On His Six Page 15

  “I won’t. I can’t.” My voice turns into a squeak, then I’m crying so hard, the world takes on a watery glow and my head throbs.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he says with a sneer. “You will do whatever I say, little Red. Or maybe I cut you before I take the pain away.”

  Blondie takes the knife and traces a line up my stomach, and blood wells as he gives the blade a flick along the side of my breast.

  I’m gasping for breath as the heroin liquifies, and when Kolya drops a cotton ball into the spoon and then sucks the drug into the needle, I start to wheeze and my entire body strains. “No, no, no,” I beg, but it does me no good.

  The needle breaches my skin with a little pop, and I scream, thrashing until the needle slips free, but that only makes Kolya angrier. “Hold her still,” he growls again, and the Groper tightens his grip on my forearms. The second time, Kolya holds my elbow himself as he pierces my vein. With a chuckle, he pulls the plunger out slightly, and blood mixes with the heroin, sending a burning pressure consuming my upper arm.

  He pauses, raising a bushy blond brow. “Is this your first time, little Red?”

  “Please…stop…” I whisper.

  “Enjoy the ride,” he says, and my body freezes in a silent scream as he depresses the plunger.

  25

  Ryker

  “Drink this.” West sets a cup of coffee on the table in front of me. “And then get your ass up and help us.”

  The scent of his favorite brew is almost comforting, except…Wren’s gone, and Kolya’s either raped her, killed her, or tortured her by now. Will she tell him where we are? Can she? She fell asleep on the way here, and she might not remember the route from the safe house to town today. I don’t think she’ll break—for a while. But she’s not trained. She doesn’t know what an interrogation can do to a person.

  Screams—mine, Dax’s, my other men’s—echo in my memories. I smell burning skin, my captors’ sweat, fear.

  If he sells her…I’ll rip each one of his fingers from his hand and feed them to him before I cut his dick off. And then I’ll find her and kill every single man who’s touched her.

  “Ry?” Inara kneels next to me. “We’re flying blind here. Wren’s laptop is password protected. Her tracker’s dead, but its last location was inside that big building by the square. But we can’t tell if she’s was wearing it at the time or if it was sitting in some drawer somewhere. It died an hour or so ago, but before that, it showed small movements inside the fortress. I’m heading out on reconnaissance. But you have to help West.”

  Don’t leave. I don’t know how to fix this.

  I can’t say the words, but as she meets my gaze, I think she understands. With a quick squeeze of my arm, she offers me the only comfort she can, and I nod my thanks. As she hefts her pack and heads for the door, I find my voice. “Be careful.”

  “I’m sticking to the rooftops. They’ll never see me. You two stay on comms. Both of you.”

  I don’t move for almost ten minutes, the mug of coffee cupped in my hands, Wren’s scent surrounding me. Will honeysuckle soon be nothing more than a memory?

  Shoving my ear bud into my ear, I shake my head.

  Focus. She’s out there. She needs you.

  Looking up, I find West arranging his gear. “You shouldn’t have come, Sampson.”

  “You’re right. Cam and I are supposed to get married in two days. Were supposed to get married. We have tickets to Costa Rica in a week. A private resort. Non-refundable.” He glares at me, his intense blue eyes unforgiving. “Instead, I’m in an empty house in Russia, three miles from one of the most dangerous drug lords in the Eastern Block, staring at a man who looks like he’s lost everything.” West ambles over to me and holds out his hand. “You going to sit there wrapped in that sleeping bag all night? Or are you going to help me get your girl back?”

  “My…girl?” I stare up at him, the coffee in my hand long forgotten.

  A dry laugh—almost a snort—escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. “You’re so far gone it’d be funny if she weren’t in danger, Mr. I’m-Never-Falling-In-Love.”

  “I don’t…“ The truth crashes down on me. I don’t want to be without her. Not now, not ever. She calms my demons. She understands me. Doesn’t let me get away with any bullshit. Is this…love?

  “Stop fighting it, Ry. I swear, both you and Inara. Stubborn as fuck.” He stares down at his extended hand, brows raised. “On your feet.”

