John (Guardian Defenders Book 3)

by Kris Michaels

  John fell into step as they worked silently through the last mile of forest, snow, and bitter cold. Harley had ghosted into the trees ahead of them, silently working at a faster clip without the sound of the team to give away his location. Travis, as the team captain, had a responsibility to make sure he made it to the target and out alive. John’s time in the service and training at the ranch—and sometimes at the Rose—made him less of a liability, but the dynamics of the team changed with each new member. From what he’d understood, Tempest had joined them recently. Trying to integrate two newbs into the fabric of the team would have been a mess, so John shadowed Travis. Which was smart, even if it was a bit… emasculating. He’d earned his patches, for fuck’s sake. He was a sniper.

  Was.

  He pulled the reins on his attitude. He’d traded in his rifle for a computer and printer. It seemed like a good gig. Lori recruited him to work with her when his second hitch was up. She had a sweet job working for the alphabet agencies in D.C. Who knew his misspent youth could lead to a life of comfort behind a computer and a sophisticated printing system? His old man, a conman and world-class grifter, had trained Lori and him how to make fake IDs when they were eleven. As children, dear old Dad never directly used them in any of his schemes, but he used the IDs they made for him. The ones he didn’t use they sold on the streets. They got damn good at copying state-issued identification, and out of sheer stupidity, they moved on to federal.

  He got caught with multiple fake federal IDs and the judge gave him a choice, join the military or go to jail. He could laugh at his day in court now, but when it was happening, it seemed like a B-movie with no happy ending for him. He made a choice, one that he’d never regretted. He joined up and begged Lori to come with him as soon as he hit his first duty location. She refused. His sister was headstrong and determined to make money. She told him she’d take her chances playing it fast and loose. He fucking hated she wouldn’t join him, and he never stopped asking.

  Travis held up his hand, stilling the five men behind him. Harley jogged past Tempest and reported, “Just over the rise. There is smoke coming from one of the buildings. The other is dark. It looks like the second structure, the one with the stovepipe, has electricity. There is a light coming from under the door and I hear a generator. I found an array. It looks like a sat phone link-up. This is looking prime.”

  “Any indication of how many people?”

  “A ton of footprints from the second structure to the riverbank. It hasn’t snowed enough to cover them, so the traffic has happened within the last day, no more than two days ago. Only one set of tracks to the small outbuilding. Big-ass footprints.”

  Travis lifted his hand high in the air, palm to the front, and made a large circular motion. The entire team rallied on him. After a quick recap of Harley’s info, Travis bent down and drew on the snow. “Here is the outbuilding. Harley and Luke, you clear that as we set up around the other structure. Ricco, you take out the array but don’t damage the equipment too badly, Guardian might learn something from it. When Harley and Luke rejoin, we are going to breach this structure. Ricco, you have entry. Scuba, you have his back. Harley is in third, break right. I’m in with John glued to my six, then Coach and Luke, you have our fallback and are responsible for backflush. I don’t want anyone surprising us. We sweep right. When we’ve cleared a room, I’ll give the order to move on. Nobody goes without my order.”

  All eyes shifted to Coach. The guy made a face and lifted his eyes toward the heavens. “One time, two years ago. Let it go, will you?”

  A snicker broke from the rest of the team. Travis gave a quick smile. “Don’t lose your edge. Just because the last targets have been a wash doesn’t mean your ass won’t get capped on this one. Be aware and be safe.” Travis looked at each of his men, waiting for them to acknowledge his command, and then finally he stared at John. John looked him square in the eye and nodded.

  Travis glanced at his team again. “Anyone in there has the potential to have information. Information we need. Lethal force is a last resort. Understand?” The team nodded again.

  “Whatever it takes.” Tempest’s words carried quietly on the bitter-cold wind.

  Travis stood up. “As long as it takes. Move out.”

