The rumble of his voice soothes me, and the hard knot in my chest lessens slightly.
“We were pinned down on the side of a mountain. No way up or down. I lost three men in the fire fight. The rest of us…we ran out of ammo. Couldn’t raise ComSat on the radio to have them send backup. So…we surrendered.” Ryker takes a deep breath. “Five of us. Hab, Ripper, Gose, Dax, and me. We knew they’d make our lives hell. Knew we’d be separated. Tortured. But…we didn’t have any idea how bad it’d be.
“They knew who we were. Capturing a Special Forces team? Taking their commander alive? Shit. They were celebrities. Hab died pretty quick. Lucky bastard.”
Lucky? I peer up at Ryker, but he’s not here with me anymore. He stares at the ceiling, his arm around my back, but his mind—and heart—back in Afghanistan.
“For a couple of months, we were paraded in front of every Taliban bigwig, beaten to shit, starved. And then…they sent us to Hell.”
“Where were you before?” I ask to bring him back to me.
“Somewhere near the Uzbeki border. In a wood and cement block building where we could sometimes see the sun.” Longing tinges his voice, and he sighs. “That place was a fucking paradise compared to Hell. The insurgents dug out a massive cave system under a mountain. Built a dozen cells. A couple of deep holes they’d throw us down and cover with plywood. If you went into the hole, you stayed there until you were so disoriented, you didn’t remember your name.”
“Ryker,” I whisper, but he doesn’t hear me.
“It’s easy to turn a person into an animal. Easier than most people expect.”
Running my fingers over one of the jagged scars across his chest, I try to comfort him, but he covers my hand with his and holds me still. For an hour, he talks. The stories they all stuck to—as long as they could. Ripper’s disappearance. How for months, they’d torture Ryker in front of Dax, trying to break both of them. I can sense this strong, capable man struggling not to fall apart in front of me. His voice roughens, and he’s so tense, I fear he’ll shatter into a million pieces.
“As bad as it was,” he whispers, “there are worse things than a life of torture.”
“My God. What could be worse?”
He flinches, like he forgot I was there, and buries his nose in my curls, inhaling deeply. “You always smell like honeysuckle,” he muses.
“Ry?”
With a sharp shake of his head, he gazes down at me. “Getting out. Trying to…fit back in with society. Reclaiming a normal life.”
“You wouldn’t go back there…?”
“Fuck no. But at first? I couldn’t sleep. Anywhere. Everything smelled too clean. I spent fifteen months surrounded by the scent of shit, fear, sweat, and blood. Catching a few minutes of sleep at a time on rocky, uneven ground, usually tied up. Even the hospital floor was too soft for me.” Ryker shifts his legs under our sleeping bag and almost chuckles. “I hadn’t seen a blanket—or even a shirt—in six months. The nurses weren’t thrilled to come into the hospital room and find me naked on the floor. I scared them.”
“I’m sure you didn’t—”
“I wasn’t a man then, sweetheart.” He plays with a lock of my hair, his voice going raspy again. “The quiet killed me. Screams, begging, the shouts of our guards? That’s how I could tell my men were still alive. My first year out? I had to find a horror movie on TV just so I could catch a couple of hours.”
Silence fills the room, and I want to ask Ryker how he found his way back. I feel so lost. Except…he had fifteen months of torture a million times worse than I could have imagined. And I was Kolya’s plaything for a day.
“You want to know how you forget the secret? How you don’t turn to something that makes the whole world fall away? How you know even if you’re tempted, you’re strong enough to resist?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You find something real. Something to hold on to.” Cupping the back of my head, he threads his fingers through my hair and kisses me. My entire body reacts to his possessive claim, the rumble in his throat, the hardness of his cock pressing against my thigh. By the time he pulls away, I’m wet and all I want in this moment is more. More kissing. More touching. More…Ryker.
But he rises up on an elbow and holds my gaze. “This is real. You’re real. We’re real. I won’t lie to you and tell you it’ll be easy. But I will promise you one thing.”
