding the inevitable, I meet Kai’s gaze and give him a tiny nod.
He has to go. It’s the only way.
Then I’m struck again. The darkness closes in. My last waking thought is that I’ll never see my teammates again.
Tears burn my eyes at the memory.
I didn’t know then that Wells was already dead.
I didn’t know Malik would meet the same fate only weeks later.
I didn’t know, back then, that the Yara I used to be died that day, too.
Just as I’m falling into the flashback, pain sears across my side.
It jerks me back to the present; back to Davis’s sneering face and the knife, now slick with fresh blood.
Keep it together,I tell myself firmly, while forcing the pain down deep. My only chance of getting out of this is to keep my shit together. Figure out a way to talk him out of this.
Davis holds up the knife—a Ka-bar, just like the one I have upstairs in my nightstand—and turns it both ways, so I can see it. “I’ve been dreaming of doing this for years, you know.” He stops. “Didyou know, Yara? Did you know this kept me going whenever I thought about giving up?”
When I don’t answer, because,duh, I can’t, he slashes out with the blade again. This time it catches my arm, and a moment later, I hear the faint drip of blood on the floor. “Did you, Yara?” His voice rises. “Didyou?”
Though I don’t want to respond to his madness at all, there’s a slight chance that by engaging with him, I might be able to convince him to remove my gag. Unlikely, but if there’s even a sliver of a chance… I just need to be able to talk to him. Find out why he’s doing this. Because I can’t figure it out. I didn’t do anything to him. I barely even talked to him. So why is he here, intent on torturing me?
Do you really think that’s all he’s planning to do?that obnoxious inner voice of logic asks.He’s going to break some fingers, knock you around a bit, and leave? You’re not stupid. You know there’s only one way this ends. And it’s not with him letting you go.
No,I refute silently.That’s not true. I escaped once. It can happen again.
Except I didn’t really escape, did I? I was rescued. By a Delta team sent on an undercover mission after the U.S. government received intel that I was still being held there, along with three other captives. All I really did was manage to stay alive until then.
“Answer me!” Davis barks. His face is mottled with anger. “Did you, Yara? Did you know that every time they tortured me, I thought about doing the same to you?”
Before the knife can strike me again, I shake my head. I can’t answer him any better than that.
