In my little office with the ancient laptop computer, I enter my password. Zaman crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door jamb. Does he suspect me of turning off the cameras? I’ve done Faruk’s bidding for years—most of the time without protest or question—but Zaman has always hated me. The feeling’s mutual, and I hunch my shoulders as I bring the cameras back online. My quick glance at Zaman finds him tapping on his phone, probably messaging Faruk, so I delete the video file from the kitchen that shows me stealing the knife, then rewind the recording to when I saw the doctor being taken from her room.
“Here is footage of the…the infidels.” The words stick in my throat, and Zaman arches a dark brow.
“That is not all Amir Faruk asked of you.” He ends with a word I’m pretty sure means fucker, but though my Pashto is pretty good after all these years, no one’s ever bothered to translate the insults Faruk and Zaman have hurled at me.
“This is all I have of the doctor. After they round this corner, the cameras shut off.”
Zaman brings the phone to his ear and tells Faruk what I’ve found. I can’t delay long—not without Zaman getting impatient and beating the crap out of me, so I scan through all of the other footage until I find the other man talking to Lisette and Mateen, and then running with them. “This is the man who took the boy.”
More muttering into the phone, and I pull up a complicated-looking screen of code. It’s junk. Doesn’t do a fucking thing. But when I want to make Zaman or Faruk think I’m working, I run this program. Making a show of scanning through the lines of letters and numbers that mean nothing, I pull out a small notebook and pen, then start writing down random time stamps.
Zaman only gives me five minutes before he demands to know what I’m doing, and he does it by cuffing the back of my head with his elbow. “Amir Faruk requires an update.”
“These are times over the past three hours when a signal from outside the compound disrupted our security systems. These men are experts. The first few attempts did not take down the cameras. But after an hour, glitches started to occur. This line,” I point to the last time stamp, “turned off the cameras completely.”
Zaman snatches the notebook from my hand. “I will take this to Amir Faruk. Track the doctor and the boy. Now. We have men searching for them, but they have so far come up empty. If you have not found them by the time I return, you will regret the day you were born.”
I already do.
Finding Mateen is simple. The transmitter in his little video game has a battery that should last five days. Right now, he’s moving steadily southeast, occasionally doubling back. The guy who was with them…I bring up the footage I gave to Zaman. He’s not Special Forces or SEALs. Black ops, maybe.
Taking Lisette and Mateen…he didn’t plan on it. The way he changed tactics from stealth to speed, the rapid-fire words I assume were for the benefit of whoever was on the other end of those comms, and his path after he got the two of them out of the compound all say he was trained to think on his feet and react to anything. And to kill.
Half a dozen tracer dots move on the map. All but one of them belong to Faruk’s men. Mateen’s little group only has a two-kilometer lead. This…is going to be tricky. Hacking into a GPS device on the fly isn’t child’s play, even for me. I just hope I have enough time before Zaman comes for me. If not…Faruk will kill Lisette, and his son will end up just like him one day.
I wipe my brow, the house’s air conditioning no match for the heat of the day. Other than one break I was allowed to piss, I’ve been at this computer since 3:00 a.m. Almost fifteen hours. My shoulders ache, and I’ve burned through the meager snack one of the kitchen girls brought me a few hours ago. Despite barely moving from my chair, my heart is racing. I think Faruk suspects I’m not the same broken, obedient lackey he trained all those years ago. I’m still broken, but definitely not obedient. Not anymore.
Mateen’s GPS is sending accurate data back to my machine, but I managed to cobble together a little program to adjust the coordinates enough to throw Faruk’s men off their trail.
The door bangs open, and I flinch, my shoulders hiking up to my ears before I get myself under control. Zaman grabs me by the back of the shirt and jerks me out of my chair. The punch to my solar plexus catches me off guard, and I fall to my hands and knees, retching and trying not to vomit.
“You are working against me!” Faruk roars. He waves a phone in my face, and on screen, I see a blurry photograph of Lisette, Mateen, and the American. “This picture was taken five kilometers from where you said my son was.”