“What?” I’m not proud of the need in my voice or how my fingers are digging into his side.
“You’ll never be alone. I love you, Wren.”
I draw in a sharp breath, and he cuts off my reply with a chaste kiss. “Don’t say anything, baby. Please. Just…let me hold you tonight and trust me to keep your demons away—like you’ve banished so many of mine.”
32
Wren
I didn’t expect to sleep, but when I open my eyes, light seeps from behind the tacked down drapes. Ryker is curled around me, our fingers intertwined.
“I love you, Wren.”
I wanted to tell him how I feel. But…like so many times since we met, he protected me. I think…I do love him. I know I want him. Need him. But he was right to stop me. If I say the words—when I say the words—I want to feel like…me. Not the old me. I’ll never be the woman who left Boston with him again. But…a version of me who knows the temptation of heroin and doesn’t want it to be the answer.
I’m not there yet. As I stretch my legs under the soft sleeping bags, pain lances through my hips, and the bullet wound to my arm burns. I’m terrified Kolya will find us—me—again, and I’ll be back in that bathroom, trying desperately not to beg for the blessed release of oblivion.
Ryker’s real. And he loves me. And for today…that’s enough. Maybe more than enough. Staring down at my coping mechanism—the green and purple beads I never wanted to be without—I ease my bracelet back over his hand, then run my fingers along the beads. Right now, I need to see the crystals around his wrist. Know he has a piece of me. Even if I don’t know who I am anymore.
“Zion would have loved you,” I whisper.
The scent of coffee—real coffee—wafts under the door, and I hear voices. Slowly easing out from under Ryker’s arm, I use the wall to brace myself as I stagger to my feet. My left knee throbs with each step, but I stay upright as I make my way to the door.
With one last glance at a sleeping Ryker, I slip into the hallway.
In the living room, a dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes stares at a computer screen, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. “I don’t know,” he says. “He brought in another six overnight.”
“Well, shit.” Inara comes around the corner and stops short when she sees me. “Wren.”
“I couldn’t sleep. And I smelled coffee.” I take another three steps towards the kitchen—awkwardly—before Inara rushes over to me and wraps her arm around my waist.
“You look like you’re about to topple over. Sit down. I’ll get your coffee.” She helps me to the couch, and the man skirts the makeshift command center set up along the far wall. Maps cover the tall table, along with three laptops, a handful of legal pads, and several small, rectangular devices I don’t recognize.
“West. Sampson,” he says as he holds out his hand. “You look…better.”
My cheeks heat as I realize he probably saw me naked the night before. Inara jabs him in the ribs as she heads for the kitchen and mutters, “Idiot.”
“It’s okay.” I offer him my hand, then realize how bruised my knuckles are when he closes his fingers around mine. “Except…maybe no more shaking.”
“Let me see.” He drops to one knee, then examines the swelling. “Make a fist.” I do, and he watches my face the whole time. “Okay, now try to hyper-extend your fingers.” Again, he pays attention to my expression, and when I only wince a little, he nods. “Not broken. I have some arnica in my kit. It’ll help.”
“Thanks.” Cradling my hand in my lap, I stare at the various pictures strung up around the living ro
om. All different views of Kolya’s fortress. Some have red dots on them that look almost like…people. Clear, block handwriting covers others, words like “dining room” and “sleeping quarters” and “Wren?” strategically placed around those red forms.
“You…knew where I was?” I ask when West sinks down next to me with a tube in his hand and Inara returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs.
“Not for sure. But Ry thought from the way the heat signature moved,” Inara says, “you were on the top floor. In a bathroom.”
Nodding, I try not to flinch when West takes my hand and starts massaging a cool gel into my knuckles. “I was. Kolya, uh, chained me to a pipe under the sink.” My voice cracks, and Inara passes me the coffee.
She pats my knee—the bad one—and a little of the dark brew spills over the rim of the mug as I stifle my whimper. “Shit. Will that stuff work on a twisted knee?”