  “What does it feel like?” I clap my hand against West’s and let him pull me up. “Finding…that person.”

  “Like you’re home.” He sighs, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Like…you don’t have to tell her your deepest, darkest secrets, but you want to. And when you do…she understands. Doesn’t judge.”

  “I had a brother.”

  “What?” West frowns, running a hand through his dark hair. “You’ve never talked about him.”

  “Not good memories. He…died. I told Wren.” I pull her bracelet over my fist, and the beads warm against my skin. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to tell her a lot of things.”

  “Do you love her?” He studies me. Watches me for any sign I’m lying to him—and myself. SEALs are some of the most goddamned observant men in the world.

  “Y-yes. Fuck. Yes.”

  “So…let’s get her back.” West passes me Wren’s laptop, and I stare at the biometric sensor. “You know what to do. Supplies are in my kit.”

  As West spreads a map of the city out on the dining room table, I open his rucksack and dig out the black leather infil kit. With silicone spray, ultra-fine charcoal powder, and a rubbery finger-condom, I lift Wren’s print from the sensor, apply it to my thumb, and pray.

  Enter passcode:

  Closing my eyes, I think back to the first time I saw her fingers flying over the keys. The ten digits roll out of my memory easily, and I’m in. “Got it.”

  One-by-one, the cameras come online. Kolya hasn’t found any of them. Not yet. She hasn’t told him everything. The streetlights illuminate a couple of kids lounging on the front steps of his building, but no one else is out. It’s well after nine, and this part of St. Petersburg rolls up its sidewalks after eight. At least on a Sunday.

  “In position, Whiskey,” Inara whispers over comms, using West’s code name. We never use real names on a mission—just in case someone’s listening. Inara is India, I’m Romeo, and West is Whiskey. New guy—if we ever go on another mission again—will be Golf. “I can see into the top floor of that monstrosity. Four rooms, I think. One’s an office. Blinds open. Desk, chair. Dark colors. Another might be a bedroom. Kind of looks like the video with the girl.”

  “Any signs of life?” West asks.

  “No. Switching to thermals.”

  I hold my breath. If Wren’s there…

  “One heat signature. Indistinct. Like someone curled in a ball. Could be a fucking dog for all I can tell. In a room off the bedroom. Floor level.” After a pause, she mutters, “Most everyone’s on the first floor. Got…fuck…at least fifteen. Maybe twenty.”

  “Wren?”

  “How the hell would I know? These are heat signatures. All the shades are drawn down there. I’m going to try to get closer and use the parabolic mic. Going dark.”

  I cycle through the cameras, looking for anything out of place. The kids head inside, passing through the front door after a security check from a big, burly guy with a semi-automatic slung over his shoulder. That’s new. They’re expecting trouble.

  They’re expecting me.

  “Bring it, you fucking bastard,” I say under my breath. “You’re mine.”

  West chuckles. “That’s more like it.” His grim smile matches his tone, and he waves me over. “Cam found the blueprints for the building.”

  “What’re we looking at?” I carry Wren’s laptop over to the table with me, keeping one eye on the cameras while West opens the black and white schematics for Kolya’s fortress.

  “F
ormer hotel. Ten rooms on each of the two middle floors. Dining room and kitchen on the first floor, ballroom, a couple of storage closets. Fourth floor has three penthouse-style suites with full bathrooms. Electrical and storage in the basement. Server room, too, I think. Six exterior doors, and one ingress point on the roof.” West twists the 3D model on screen. “If she’s in there—”

  “Three hostiles are climbing the stairs with the girl—Elena. Caught a glimpse of them as they hit the second floor. Kolya and two guys. One blond, one dark.”

  “Where’s the unknown signature?” West asks. “What side of the building?”

  “North east corner.”

  “That’s a bathroom,” West confirms. “Switch to thermals and give me a visual.”

  She does, and West answers the incoming video call. The indistinct heat signature starts to move, and as its shape changes, I suck in a breath. Definitely a person. Small. Moving so slowly it’s almost painful to watch.

  Oh God. Is that Wren? If so…what have they done to her?

