Her face contorts from confusion to a relief that takes what breath I have away. Tears stream down her blood-covered cheeks as I fight like hell not to look away from her. She’s hardly recognizable. I can’t imagine I look much better.
I wince as I try in vain to move toward her. “I’m here.”
Relief rolls down her cheeks, and everything I felt being drug up that ladder comes back full force—respect, awe, admiration, and something I have no right to feel but can’t fight for a second longer. I’ve been fighting it since the first night I laid eyes on her. Right or wrong, I feel it, and something in her expression tells me she does too. Right or wrong, something is shifting or has shifted, and I don’t want to lie to myself anymore. That fight is gone.
“I thought you were…I thought you were g-gone. Fuck.” She shakes her head as she laughs without any humor. “I wanted to die. I asked to die. I didn’t want to be here without you. It’s wrong, isn’t it? I wasn’t thinking of anyone but you.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “Katy…” I swallow back more emotion than I thought I was capable of. “You did good, Soldier.”
Her blonde head moves side to side, doubting. “You’re really here?”
“I’m here, Scottie. I’m really here.” I have this overwhelming urge to wrap her up in my arms. To press my lips to hers. To feel the warmth of her body against mine. The fact that I can’t—that even if we weren’t in these chains, I still couldn’t—it’s a pain far worse than anything I’m physically experiencing. I’ve gone and fallen for this woman. She’s married, with a child, and we are facing almost certain death.
Life really is a motherfucker.
“You…” She swallows, allowing her every emotion through for the first time since we’ve been in the bunker. Eyes locked, she conveys more in those seconds than I could hope for. I pray for the first time since we’ve been captured that I’m not imagining any part of our time here.
She sniffs and shakes her head as she breaks contact and then looks back over to me, her silence deafening.
“I know,” I whisper softly. “I hear you.”
If my calculations are anywhere close in range, it’s the week of Thanksgiving. And I know with certainty, despite the pain, despite the setting, I’ll have a prayer ready if we make it through one more day. My prayer will be selfish—sinful even—and I know it will go unanswered, but I’ll pray for it anyway. I’ll pray for my own glimpse of heaven. I’ll pray for her.
Chapter Nineteen
Briggs
I watch her sleep on and off for the next few days. She’s been slurring through her words, and my fear is a concussion she may not wake from. I doze in and out, cursing my body for being so weak. She didn’t even rouse when Hiyam washed her, and that act in itself has me on edge. Day by day, I see her wasting away in her tattered uniform, and after nearly two months, I’m convinced we’ll never see the light of day again. Lips parted, she hangs deathly still in her shackles, as if she doesn’t have the strength remaining to right herself. Inside my chest beats a heart hanging on only for her. I want out of this fucking hell, but I refuse to stop fighting because she’s still breathing. I will her to open her eyes because I need to hear more of her plans. I need to see the fire in her eyes when I get fresh; I need to see her smile, even if it’s short-lived.
I need her.
I need her, and she won’t fucking wake up.
“Scottie,” I plead. I watch her until my eyes start to lose focus, searching for any sign of life.
“Come on, Scottie, move for me. Move. Please,” I croak as my heart shatters in my chest. “Come on, Scottie, goddamn it, please move for me.” I watch her hands, her chest, and I can’t be sure if they move or if I’m imagining it, which slowly drives me to the point of madness.
“Scottie!”
Her brows draw together as if she’s in pain, and I let out a breath of relief.
“Stop,” she whispers as if irritated with me. I can’t help my relieved chuckle. Even half-conscious, she’s a spitfire. I learned quickly her fire comes from being fiercely protective. That was the easiest thing to discover. Self-preservation flies out the window when it comes to protecting those she cares about. Mullins’s death will haunt her all the days of her life; I have no doubts about that. But she saved us both and bought us time, though she’ll never see it that way. Exhaustion I can no longer battle sets in as she slowly opens her eyes and licks her lips.
“How long was I out?”