“You should have Ry take a look. But yeah. It’ll help.” West caps the tube and sets it next to me. “Take it. I have an extra.” He’s up and back at the table before I can even sip my coffee, and I realize I must look like death warmed over. Even Inara watches me with a wary eye.
“What…what are you planning?” I tug the sleeve of my sweatshirt, suddenly worried they can see the needle marks, but the cuff is only slightly above my wrist.
The two share a glance, and Inara inclines her head towards the hall. Towards Ryker.
“Tell me.” Forcing strength I don’t feel into my tone, I hold her gaze. “I’m not fragile. I want to help. That’s my computer over there after all. I’m the reason you’re here…risking your lives. And I…messed up.” My cheeks heat, and I stare down into my mug. “If I’d listened to Ryker…maybe we’d all be home by now.”
“Stupid cyka!” The angry shout sends my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and I drop the mug, scrambling away from the sound as footsteps thunder towards me. Hands close around my throat, and I try to scream, but I can’t. I can’t move. Can’t think.
Until a roar comes from behind me and the pressure at my neck falls away. “Get the fuck off of her!”
I only see a shadow as my attacker flies into the wall, and then I’m in Ryker’s arms, his scent surrounding me, and the hard muscles of his chest under my cheek. “Are you okay?”
“I…think so,” I croak, the combination of the brief strangulation and my own panic combining to leave my voice unsteady and rough.
Across the room, West kneels down in front of the man and growls, “You try anything like that again, we’ll leave you for Kolya with a pretty pink bow in your hair and a full recording of every fucking thing you told us. Understand?”
“Da. Da! I am sorry! Please do not hurt me!”
West pulls a zip tie from his back pocket and binds the guy’s hands together behind his back.
“Wait,” I manage as I try to extricate myself from Ryker’s iron grip. “What’s going on? Ry? Who is that?”
“A fucking coward,” he mutters, but loosens his hold enough so I can turn in his arms as West hauls the man to his feet.
Blond hair. Pale blue eyes. The last remnants of adolescent acne still sprinkling across his cheeks. “Oh my God. Semyon. You found him?”
“A few hours after you were taken,” Inara replies. “Little shit handed you over to Kolya because he thought the world’s most honest man ever would just let him and Elena go.”
Betrayal stings my eyes. Not for me, but for my brother. “Z loved you,” I whisper. “He tried to get you out. He died for you and Elena.”
“Zion was tupoy. He fucked Elena. You want to know why he came back to the United States, cyka? Because Kolya found out.” Semyon’s voice trembles, and he juts his chin into the air and looks away, blinking his shimmering eyes rapidly. “No one see her for months after that. She was beautiful. Not now.”
I rest my cheek against Ryker’s chest, unable to argue with the boy’s anger. But since we’re not all on a plane heading back to the states, I know she’ll be free. Ryker and his team won’t let her stay Kolya’s prisoner. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, risking a quick peek at Semyon. “I can’t undo what happened. But we’re here…for her. And for you.”
Semyon spits in my direction and utters a string of words in Russian I assume is mostly profanity from the look on Inara’s face.
“Get him the fuck out of here,” Ryker says sharply. “He doesn’t come anywhere near Wren—or me—unless he wants to be sent back to Kolya in pieces.”
“Ry…” I try to link our fingers, but he won’t open his fist. I’d go after Semyon as West shoves him down the hall, but I’d probably topple over, and Ryker’s tense enough already. “I think someone needs to tell me what happened after you found Semyon.”
33
Ryker
Waking up without Wren at my side scared the shit out of me. To see her with that asshole’s hands around her throat and terror in her eyes…I might never let her out of my sight again.
After West secures Semyon in the basement, he and Inara disappear into the kitchen, and the scents of eggs and bacon waft in. Wren sits stiffly at my side, cradling her right hand in her lap.
“Are you okay?” I reach for her fingers, and the purple and green beads around my wrist catch the light. “Sweetheart? This is yours…”
She stops me before I can give it back to her. “Not yet. I don’t…I need you to keep it for me. For a little bit.”