“I do not…understand,” I say, holding up my hands and trying to look beaten. It’s not hard. I’ve had a hell of a lot of practice. “I can show you the map, Amir Faruk, sir. I am only reporting what the GPS shows me.”
“You think me a fool, Isaad?”
No, I think you’re a sadistic fuck who gets off on torturing people.
“No, Amir Faruk, sir. I think you are an intelligent and compassionate man.” Even as I say the words, I know they’re useless. Faruk realizes I’ve betrayed him. “Let me try to find out why the coordinates are wrong. I will fix this.”
“No. You will not.” Faruk jerks his head at Zaman. “Take him—”
I lunge for the laptop, and before either one of them can stop me, I slam it into the wall, shattering the screen and sending bits of plastic and glass flying around the small room. I can’t let them see what I’ve done. All of my little rebellions. All preserved on a server no one will ever find. The money I hid for the doctor. The code that adjusts the GPS signal. The bits of video footage I deleted to hide my own plan to kill the man in front of me.
I still have a hold of the laptop’s guts, the keyboard and hard drive, and I bring it down on Zaman’s instep. He spits out a curse, and I push to my feet, then catch Zaman in the knee with a sweeping kick. He’s got fifty pounds on me, but the movement shocks him enough to make him stagger back. Muscle memory takes over, and I spin around and land a punch to Faruk’s chest, close to his sternum. But I’m off, just enough, and he doesn’t go down.
I don’t have anywhere to go, sandwiched between Faruk and his most lethal man. As Zaman grabs me and forces me to my knees, Faruk kicks me in the stomach. “You have forgotten your place, Isaad. And I am going to remind you.”
Chapter Six
Isaad
Another of Faruk’s men joins Zaman, and the two of them muscle me through the house and across the courtyard. I’ll do anything to stay out of the well—even die right here—but Zaman smashes the butt of his gun against the back of my head, and I see stars.
“Down. Or I will throw you down,” Zaman growls at me once the ladder’s in place.
“Do it.” Except, what if the fall doesn’t kill me? After he punches me in the gut, I crawl over to the ladder and make my way to the place of my nightmares. The rope slithers back up, taking my last hope with it. Panic courses through me, my entire body shaking, but unlike every other time I’ve been down here, no one replaces the wooden cover.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Faruk is going to “remind me of my place.” That means more drugs. More time locked in that tiny room, not knowing up from down, with Faruk’s voice the only one I hear.
Sinking down against the stone wall, I draw my knees up to my chest and close my eyes.
He won’t destroy me again.
I remember my name now. Jackson Richards. But no one called me Jack or Jackson. To my team, my family, I was always Ripper.
“You won’t break me this time, pig-fucker!” I shout to no one. I don’t care what he does to me. I know who I am, and I’ll die down in this shithole before I let him take that away from me again.
I made it through the night. The light of the stars was just enough for me to see my feet. And the scorpions as they skittered towards me.
I crushed every one of them under my shoe. The crunch as the little fuckers died brought me a bit of satisfaction. Revenge.
N
ow, there are ten squashed bodies around me. The scorpions hide in the heat, and for a while, I’m safe from their stingers. Sinking down against the wall, I let my head fall back and stare up at the cloudless sky. It’s quiet, and I let myself drift into a dreamless sleep.
When I wake, my throat is parched. It’s evening, and the temperature has to be over forty-five. No. I’m a damn American. I need to think like one. Over a hundred and fifteen. How long are they going to leave me down here like this? As the last bit of light disappears from the sky, footsteps crunch over the rocky ground above. A shadow moves around the edges of the hole, and then a bottle of water hits my foot.
“Fuck you!” I croak as the footsteps fade away. I’m not eating or drinking anything Faruk gives me. Not anymore. I’m ready to die. It’s a hell of a lot better than losing myself again. I twist open the cap and dump out the entire bottle.
As determined as I am right now, I can’t take a chance that in twelve hours, I’ll be so desperate, so weak, that I’ll give in. Staring up at the first stars overhead, I say a prayer to the God of my youth—the one Faruk tried to make me forget.