  Wren

  I’m lying in something sticky. And…disgusting. The sour smell of bile burns my nose. Oh my God. Vomit. I try to push myself up, but my limbs don’t want to respond.

  Everything’s fuzzy. An undercurrent of fear runs through me, sending my heart thudding in my chest and my stomach clenching. The needle. The terror as my arm went numb. The sudden, violent retching. My head slamming into the sink. And then…peace. No pain. No fear. No…anything.

  But now, my entire body screams in agony. My head. My arms. My ribs. And I’m cold. So cold. Naked, bruised, bloody, and covered in my own sick, I bury my face in my hands and sob.

  Ryker, please find me. I can’t…I can’t do this. I’m so scared.

  The whole time…however long it’s been…I knew I was in trouble. Knew I was hurt. But…I didn’t care. Nothing mattered. And now, my emotions are overwhelming me. Stronger than I can handle. I reach for my bracelet, but it’s gone, and only rough, reddened abrasions from the ropes decorate my wrists. My arms and legs feel…heavy. Something stings all along my neck. Forcing my gaze down, I see deep, red scratches all the way to my breasts, and a keening cry catches in my throat.

  “All of your problems…they just go away. You itch. Everywhere. And nothing matters but that next hit. You’ll do anything so you don’t have to hurt again.”

  Part of Zion’s recovery involved telling me how heroin made him feel. I don’t want another hit. Or…do I? Drawing my legs in closer, the cuff around my ankle pulls tight, and the reality of my situation crashes down on me.

  I’m naked. Locked to a water pipe in Kolya Yegorovich’s bathroom. Beaten and bruised. And he’s drugging me. My fear is an oily, bitter taste in my mouth and the pain grips every muscle in my body, but…my anxiety’s almost non-existent.

  I try again to sit up, and this time, I manage. The room spins around me, and drying vomit clings to my hair. Water. I need water. Using the sink, I pull myself up, almost fall over again, and force my knees to lock.

  It takes me three tries to turn on the faucet, but once cold water flows freely, I stick my whole head under the stream. The chill helps me focus, and after most of the vomit’s out of my hair, I turn my head and suck down as much water as I can without making myself sick before turning the faucet off and sinking back down to the floor.

  The door opens, and a blurry figure approaches. Small. Not Kolya. Still, I whimper.

  “Wren?”

  “Who…are you?” I try to focus, but I’m too scared. And I can’t concentrate long enough to make sense of what I’m seeing. Blond hair. Bruises. Arms so thin they don’t look real. Her voice, though…I know her voice.

  “I am Elena.” Cool fingers touch my cheek, and I wince as pain spirals down my jaw. “Zion...?”

  I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as I topple over, rapping my temple against the pipe. “Please…help me,” I whisper.

  “Give me the password to your computer,” she says as she helps me sit up and takes my hands. “I can talk to Kolya. Maybe…he will listen. Let you out of here.”

  I blink hard and meet her gaze. Blue eyes, terrified, shadowed. “I can’t. He’ll…kill me…”

  Heavy footsteps approach, and I shrink back against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible as Elena darts a glance over her shoulder.

  “Did you enjoy your first trip, little Red?” Kolya looms in the doorway, grinning at me. “You were a joy to watch. You moaned. Such a pretty sound.”

  “Let me go…please,” I whimper, my words slurred. “I’m no danger to you. I just want to go home.”

  His snort sends a jolt of panic through me, but the aftereffects of the heroin temper the emotion quickly. “You are much too valuable for that. And pretty. Zion never told me how beautiful you were. I think I will keep you.”

  Keep me? Oh God.

  “You can’t—”

  “I can. Leave us, Elena. Into the bedroom. Strip.” Kolya shoves her out of the room, and she stumbles, a soft sob escaping her swollen lips. As he kneels next to me, he pulls a fresh needle from his jacket pocket, handing it to the goon behind him. “Prepare the next dose, Victor.”

  Blondie crouches a few feet away and lights the candle. I can’t look away from the flame as he starts heating the heroin. I’m scared, my entire body shaking, but…then…an eerie calm settles over me. I won’t care about anything once the drug hits my bloodstream. I understand now. How Zion could want this more than anything.