“I don’t understand.” Turning to face her, I notice the bruises on her hand. “Fuck, Wren. Did you…punch the bastard?”
A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Hurt like hell. But…it dazed him enough for me to get away.”
Gently folding her hand into a fist, I adjust her grip. “Next time, keep your fingers flat to the first knuckle, and your thumb curled between the second knuckles of your index and middle finger. Like this.”
Wren’s gaze shifts between my eyes and her hand. “Okay.”
“Then, when you throw the punch, tilt your wrist down just slightly. You want to keep your first two knuckles in line with your forearm.”
Scooting back on the couch, I hold up my palm. “Try it.”
“It’ll hurt.”
“Not if you do it right. Not even with those bruises. Go slow. Don’t put any force behind it. Just try the motion.” I don’t know why it’s suddenly so important to me that she learn how to punch. I’ll protect her with my life. But whether out of fear or just because I don’t want to ask why she needs me to keep her bracelet, I have to do this.
Extending her arm, she touches my palm. “Good. A little more of an angle.” Again, and this time, she’s dead on. “Harder.”
Though the uncertainty on her face makes my heart hurt, she punches my hand with enough force to sting a little. “Ow,” she whispers, but her smile belies her words. “When…this is all over, will you teach me how to fight?”
“You’d be better off learning from West.” I push to my feet, an intense need to pace, to move, to burn off all this nervous energy consuming me. When this is all over…we live on two different sides of the country. And I’m so fucking in love with her I don’t know how I’ll survive if she doesn’t want me.
Luckily, Inara and West save me from this conversation by setting plates of food on the small dining room table.
“Breakfast,” Inara calls before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Wren limps awkwardly until I offer her my arm. When we’re alone again, I’m taking better stock of her injuries. All I cared about last night was getting her into bed with me. I didn’t even think she might have needed food.
You’re shit at caring for people. Why would she ever want you?
But she seems to sense my thoughts—damn woman can tell what I’m thinking even when I can’t. As I help her into a chair, she squeezes my hand and offers me another weak smile.
“Hey! Are you assholes going to let me starve?” Semyon calls from the basement.
“Yes,” Inara and I answer
in unison.
West shakes his head. “We need him. For now.” Raising his voice, he calls, “You eat when we say you eat. Now shut up and let the grown-ups talk.”
Another string of Russian cursing ensues, and Inara stalks over and slams the basement door. As she returns to the table, she meets Wren’s horrified gaze. “His hands and ankles are bound, but not uncomfortably. He’s sitting on a soft mattress, and there’s a little heater a few feet away. He’s fine. Lucky, even. Kolya probably would have killed him by now.”
Wren’s breath catches in her throat, but she nods and picks up a piece of bacon. In the light, the ligature marks around her wrist stand out dramatically against her pale skin. “How did you find him?”
I tell her the basics—Inara going to surveil the area, breaking into her laptop to access the cameras, seeing Semyon running from Kolya’s fortress a little after one in the morning.
“And my password?” Wren asks, a forkful of eggs halfway to her lips.
Downing a large gulp of coffee to give myself time to formulate my next words, I look to Inara for help. She’s the only one who knows my secret, and even she doesn’t understand everything I can do. But she just arches a brow.
“Ry has a memory like no one I’ve ever seen,” West says.
“My password is ten digits long.” Wren turns slightly in her seat, pinning me with her stare. Her eyes are mostly clear today, though bruises mar her delicate features, and every time I notice another scratch, another subtle swelling, I want to cause Kolya ten times the pain he caused her.
“One of the last books I read before I was captured…it taught me how to associate patterns and words and letters with memories. You ever heard of Sherlock Holmes and his mind palace?”
Wren nods.
“Kind of similar. If I have a couple of minutes to think about something I want to remember and pick a pattern…I can remember it for years. It’s how I escaped Hell.”
On His Six Page 19