“Jesus,” I say, choking back more relief. “Two days. How do you feel?”
“Thirsty.”
“Hiyam should be down soon; it’s been a while. We’ve been upgraded to half a potato and beans.”
They’ve been feeding us better the last three weeks, which makes me equally as suspicious as Scottie’s recent bath. My fear is that we’re both about to be exchanged—me for my death and her for a fate far worse. Swallowing, I bite back my fear.
Scottie’s eyes drift shut, and it’s all I can do to keep from protesting. She needs the sleep to heal, and I refuse to deprive her of it. The more she sleeps, the longer she’s unaware of where we remain trapped. Confident she’s out of danger, I finally let my eyes close to join her.
“No!” Scottie’s voice jars me awake. It’s early morning, and the sun’s just begun to filter into our cave, casting a soft glow. The sounds of wild dogs barking and bombs exploding in the distance isn’t enough to muffle her cries. She must be having a bad dream. Once my eyes have adjusted, I realize she’s no longer chained to the wall across from me, and my heart begins to flood with dread.
Something’s wrong. Frantically I attempt to clear my haze, searching the bunker, only to find her pinned beneath one of our captors next to the ladder. Crippling fear consumes me. Scottie’s filthy pants lie in a heap on the ground, the bare skin of her legs is on full display. I can’t let my eyes wander further without feeling like I, too, am violating her. There’s no question as to his intent as he lifts the hem of his long black shirt, and the buckle of his belt begins to rattle. His panting breaths echo throughout the confined space, suffocating me. “Get off of her! Get the fuck off!” I’m shouting into the void. That son of a bitch doesn’t even acknowledge that he hears me, too focused on his task.
“Briggs! Don’t—look away!” she orders just before his palm connects with her cheek, further fueling my anger.
“Scottie!” Pulling at the chains, I fight to get to her. “Goddamn it! Get the fuck off!” My bare feet dig into the sand as I twist and turn, trying to break free. Warm blood trickles down my arms, the cuffs cutting into my skin.
Please, God. No.
My heart beats impossibly fast.
Out of nowhere, another bearded cocksucker appears, kicking me with his booted foot right in the jaw. “Maybe you answer questions next time we ask?”
“Fuck you!” she screams, her voice filled with terror, as he grips both arms above her head, climbing on top of her, his pants unfastened just enough to reveal his erection jutting toward her.
“Motherfucker, you better kill me,” I shout to the man beside me, who smiles down at me with a sick satisfaction. They’ve found my weakness. They made sure it happened. Hiyam saw it the first fucking day. They kept us alive for this very purpose: so we’d become attached, a power play on our emotions. Where Katy succeeded in outsmarting them, just days ago; I’m failing.
I’m hot everywhere, burning up with pure rage, my veins ready to burst beneath my overheated skin.
Scottie cries out in anguish, and I break, fighting harder than I’ve ever fought before. I feel the pop in my shoulder as I jerk forward with everything I have and scream in agony at both the pain and the realization that I can’t save her.
She’s thrashing from side to side. The more she fights, the angrier he becomes. He’s so rough with her…
“Scottie,” I mewl, unable to look away from the brutal attack. Our connection is the only thing I have to offer.
“Scottie, look
at me.” I’m kicked again, this time in the ribs. But I don’t feel it. I feel nothing but pent-up rage and frustration and helplessness. I can’t help her. I can’t save her.
My hands ball into fists at my sides, and hot tears stream down my cheeks as I watch her lose every ounce of fight in her. She goes limp beneath the savage as he violates her, sating his lust while destroying her innocence. With his every grunt, the bile climbs higher in my throat.
“Scottie, look at me.” Her head lolls to the side, her beautiful tortured eyes, red-rimmed and dripping silent tears, find mine across the bunker. She mouths my name. Briggs.
I nod, swallowing hard. I’m here. I’m right here, I mouth back.
Locked in our gaze, everything else disappears. I see the pain and fear leave her eyes. They’re replaced with trust, with a connection so powerful it steals my breath.