  Chapter 2

  Pain split her head in two and blasted Shae Diamant from blackness into a vivid hell in about a nanosecond. A wave of unsuppressible nausea pushed up her throat. She tried to roll to vomit, but she was tied and immobile. Bile burned along her throat when she swallowed it back down. It was either that or die from aspirating it. She turned her head and coughed, spitting out what she could. She still managed to pull some into her lungs and choked on her own gastric juices. The torment worsened when someone turned on a light. Nausea from the brilliance that sliced through her retinas returned with a vengeance. Shae tried to suppress the surge of bile but lost the fight. Someone grabbed her hair and twisted her head to the side again. “You aren’t going to die on your own puke, bitch. We have plans for you, and right now, she needs you alive.”

  Shae struggled against the man’s hold. A needle was jabbed into her shoulder, and whatever they injected into her burned along the muscle of her arm. She was released. The pain that catapulted her into consciousness forced a moan between spasmatic coughing fits. Shae tried to clear her throat from the acid that clung in her esophagus. She rasped, hacked, and coughed with every breath because of the stomach juices she’d breathed into her lungs. Shae recognized that she was laying in her own vomit. But she was alive, and if she was alive, she could fight.

  She tried to piece together the events that led to her being here now. Her thoughts were muddled, and whatever they’d shot into her arm was pulling her back down to the dark abyss. Shae clung to words that were sneered at her moments ago. She wasn’t supposed to die now. She’d wake up. She’d have to wake up…

  A cold splash of water brought her out of her stupor, to a degree. Shae blinked against the water dripping into her eyes. Shards of white-hot pain lanced her skull. She tried to move her arms, but it was useless. Managing to open one eye, the bright lights catapulted another wave of nausea, and she puked. That was when she noticed she was tied in a standing position. Her hands high above her, her legs spread and ankles tied, preventing her from moving. Another hard spray of water battered against her chest and face. She coughed against the forceful blast of water that was forced up her nose, choking her.

  “Enough!” Shae heard the woman’s command a few seconds before the water ceased. She gasped for air, her lungs battling the water with coughing fits that splintered her skull with a searing pain.

  Someone grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She cried out against the violent stab of torment that rolled through her head. Her ears filled with a roar and she chased the darkness that crashed around her.

  “I said wake up, bitch!”

  Shae gasped. Under pressure, the water that hit her face pushed up her nose and into her mouth. She turned her head and tried to take a breath. She kept her head turned until the force of the water moved from her face to her body. The pressure tore at her skin. She heard the compressor and knew she was being sprayed by a pressure washer. The concentrated stream burned her exposed skin. The thin rags she wore did little to protect her.

  “That’s enough.”

  Shae panted against the sensations burning across her body. The pain shattering her skull kept her eyes closed. She made fists of her hands, noticing for the first time it was rope that bound her. She cracked her eyelids open and reeled from a wave of nausea, but she could see her feet. She was attached to what looked like an old metal box spring.

  “Hello, my dear. Are you awake?”

  Shae lifted her head and blinked. Her eyes moved to those across the room. Some were seated, and some were standing on a raised dais. The one man who wasn’t on the small stage wore heavy rubber boots. She rolled her eyes along the perimeter of the room. A car battery and jumper cables sat on a portable table. She
turned her head and blinked back the surge of bile the movement caused. The wall on that side of the room contained a litany of torture implements—or a great night in a BDSM dungeon, but Shae had a feeling these guys weren’t into safewords.

  “Who is your superior within the Mossad? How did you find us?” The snarled question from a woman seated at the center of the raised area in front of her brought her attention back to the front of the room.

  Shae concentrated on that face. She blinked to keep her in focus. “I’m not Mossad.” She croaked out the words.

  “Liar!” The woman yelled out at her. Shae blinked, focusing on the raised platform. The woman who shouted was one she hadn’t seen before. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t seen most of the people currently facing her. They must be the all-important and fucking invisible layers of Stratus. She tried to memorize the physical details of the woman who spoke, “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t know anything about the Mossad!” She wailed, hoping the bastards would hesitate in their assumptions. “Please, I beg you, let me go!” Shae bawled and kept repeating herself.