  “Please don’t.” My voice is barely audible, and my fingers flex, almost aching for the release he’s promising, even as my heart jackhammers half out of my chest and a dull roar fills my ears.

  Kolya grabs my arm and yanks—hard. I topple over, right into him, and he takes the opportunity to cup my breast and pinch my nipple. “I can do whatever I want with you, sweet Red. And right now, I want to hear you moan again.”

  With deft hands, the Groper tightens the rubber tube around my arm. I start to struggle, but then his massive hand wraps around my throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult as he growls, “Be still.”

  I’m numb…I let my body go slack. What good would fighting do me? Blondie—Victor—and the Groper are at least twice my size, and I’m still locked to the pipe. Kolya could carve me up into tiny pieces and I couldn’t do anything to stop him.

  “Do you want this, my little red-headed pet?”

  Something deep inside my rational brain tells me to say yes. Even though I know I don’t. Trick him. Find a way to survive this long enough for Ryker to rescue you.

  Except…as he waves the needle in front of my face, I think…maybe I do want it. What’s the alternative? Passing out from a panic attack? Screaming until I don’t have a voice left from the pain, the sheer terror of being in the presence of pure evil?

  “N-no…I…mean…I…please…” Tears burn my eyes, then spill onto my cheeks. Kolya laughs as he whisks one away with a bent finger.

  “So pretty when you cry.” Kolya shoves the needle into my arm, and my skin burns, the pain sending sparks racing up to my shoulder until a warm, heavy peace settles over me and there’s nothing. No fear. No pain. Nothing. And I float away.

  26

  Ryker

  Watching Kolya and his goons—or at least their thermal images—gang up on what has to be Wren sends anger prickling over my skin. After they leave, she—I can’t believe it’s not her—doesn’t move. Prone, almost curled into a ball. Two of the men head back down the stairs, and the third—Kolya I assume—grabs Elena and drags her to the far corner of the bedroom, laughing. A hard knot twists in my gut as her cries and the unmistakable sounds of rough sex, of rape, come over comms.

  “Get me a better visual or a way to hear what’s going on inside that bathroom,” I bark at Inara, but I know it’s no use. There’s a door, so even if Inara could find another rooftop, the best she can do is change the angle on the thermal imaging. The parabolic mic only works if there’s a
window to aim at, and even then, it’s limited.

  West tightens his hand on my arm. “Romeo, breathe. If we’re going in there, we’re doing it with a solid plan. India, get me footage of all sides. Heat signatures and night-vision, then find somewhere to hunker down.”

  I know he’s right. Hell, this is what I pay him for. Infil and exfil. The man can run a dozen different scenarios in his head at once. But I can’t just let her think I’m not coming for her.

  Bracing my hands on the table, I stare daggers at the laptop, willing it to show me something—anything—useful. Like Kolya jumping out the window to his death or Wren running from the building, whole and unharmed.

  “Whiskey.”

  The former SEAL holds up his hand and turns off his transmitter. “I know. But we’re three against…twenty? Those are shit odds under the best of circumstances, and right now, you’re not firing on all cylinders, Ry. Sit down, shut up, and let me think.”

  I slink back to the couch and run my fingers over those damn beads.

  When I was in Hell, I spent my days—when I could focus—memorizing everything. Sights. Sounds. Smells. But so often, the pain chased clarity away, and I tapped patterns on the floor, the wall, the inside of my wrist…whatever I could reach based on how they restrained me that day. I revert to my old habits now.

  Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-Tap. Tap. Against Wren’s beads.

  Please, sweetheart. Hold on for me. I’m coming for you.

  The cameras cycle as I stare unblinking at the screen on the table a few feet away. A lone figure darts across one of the shots, and his blond hair and build look hauntingly familiar. “India. Where are you right now?”

  “Rooftop of some dirty restaurant that smells like beets.”

  “South end. Get a visual on the kid hustling towards you. If you get a close-up, send it.” Leaping up, I race over to the laptop and motion West to join me.

  “What? I’m a little busy here.”