On His Six

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Inara zooms in, and I suck in a sharp breath. “That’s him. That’s the kid I saw when they took Wren. Elena’s brother.”

  West clenches his fists over the map, crinkling the paper. “India. You have non-lethals?”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, Whiskey,” she whispers. “You want him?”

  “Hell no. But we need him. If you have a shot, take it. But for fuck’s sake, be careful.”

  “Roger that.” She clicks off comms, and her body cam shows her creeping along the top of the building, following the kid. He’s moving quickly, but once he turns the corner alongside the back of the building, he stops and sort of collapses against the wall. A fumbling hand digs into his coat pocket and he comes away with a pack of cigarettes. The subtle red glow illuminates his face, and Inara stops moving. I can picture her. Getting into position. Flat on her belly. The long-range rifle wedged against her shoulder. She’s one of the best snipers in the world with more confirmed kills than anyone in the past decade. And the first woman certified. Since then, three others have come up through the ranks, but Inara’s still the best.

  Semyon glances up and down the alleyway, smoking like his life depends on it. The butt glows brighter as he inhales, and then he jerks, staring down at his chest. Another jerk, and his hand lifts to his neck, but as if in slow motion, his entire body crumples to the ground, the cigarette landing a few inches from his lips.

  “Got him. Will confirm after retrieval,” Inara says, and then she starts to run. West and I don’t speak until we see the boy’s body land in the trunk of a beat-up car. “This better be worth it.” She’s out of breath. Though she’s strong, and Semyon’s rail thin, she’s carrying a hell of a lot of gear. “Turning off the camera. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Roger that,” West says. “You’re sure this kid knows something?”

  “He lured Wren down that alley.” I crack my knuckles, itching to beat the truth out of the boy. “He knows a hell of a lot more than something.”

  West sighs. “I hope you’re right. Because this is going to be Colombia all over again. Way too many hostiles, only one safe ingress and egress point, and we have no clue what condition Wren’s in.”

  “Don’t,” I snap. Grabbing him by the arms, I barely stop myself from shaking him. “She’s going to be okay.”

  “Ry.” His gaze locks onto mine, and I know what he’s thinking. Kolya’s the worst of the worst. Drug lord, pimp, murderer, and more. The likelihood of Wren living through his wrath is…almost non-existent.

  “She has information he wants. He needs. He won’t kill her until he knows he’s safe. I have to believe that. If I don’t…I might as well just go in there guns blazing and take out as many of those fuckers as I can before they kill me.”

  “No.” Shaking me off, West takes a step back. “If we get confirmation she’s dead—” he holds up his hands when I growl and raise my fists, “—fucking listen to me, McCabe. If she dies—we’ll blow that entire building. Together. And then we’ll all go home. As long as we think there’s a chance she’s alive, no one’s giving up on her.”

  For a long moment, neither of us move. Finally, I lower my hands. “I have to get her back.”

  “I know. And we’re with you. Whatever it takes.” He turns back to his maps and laptop, and I scoop up the sleeping bags and carry them into one of the back bedrooms. Wren is coming back to me. And when she does, I’ll take care of her. In private. Where she can feel safe. Nothing will ever hurt her again, and I have to tell her. She’s it for me.

  27

  Ryker

  By the time Inara arrives, I have all of Wren’s things set up in the bedroom. I found a few candles in the kitchen and unrolled the extra sleeping bag we brought and never used. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.

  West mutters from the front room every few minutes, and once or twice, I hear him on the phone to Graham back at our base in Seattle. I’m glad they didn’t bring him. The kid’s brand new, and this isn’t a mission for amateurs. Though, a couple of extra guns wouldn’t be a bad idea.

  “A little help?” Inara calls.

  I race out and lift the still-unconscious kid off her shoulders. Tossing him onto the couch, I grab a set of zip ties and secure his hands behind him, then bind his ankles together.

  Propped up against the cushions, he looks so young. Twenty-three maybe? “Wake him up,” I say, and Inara pops the top on a vial of smelling salts.

  Semyon snorts and coughs and tries to squirm away from the stench, but West slaps his hands down on the kid’s shoulders from behind. “Don’t move if you know what’s good for you.”