  “Enough! Shut her up.” A blast of high-pressure water painted her raw skin with a million needles of pain. She screamed against the force of the water. When the water pulled off of her, she continued to weep, letting them see her as a victim, not an assailant.

  “Your partner told us you were Mossad.” The woman’s voice floated from across the room. This time, the woman didn’t yell. She didn’t have to. The authority in her voice cut through the room.

  Her partner? She hadn’t seen Joshua since the night their car was broadsided. God, how long had she been held? She gathered the strength to deny the accusations. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I want to know who you work for and what you’ve told them. You are an inferior and inconsequential thorn in an otherwise pristine operation. Your lies will not be tolerated.”

  “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “We’ll soon see, won’t we? I’ll leave you in Marcel’s hands for a day or two. That should put you in the mood to be truthful. If you are willing to confess before that, too bad. Consider it payment for wasting my time.” Shae heard the steps of the people as they filtered out of the room. The man with the thigh-high rubber boots remained. She watched him closely as he went to the wall and pulled down a ball gag. Shae narrowed her eyes at the fucker. She wouldn’t break. They’d have to kill her first.

  Snot hung from her nose in a long, thin thread. For some reason, she focused on that string as it stretched. Her ragged breathing rasped in desperate pulls around the ball gag. She couldn’t feel her hands or arms. Her legs no longer supported her. Two cycles with the car battery and she’d lost control of her bodily functions and defecated where she was tied. Marcel dutifully disconnected the battery, pulled out the pressure washer, and washed the filth down the drain in the floor. Her clothes were all but gone; shreds of cloth remained over her shoulders. She shivered uncontrollably. The concept of someday dying had become a concrete fact. She would breathe her last breath here in this cement pit. Marcel hadn’t asked her a question. He’d just plodded through the sessions with the quiet and efficient intent to cause her the most pain he could without killing her. Shae concentrated on that fact rather than the man who once again had the heavy flogger in his hand. He hadn’t pushed her over the line… yet.

  She had lost track of time, of the number of times she’d passed out and then been brought back to consciousness by the sadistic bastard. Sometimes he’d remove the gag and she’d beg. He’d grunt or laugh and move to the next instrument of torture. Floggers, whips, spreaders, then there were the weighted gloves and brass knuckles. Shae thought she knew the concept of pain, but the bastard who tormented her had quickly changed her mind.

  There was no light in the room where she was tied except for the bare bulbs that swung overhead. She didn’t know if it was day or night. There was no concept of time, only pain and humiliation. Her determination to remain strong had been systematically stripped away. She trembled when Marcel looked at her. When he approached, she’d begged, cried, pleaded for mercy. She offered to tell him whatever he wanted to know. She would have given him anything to make him stop, but he didn’t want her to talk. She was being broken for that woman’s enjoyment. Shae blinked back the shroud of agony that encompassed her, although she didn’t know why. It seemed it was the last of her coping mechanisms left because she had no hope, and she had no doubt she would die here in this cesspool. Strange, but that thought didn’t scare her anymore. The pain just needed to stop. She watched through bruised and swollen eyelids as Marcel attached the negative ground of the jumper cables to the bed frame she was bound against.

  A phone rang from the wall by a small work table at the side of the room. It saved her momentarily from the inevitability of Marcel brushing the positive cable against the wire frame. Shae could no longer lift her head, but she was cognizant enough to hear him answer his phone. “Hello,” and, “Yes, I understand,” were all she heard. But it was enough. His tone held disappointment. That meant either the people witnessing her torture were coming back and he had to stop, or Marcel had been told to kill her. Shae heard his approach. His heavy rubber boots squeaked against the wet tiled floor. Wet. Fuck. She was soaked. The bastard was going to electrocute her in a pool of water. This was truly the end. She wanted to cry, to beg again for her life. She wanted to live, but the realization that these were her last moments denied her that dream.