We’re no longer in this bunker. There’s no pain. No torture. We’ve drifted off to a place that’s ours alone.
She hasn’t spoken in hours. Not to Hiyam, when she came in to wash the blood from her legs and help her back into her clothes. Not to me. She’s checked out into a place I can’t reach, and it’s understandable.
She rocks across from me, her eyes cast down as I attempt to reach her in vain. I just wish she’d look at me, talk to me. Scream. Cry. Something other than that blank stare.
“Katy,” I try again, and finally her eyes snap to mine.
I swallow down a lump of emotion. “I’m here.”
Her eyes dart away.
Chapter Twenty
Briggs
“Briggs!” Scottie screams when a loud explosion jerks us both from a dead sleep. “Briggs, did you hear that?” The sound of bombs going off is nothing new, but they’ve never been this close. Birds fly overhead as frantic Arabic is spoken above us. We’re either about to be executed without much of a ceremony or going to be killed by fucking friendly fire.
“It’s friendly.” She speaks my thoughts aloud. AKs and M16s sound above as we stare at each other with a longing neither of us can deny. We don’t even flinch as more debris falls between us. We’re safe. As long as we’re connected, we’re safe.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. We’re leaving, Briggs. Tell me your plans.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Tell me,” she begs. “Please.”
“I’m going to teach you how to ride a horse.”
Tears surface as the ground quakes above us. “I’m counting on it.”
“Chris!” she cries out, as the gunfire draws closer. My heart expands in my chest as she covers me in her fire; her warmth, her protection, her love. It both stifles and frees me.
The unmistakable sound above has us both screaming out to the other.
The roof caves in, entombing us beneath a pile of rubble. A thick cloud of dust blinds my vision. My eyes burn. My lungs burn. I tug at my chains, hoping they’ve blown free in the explosion, but I’m still tethered to the wall, unable to reach her. As I close my eyes, one thought runs through my head, felt with the deepest conviction.
I’m going to love you, Katy Scott.
Covered in debris, I rouse when muffled voices and gunshots ring in my ears. Then the dust starts to settle, and my eyes flutter open to the most beautiful sight. Soldiers. American soldiers. This can’t be real. I’m so disoriented—afraid to believe it. Because it’s very possible that this is all just a figment of my imagination. “Am I dreaming?”
“Christopher Briggs?” The soldier working on my chains asks.
I give a sharp nod.
“You’re not dreaming. You’re going home, Sergeant.”
“Scottie?” I rasp out. I can’t see her. The prison that’s been our home since the day we were captured has been reduced to piles of rock and ash.
“We’ve got her,” I hear from the other side of the dilapidated bunker.
“Scottie, we’re going home,” I announce, my heart swelling, just before it takes a nose dive.
“We’re losing her—we need a medic!” a member of our rescue team shouts. Panic, the likes of which I’ve never endured, makes it hard to breathe. I can’t lose her now. Not after all we’ve been through. All that she’s been through.
“Scottie!” I call out, trying to break free from the men who are doing their best to help me. I’m so tired of feeling fucking helpless. I need to get to her. “Scottie!”
A sharp voice breaks through my tirade. “Sergeant Briggs, listen to me. We’re going to get you both out of here and to a hospital as soon as possible.” My body is finally pulled free from the shackles. “This isn’t helping. She’s in good hands. You have to trust us to help you.”
I nod, gritting my teeth. He’s right. We need to get her out of here.
Straining my neck, I search for her as we’re both finally loaded into a waiting bird. Her hand falls limply from the stretcher, and I grab it, and for the first time, I feel the warmth in her touch. She squeezes mine faintly before letting go.
Our helicopter lands at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany during the late hours of the morning. I can’t make out most of the words being said over the buzzing of the chopper blades, but when they open the doors, they immediately rush off with Scottie for emergency surgery. She’s in hemorrhagic shock from blood loss due to being hit with burning rubble and has been unconscious for most of the ride. Just watching them haul off with her shreds me.