  A string of Russian escapes the kid’s lips, and I glance at Inara. She shakes her head as if she can’t believe he’s that stupid. “Half of your text messages are in English, kid. Don’t pull that shit with us.” Waving his phone in the air, she smiles. Not the friendly, I’m happy to see you grin she can sometimes affect, but a lethal, try anything and you’re dead smile.

  “Who are you?” Semyon asks.

  “Try again.” I lean forward, putting my face right in front of his. “You recognize me, asswipe. I know you do. And you know where Wren is.”

  He starts to tremble and writhe against the zip ties. “He will kill me if I talk to you.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” Whatever he sees in my eyes and hears in my calm, flat tone convinces him I’m telling the truth, and he deflates.

  “She’s with Kolya.”

  Even though I knew it, hearing the words still shakes me to my core. “Is she alive?”

  “Da. Yes. He wants her for himself. He says…if I help him…he will let Elena go. The redhead…Wren…will be his new shlyukha.”

  Inara grabs my arm and holds on tight before she translates. “Whore.”

  I want to snap this kid’s neck—after I break every bone in his body, but he’s my only link to Wren. I meet Inara’s gaze. “I’m in control.”

  “You better be,” she mouths, her back to Semyon.

  Returning my focus to the kid, I cross my arms over my chest. “Here’s what’s going to happen now, Semyon. That is your name, right?”

  He nods.

  “You’re going to help us get Wren back. And in return, we’re going to get you and your sister out of the country where Kolya can never touch you again. Deal?”

  Wide, blue eyes stare back at me, and he shakes his head vigorously. “You will fail. And Elena will die. We all will.”

  “I don’t fail, kid.” Jerking my thumb at my chest, I arch a brow. “Special Forces. The guy behind you is a SEAL, and she’s the Rangers’ deadliest sniper in the past fifteen years. We’re your best shot at living through the next few days. But we need intel.”

  Semyon presses his lips together, determined not to speak. West grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head back. “Listen, you little shit, all three of us are trained in enhanced interrogation. And we hate pulling those skills out of the deep, dark box they live in. Because it’s messy. You’re going to piss yourself. Bleed all over this couch. Probably shit yourself too. And you’re definitely going to cry. In the end, you’ll tell us whatever we want to know while begging us to kill you.”

  The kid looks from me to Inara. She shrugs and pulls a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh. The serrated edge gleams in the light, and I shove down a laugh as she uses the tip to clean under one of her fingernails. There’s a reason every movie on the planet uses that ploy. It works. At least on civilians.

  “Okay, okay,” Semyon squeaks. “You get Elena out? If I help you?”

  Crouching down so we’re at the same level, I hold his gaze. “We came here for you and Elena. We’re not leaving without the two of you. But right now, Wren comes first.”

  He nods, relief spreading over his young face. “What do you need to know?”

  Wren

  Light pours through the frosted window, almost warm on my bare leg. I threw up again. A little. The bitter taste on my tongue mak
es me gag, and I try to stagger to my feet to reach the sink, but I crash to my knees, slip in the mess, and can’t manage to force myself upright again.

  “Ryker,” I whisper to no one. “Where are you?”

  How long does heroin last? It was dark when they locked me in here. And now it’s not. I feel…hollow. Nothing but a shell of me left. I can’t muster more than an ounce of energy to care, even though the fear starts to worm its way back into my mind, icy and cold.

  “Wren?” Elena knocks at the door, then slips inside the bathroom. She has a washcloth in her hands, and as I try to shrink away from her, she turns on the water in the sink. “I clean you up.”

  “Help me.” I can’t manage more than a whisper, but I curl my fingers around her ankle. “Get me…out of here.”

  “He will kill me. Or make me wish I die.” She shows no emotion, so resigned to her fate as she drags the warm cloth over my cheeks, rinses it out, and then cleans the dried vomit off my chest. The scratches burn, and I curl myself into a ball when she starts wiping up the floor. “He will not stop. You must give him what he want.”

  “I can’t.”