“Help me be strong enough to die.”
Midway through the night, I’ve picked up that fucking empty bottle four times, praying for a single drop left inside. The scorpions are out. I’ve killed two more, but I’m dizzy, and I can only manage to slap at them with my shoe in my hand. Standing…didn’t work out so well the last time I tried it. Rubbing the gash on my forehead I opened when I pitched into the wall, I gaze up at the stars. This…would be a good night to die. I’d like to see the moon one more time. After that…I don’t care anymore.
Don’t you die on me, brother!
Ryker. Commander of our ODA. The only reason I survived Hell. He kept us going. Me and Dax. The three of us were closer than brothers when we were captured—even closer after all of Kahlid’s torture. Watching one another be flogged, burned, beaten. Tapping out messages on the stone walls of the caves.
Ry protected us. Taunted Kahlid, tricked him so many times into bypassing Dax and me to focus on him instead.
My eyes burn, but I’m too dehydrated to cry. After all Ryker sacrificed, one stupid moment of distraction, and I got him and Dax killed. I deserve everything that’s happened to me since, and as a scorpion stings my calf, I relish the pain while I slam my shoe down on top of the bastard.
Someday, if there’s an afterlife, I’ll see him again. Or…I won’t. Because if there’s a heaven, Ryker McCabe is in it. And me? I’m going somewhere else. Somewhere I’ll burn.
The rope ladder lands on the top of my head, and pain bursts from my skull down my neck. Zaman mutters something to another of Faruk’s men, and the burly guy—I think his name is Musa—climbs down the ladder with a large flashlight, waving it around, sending another scorpion hauling ass back through one of the cracks in the wall. He grabs my chin, forces my head up, and pours water down my throat.
I choke, coughing up as much of it as I can, but I’m so desperate, so thirsty, I can’t help swallowing more than I want.
And that’s when the world starts to go soft and fuzzy. “No…” I moan, but Musa stops my protests by wedging the bottle between my teeth, tipping my head back, and pinching my nose. I down the entire bottle, and then…nothing matters anymore.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Musa comes down the ladder sometimes to give me water or force me to eat a banana or some bland, flavorless mush. I’m too out of it to care or fight back. The heat, the drugs, the scorpions—though I’ve killed most of them, I think. Still, every once in a while, I feel the searing pain followed by the blessed numbness from their venom.
I deserve it. I failed. Couldn’t kill Faruk, couldn’t hide Mateen, Lisette, and the American for more than a day. He probably has them again, and it’s all my fault.
My entire world is darkness and pain. All the time, except when they come for me. Musa calls me Isaad, but even though I can feel my mind slipping, urging me to give in, I don’t. Whenever he leaves, I repeat my name. Jackson Richards. Ripper. American. Special Forces.
Every time, it’s a little harder. I don’t want to lose myself again. I’d rather die. I’m trying to die. But I can’t fight. I’m too weak. Too tired. Too addled from whatever hallucinogens they’re giving me. I see my dead team mates, hear my mama’s voice as I prepared for my first deployment, feel the pain as Kahlid orders me whipped for the very first time.
The rope ladder hits my thigh, and I barely flinch.
Not again. Please. I’m not ready.
The drugs haven’t worn off yet, and I’m so dizzy. Voices all around me, both in my head and echoing off the walls, tell me to give up. Give in. I won’t last much longer. Either I’ll die or I’ll turn back into Isaad, and that would be so much worse. My vision fades in and out as Musa hauls me over his shoulder and carries me up the ladder, across the courtyard, and into the house.
Cool air wafts over me, and the smooth tile floor rushes up to meet my face.
“Ow.”
“Isaad. You do not look well,” Faruk says, his voice soft and gentle, almost caring.
“Y’think?” I slur. The kick to my ribs steals my breath, and I cough, fighting for air. Someone grabs me and sits me up, and then a glass presses to my chapped lips. “Nnnooo.” I try to push it away, but another hand fists in my hair.