  Marcel reached out and lifted her head with a rubber glove-covered hand. “She said you must die now.”

  “I know.” And she did know. Her prayers had been said numerous times and she drew a painful breath. “Please…” She rasped out the request.

  “I could make it quick, but I won’t.” Marcel dropped his hand and chuckled. She closed her eyes and waited. If there were a merciful God, her heart would give out and deny the sadistic bastard his fun. She heard him lift the cable and step toward her.

  Chapter 3

  As Luke and Harley rejoined the team, a thrum of adrenaline once again coursed through John’s body. Ricco slipped into formation and nodded. The phone was disabled and the outbuilding cleared. He placed his hand on Travis’ shoulder as Coach gripped his. They were going in tight. He’d watched the entry procedures countless times before he practiced them over and over with this team. If he made a misstep, it could cost lives. He’d be damned if he would be the one responsible for any harm coming to this team.

  Ricco twisted the door handle and the damn thing swung open. Ricco, as the number one man, twisted in a balanced turn using an economy of motion to round the corner. His M-4 raised, he moved forward. Scuba entered the room immediately behind him. By the time Harley entered, Ricco had called the room clear.

  “There’s nothing here.” Ricco spun and addressed Travis.

  “Has to be something,” Tempest spoke as he entered. “The generator is still running, and what about the sat phone array?”

  John nodded to the wall of shelves. “Behind there.” His father had had several safe houses, and each had places to hide from cops or people he’d fleeced. Fake walls were his favorite.

  Scuba and Coach found the hinges first. “Skipper?”

  Travis nodded, and as they opened the shelving, all guns trained on the opening. The sound of a phone ringing froze everyone. John could hear a man’s voice. Travis nodded again and Harley headed down the stairs, followed by Ricco and Scuba. He was on Travis’ ass with Coach and Tempest right behind them. At the bottom of the stairs, he heard a man and then… a woman?

  Travis lifted three fingers and then pulled them down one at a time. On zero, Harley pulled the partially closed door open.

  The sight that met them would be one John would never forget. A fat bastard dressed in rubber boots and apron held a jumper cable. His surprised expression morphed into understanding about two seconds too late. Tempest’s knife embedded itself in t
he bastard’s thigh, bringing him down. They both bolted toward the woman as the team cleared the large room. Her limp body hung forward. The tattered rags she wore were soaked with blood. Luke used John's knife to cut her bindings, and John lowered her to the floor.

  John’s fingers pressed against her throat. “I have a pulse.”

  “We need to get her airlifted out of here ASAP. Ricco, get us a line to Guardian.” Travis barked out the order. “Luke, you know what you need to do.”

  John pulled a mylar blanket out of his pack and hazarded a glance toward Luke. His teammate had the big guy bound and was pushing him out of the door. Harley followed him out as an overwatch.

  Coach tore open his medical kit and started to examine the woman. “Fuck, Skipper, I don’t know where to start. She’s breathing. If we move her I could make matters worse. I’m a medic, not a trauma doc, and she needs one desperately.”

  “Do what you can, Coach.” Travis knelt down with another blanket and helped cover her. “I’d like to skin that bastard. How is she still alive?”

  “I don’t know.” John pushed the woman’s hair away from her swollen, battered face. She’d been abused for a long time. Strong. The word popped into his mind. Damn it, she had to be one of the strongest people he’d ever met, the degree of pain that had been inflicted on the poor woman. Fuck, he agreed with the Skipper. He’d like to skin that fat bastard, too.

  “Look at this shit,” Scuba said, almost to himself. John glanced over at the array of implements that were precisely positioned on the wall. Sadistic bastard had everything he needed to torture a person.

  Ricco jogged down the stairs and into the room. “Guardian was waiting for us to come on line. They have a GPS fix on us now and are sending in a doctor and EMT via helicopter. As soon as they get her stable, we are out on the same bird. They want any equipment, paperwork, notes, or phones.”