  How long until I won’t have a choice? Until I’ll do anything Kolya asks?

  “Zion…loved you.”

  Elena’s tears spill over, dripping onto the floor, and she chokes back a sob. “I know. He was…my angel. Kolya tell me. What he do to Zion. Is my fault.”

  I reach for her hand, wincing as one of my many bruises aches. Panic wraps its bony, icy fingers around my heart as a shadow falls over us, and Elena scurries away from me.

  “I clean, baby. No more smell.”

  Kolya grabs her hair and pulls her head back as he gropes her through her thin, red dress. “Very good, kitten. Go to your room and I will bring you a reward.”

  Her nipples tighten under the silk, and the look in her eyes, I shudder as I recognize the raw need, the desperation. I’ll be her soon, and I curl away, desperate to forget, to avoid more pain. Ryker’s face flashes behind my swollen lids, and I try to hold on to him, to the memory of his voice, his touch. But when Kolya runs his rough hand down my arm and digs his fingers into the bruises, I cry out, and Ryker’s gone.

  “Tell me your password, sweet Red. I can take the pain away.” His voice is almost kind now, and I want to give in. To let him do whatever he wants. “You will be happy here with me.”

  With him. Not with Ryker. I want to be happy with Ryker.

  I can’t let him get my password. No matter what he does to me. And I know he’ll break me down. How much longer until I can’t resist? Until I crave the nothingness heroin provides with every breath? I force myself to look up at him. “Make it stop,” I whimper. “Please.”

  “Her tablet, Victor.” Kolya sits me up against the wall, and I bring my knees up to try to shield my body from his lecherous gaze. When he has the tablet in his hand, he brushes my cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “Do this for me, sweet one and I will make sure you have your reward. No more pain. I promise.”

  My hand shakes as I press my thumb to the biometric sensor. The tablet beeps in error, and I try again, steadying the thin screen with my other hand. Fear tightens in my gut. I don’t have a choice.

  “Elena!” I whimper as I look over Victor’s shoulder. The men both turn, and I yank the tablet out of Kolya’s hands and slam it into the sink with all of my remaining strength. Glass shatters, and the tablet snaps in two. Blood wells from a cut on my left hand, and Kolya roars out an oath.

  “You stupid bitch!” He grabs me by the hair, pulls me to my knees, and then punches me in the stomach. I retch, but there’s nothing left for me to throw up. Gasping for breath, I’m helpless as he throws me against the wall.

  “You think you can beat me, cyka? Soon, you will beg me to take the pain away. And I will refuse until you are screaming.” With a vicious kick to my upper thigh, Kolya snarls at Blondie, “Bring her medicine.”

  “No more,” I beg. “Please.”

  Panic squeezes my chest so tightly I can’t breathe, and I claw at my neck, opening up the barely healing scratches. Blondie lights the candle, and Kolya slams my head back against the wall, leaving me too dazed to move as he ties the rubber around my arm.

  I’m going to die. My heart will keep beating, but Wren will die. And maybe…maybe that will be for the best.

  28

  Wren

  Five times. Five times Kolya’s come and drugged me. I think. Everything’s blurring together now. I smell like bile and sweat and blood, and my stomach is twisting itself into a pretzel. And God. I’m so hungry. Except…when I’m not. Which is most of the time.

  It’s dark again outside the frosted glass window. Has it been one day? Two? How can I not know? Ryker hasn’t come for me. If he’s dead…Kolya would have told me. He wants me to suffer. To beg him for another dose of relief. But…why hasn’t he tried to rescue me?

  I stifle a sob as I remember Ryker’s kiss. How he smelled. His touch. I…was so stupid. If I’d listened to him…maybe I’d be in his arms now. The walls shift and almost pulse as I force myself to my knees, my anxiety returning with a vengeance as my heart rate skyrockets.

  My arms and legs feel like they weigh a ton, and my head pounds, the room spinning around me as I try to pull myself up.

  I think…if Kolya plans to dose me again, he’s late. I don’t have a watch, and there’s no clock in this bathroom. But though I’m weak, disoriented, and woozy, my thoughts are clearer now than they’ve been since he first drugged me.