“It is not drugged, Isaad. Please, let me help you.” Faruk kneels and takes the glass from the asshole holding me. “Do as I ask, and I will take the pain away.”
Despite the fog currently muddling my brain, once his face comes into focus, the dark circles under his eyes and the stress lines around his mouth give me hope. He hasn’t found them.
I choke down the water. Not much choice in the matter. As I let my eyes close, waiting for something to happen—anything—Faruk sighs. “Isaad, I am a rich man. You, more than anyone, know this.”
Yeah. And I helped you get that way, shitstain. Kill me. I don’t want to listen to your stupid, fucking voice a second longer.
“I could hire someone new to find my son. But I do not wish to. You want to live, do you not?”
I want to say yes. To do anything to keep myself out of the well. But I can’t. I won’t. “Death…sounds pretty good…about now, asshole.” Shaking off Musa’s grip on my hair, I use what little bit of saliva I have to spit in Faruk’s face. “Put me…back in the well. Too fucking bright…out here.”
For a few seconds, nothing happens, but then Zaman and Musa start in on me, and I curl into a ball to protect my head. The pain is so much better than not knowing who I am that I welcome it. As they drag me from the room, I lunge for the knife I buried in the potted plant days ago. It’s dull as fuck, but I use the last of my strength to drive the blade into Zaman’s calf.
He goes down, and blood stains his light gray pants. Musa drops me in favor of helping Zaman. Collapsing into a heap, I hawk a mouthful of blood towards the fucker writhing with his hands around his lower leg. Faruk pulls out a small pistol and presses it to my forehead.
This is it.
Relief spreads through me, an odd calm that makes everything slow down. If there’s a God, I hope he knows how sorry I am for everything I’ve done. I hope I get to see Ry and Dax again. I hope they forgive me.
“You are determined to die, Isaad?” he asks.
I meet his gaze, feeling more like myself than I have in years. “My name…is Ripper, you fucking piece of shit.”
He slams the butt of the gun against my head, and as darkness overtakes my vision, my last conscious emotion is despair. He didn’t shoot…
Chapter Seven
Seattle
Ryker
Coding myself into our condo, I roll my head to work out the kinks in my neck. The loud crack seconds after the door opens makes Wren yelp, and she barely holds on to her laptop.
My heart skips a beat. Seeing her curled up on our couch, working, is the best sight to come home to. “Sorry, sweetheart,” I say as Pixel leaps
up and starts yipping and running circles around me. “Hey, furball.”
Wren’s smile staggers me. Every day, I wonder what she saw in my eyes when we met. “You’re home.”
“Damn right.” I pull her into my arms, letting her wrap her legs around my waist. “Missed you.”
“Obviously,” she says with a laugh.
My jeans are suddenly painfully tight, and the scent of her, all that honeysuckle and heat, means we might not make it to the bedroom. “Can you take a break?”
“Almost.” She lowers her head and kisses me, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips. I yield to her demands, nipping at the corner of her mouth before she pulls back. “I just got this surveillance video from Nomar of that compound where they had Ford’s fiancé. I want to load it into my facial recognition software and let it run. It’ll probably take all night. Or…at least long enough for us to do…other things.”
As she returns to her computer, I head for the fridge for a beer. “I like the sound of that.”
“Thought you would. Grab me one?” Wren’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “Got a good way through unraveling Faruk’s finances too. The guy’s got a computer genius on his payroll. I tracked deposits through five different countries, multiple banks… He’s good. But I’m better. All the trails lead back to his compound in Afghanistan. Close to Mazari Sharif.”
Afghanistan. Not far from Hell. The hiss as I open the beers reminds me I’m free. Safe. With Wren in our condo in Seattle. Not back in those caves. Talking with Dax over the past ten days has brought up some painful memories, and I’ve been riding the edge of the darkness inside me for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to be on solid ground.
“Ford’s back, right? They’re both safe?” Dropping down next to her, I hand her the beer, then let Pixel settle in my lap. Stroking the pup’s fur, I force myself to relax.
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