“You ready, man?” the medic asks as he moves me onto a gurney. He looks at me with wide eyes and a somber face, like he’s starstruck and pitying me all at once.
“Yah,” I rasp. “Do me a favor, man—get me a fucking mainline on the morphine.”
“On it,” he nods.
I’m ready to get whatever medical attention is necessary so that I can make sure Scottie’s okay. She’s all that matters. As long as she makes it back to her little boy in one piece, and as long as I can see her smile again, I can live with whatever hand I’m dealt.
The rest of the night goes by in a blur. I hear the buzz of the machines as I fight the meds to get updates on Katy. I hear “dislocated shoulder, severe dehydration, slight atrophy,” and some melodramatic shit about muscle loss. The list is endless, and I don’t give a fuck. Whatever fight I have left I lose as the burn in my arm spreads through my veins, and the meds take hold and whisk me away.
My eyes flutter open to blinding fluorescent lights. Squinting, I look down to find that I’m dressed in a blue and white hospital gown, with an IV in my right hand. My throat’s so dry that I feel like I’m swallowing shards of glass.
“Good morning,” I hear from across the room. The accent is thick, German.
“Where am I?” Blinking a few times, I shield my eyes with my hand, trying to adjust to the bright lighting.
The nurse comes into view to fiddle with my IV stand as she jabs at the buttons on my monitor. “You’re at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.” She stares down at me with sympathetic eyes.
“How is your pain?”
Pain? I can’t feel shit. Why am I in the hospital? “Uh. I feel fine. What happened? Why am I here?”
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Christopher Briggs…Sergeant Christopher Briggs,” I add, straining to read the nametag on her scrubs. Mila.
Mila writes something in my chart. Her head lifts from her clipboard, and her green eyes meet mine as the corners of her mouth curl up into an encouraging smile. “Good. Do you know how old you are, Christopher?”
I scratch at the medical tape holding the needle in my arm. God, this fucking itches.
“Twenty-five.” I can’t shake this anxious feeling, and I’m not sure why.
She uncaps the pen dangling from the lanyard around her neck and again scribbles in my chart, immediately sliding it back into the cap. “I’m going to check your vitals. You let me know if you’re feeling any pain. The doctor will be in shortly.”
My vitals? Iraq…the ambus
h. I retch as I recall the pungent smell of Jones’s burning flesh. My heart beats erratically as I gasp in an attempt to find enough air to fill my lungs. Gunfire…the smoke…the girls…I have to get to the girls—
“Sergeant Briggs!” I barely hear the nurse’s voice through the chaos that’s wreaking havoc inside my head.
“Scottie!”
There’s a commotion, and I realize I’m being restrained as a white coat appears at the side of my bed. Warmth snakes through my veins, luring me back into a daze. The room goes quiet as I concentrate on the sounds around me.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Christopher Briggs. I’m Dr. Porter.”
“Stop drugging me,” I demand as the sedative filters through my body, and I again have to fight to keep alert.
“Scottie.”
“Staff Sergeant Scott is in recovery.”
My entire body sighs with relief. “She’s going to be okay?”
“She suffered significant trauma, and we’re monitoring her closely, but we feel good about her progress at this point.”
“Her progress. How long have I been out?”
“A week.”
“A week? Jesus.”
“I assure you she’s getting the best care.” He looks down at me with raised white brows. “She wasn’t the only one who suffered trauma. You’ll need some physical therapy to regain strength, but despite your list of injuries, in a couple of weeks, you should be up and walking. You’re very lucky, considering.”
I stare at the tiny holes in the tile ceiling above me.
“I have a referral for an in-hospital counselor—”
“No, thank you. When can I see her?”
“Her body’s been through quite a bit of stress.”
“Understood. When can I see her?”
“She’s not capable of conversation at the moment.”
Unable to hold back, I flick cold eyes to his. “I don’t want to talk about the fucking weather, Doctor.”
Heartbreak Warfare Page 9