  Everything hurts. My ribs. My arms. My head. The last time he came…he was so angry with me he didn’t even speak. Just wailed on me with his fists until my lip split and blood filled my mouth, half choking me. I begged then. Begged him to stop. To take the pain away.

  I begged for him to drug me. The realization sends more tears streaming down my cheeks, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop crying.

  Z explained to me once…what it felt like. Why he couldn’t stop getting high.

  “It’s like you don’t care about anything, Wren. All your problems…they just go away. I…hated myself. Hated my life. And heroin…took all my pain away.”

  Not just the pain. The terror. The sickening anticipation of what’s coming next. I…remember…a little. As soon as the heroin hits my vein, I’m not afraid anymore. I don’t hurt. Or…I don’t care if I do…I’m not sure. It’s like…I’m at peace.

  I understand Z better now. His addiction. Because I want that peace. I need it. There’s no anxiety. No panic. But…there’s also no me.

  The mirror shows the horrors of what he’s done. Sunken, blackened eyes. Blood staining my lip and chin. Deep scratches down my neck and breasts. There’s still vomit in my hair. I splash a little water on my face, cup my shaking hands under the flow and try to drink, but I can’t hold more than a few drops at a time.

  I’m so scared. Panic tightens a knot in my chest and I sink back down to the floor, my head between my knees. When I fall over, my fingers brush my ankles, tangling in the chain keeping me locked to the sink.

  The sensation distracts me enough to draw in a shaky breath. It’s…almost thin. Forcing my head up, I rub my eyes to try to clear my vision. In college, I had a couple of epic hangovers, and this…this is ten times worse.

  “Focus,” I whisper to myself as I blink hard and stare at the chain. The cuff is thick. Maybe two inches tall and heavy. But the chain…I…I could break it. I think. If I get free…can I escape before he kills me?

  Wedging my other foot against the pipe, I grab the cuff and pull as hard as I can. Not enough leverage. Maybe if I scoot over towards the toilet. I try again, and I think I feel a little give. Sweat dampens my brow, and my head pounds hard enough I fear it’ll split in two, but with one final tug, the chain snaps, and I tumble back, my head slamming into the porcelain bowl.

  I lie there panting, willing my ankle to stop sending sparks of pain racing up my calf. I don’t know how long it takes me to move. Five minutes
maybe—though my sense of time is so warped, it could be an hour.

  Ten inches of chain hang from the cuff, and I wrap it around my ankle, tucking the end between the cuff and my skin. On my hands and knees, I crawl towards the door, but stop with my hand on the knob. I need a weapon. Even as weak as I am…something.

  But this bathroom is as empty as I am. Tears choke me as I look wildly around the room until I remember…the toilet tank has a metal float arm inside. It’s not much, but it’s something.

  My stomach pitches as I lift the lid, but Kolya seems to be obsessed with cleanliness. This bathroom is spotless. Elena cleaned up all of my messes, and I swipe at my cheeks as I remember the last time I saw her. Strung out, Kolya’s handprint across her cheek.

  Focus. Weapon. Escape

  The metal arm snaps off easily, and I take a few unsteady steps towards the door.

  A wave of dizziness threatens to send me back down to my knees, but I force a deep breath, lean against the wall, and press my cheek to the cool wood door. You can do this, Wren. Get out.

  Cringing as I crack the door, I expect Kolya to be standing on the other side, laughing with a syringe in his hand. But the bedroom is empty. The lavish, four-poster bed takes up much of the space, and my bare feet land on thick, plush carpet.

  I’m halfway across the room when I hear his voice. “Wait downstairs,” he says. “I am tired of her resistance. She needs additional…motivation. And the first time I take her…should be private.”

  Oh God. He’s going to rape me. I barely have time to slide my pitiful weapon under the pillows before he slams the door, his lips curled into a snarl.

  “Clever girl,” he says as he stalks towards me.

  “Please…” I throw up my hands. “I…I need…more.” I have to try to convince him I’m not a threat. “Don’t…leave me…like this…” Forcing myself to take a step towards him, I plead, “I need you to…take the pain away.”