by Anna Blakely
Jake put the phone on speaker and replayed the message. Over and over again, he submersed himself in the sound of her voice. By the time he turned the phone off, his entire body was shaking uncontrollably.
Unable to sit still any longer, he got up and began pacing the room. The pain from knowing he'd never see her again was too much to bear. He felt gut-shot, the rage boiling up inside threatening to burn him alive from the inside out if it didn’t break free. So he let it.
With an echoing roar, Jake turned and drove his fist into the living room wall. A cloud of dust filled the air as paint chips and pieces of drywall fell to the floor near his socked feet. Ignoring the sting in his torn knuckles, he let out a long stream of curses as his hand went through the wall for a second time, his mind spinning with what had become his new reality.
Olivia’s gone. I’ve lost her. Oh, God, I've really lost her!
Chest heaving, Jake pressed his palms and forehead against the wall beside the two newly formed holes and let out a deafening, “No!”
He continued to yell until his voice cracked from the pressure. Jake cried out for Olivia, again and again, with streams of hot tears trailing down his face. He was losing it, but he didn’t care.
The grief he’d been holding back had taken him over, body and soul. He welcomed it, the pain a fitting punishment for the many ways he’d failed her.
Unable to hold himself up any longer, Jake turned and slid down the wall until his ass hit the floor. Pulling his knees into his chest, he rested his forehead against them. Then, like a lost child, scared and alone, he cried harder than he ever had before.
What felt like hours later, the tears finally ceased, and he began to think clearly again. He wiped his face dry, picked himself up off the floor, and started to plan.
He hadn’t been there to save the woman he loved from death, but come hell or high water, Jake would find the fuckers responsible...and he wasn’t coming home until he’d made each and every one pay for what they’d done.
Chapter 3
Jake glanced around at his team, who were sitting in his living room. After his crying jag, he’d cleaned himself up and made the calls. They’d all shown. No questions, no hesitations.
Derek arrived first, and was sitting in one of Jake’s two leather recliners. The thirty-two year old former SEAL looked more like a Californian surfer than a Texan, with his shaggy blond hair and dumbass t-shirts.
Trevor sat stiffly in the second recliner. He and Jake had started out in the Rangers together. Then, after Olivia’s brother was gone, they’d served on the same Delta Force Special Operations team. They’d been watching each other’s backs ever since.
Like Jake, Trevor was thirty-four. He was what Jake had heard women refer to as Hollywood handsome. Right now, the guy looked like ass. Jake wished he could console his friend but was still too lost in his own grief to muster up any sort of comforting words.
Sitting on the couch was McKenna “Mac” Kelley. She was twenty-eight, and also a former Ranger. She was an amazingly skilled sniper, and the only female on Jake’s team. She could be the poster child for the phrase, “looks can be deceiving”.
Mac’s long, blond hair and big, blue eyes made her appear as harmless as a kitten. Her youthful appearance had been an asset on the job more times than Jake could remember. Though she had the whole cheerleader thing down to an art form, the woman could outsmart, out-fight, and out-shoot most men Jake knew. Present company included.
Beside her sat Sean “Coop” Cooper, who was also a sniper and former Ranger. Coop was only two years older than Mac, and had a boyish, fun-loving appearance. He was a good-looking guy, with his perfect nose, green eyes, and slightly pointed chin. He kept his brown hair almost military short, with the exception of the top, which was a bit longer than regulation would have allowed.
Hill stood behind the couch in his usual stance—legs parted, his large arms crossed in front of him. At six feet, he was just a few inches shorter than Jake. The guy was solid muscle, and came off as one scary bastard.
Grant’s short, light brown hair matched the perpetual five o’clock shadow that covered his strong jaw and often-pursed mouth. Jake couldn’t remember a time he’d seen the guy smile.
In fact, it seemed he was incapable of showing emotions of any kind, but tonight, even he looked at Jake with something akin to sympathy.
“Been doin’ some redecorating, boss?” Coop’s voice cut through the thick silence.
The young sniper glanced at Jake’s bruised knuckles and nodded toward the two fist-sized holes in the wall. With his chin between his thumb and forefinger, he pretended to study the damage with an expert eye.
“I like it. Gives the room an airy feel.” He waved that same hand in the air as he spoke, giving his best impersonation of a flamboyant decorator. Mac punched his arm and glared at him, and Derek snickered then coughed to try to cover it up.
Ignoring Coop’s obvious attempt to lighten the mood, Jake stood with his hands on his hips and addressed the group.
“I asked you here tonight because I need a favor.”
“I’m in,” Trevor said without hesitation.
Though understanding and appreciative of Trevor’s instant agreement, Jake shook his head. “It’s not that simple. It’s an unsanctioned job. Completely under the radar, and you all know what that means. No government support or acknowledgement of any kind. Something goes sideways, there’s a good chance we’ll all either end up dead, or left to rot in some hole-in-the-wall prison somewhere. I need to know that each of you is clear on what you’d be agreeing to. You also need to know if you want to bug out on this one, I will in no way hold it against you or think less of you. You have my word on that.”
Jake’s team knew his word was everything. He watched and waited, hating the looks they were all giving him. Mac spoke up first.
Scooting to the edge of her seat, she rested her elbows on her knees, her delicate-but-deadly hands folded together in front of her.
“Boss, I’m pretty sure I speak for the team when I say how sorry we are about your friend. We know she meant a lot to you.”
Jake wanted to tell them all to take their pity and shove it up their asses. Thankfully, what little sanity he had left won out.
“I appreciate that Mac, but I’m not looking for anyone’s sympathy. I’m going after the bastards who did this to her, and I just need to know whether you’re in or out.”
Mac smiled slowly and glanced around at her teammates. “Well, I don’t know about these other yahoos, but I’m definitely in.”
Jake thought he saw Coop give Mac a concerned glance, but it was gone before he could be sure. Turning to Jake, he said, “Hell, yeah, I’m in.”
As usual, Grant’s deep voice remained steady. “Whatever you need, boss.”
D was next, his southern drawl prevalent. “Hell, man. You didn’t even have to ask.”
Trevor looked at Jake incredulously. “You honestly think I’m gonna let you do this without me?” He glanced at the others and back to Jake. “That any of us would leave you alone in this?”
Trevor did his best to clear the emotion from this throat before continuing on. “I know what she meant to you.” He looked around at the others. “We all do. I cared about her, too, but I’ve already lost too many friends to shit like this. I’m not about to lose another one.”
The man looked pissed off at the world. Oddly, Jake found that comforting. His damn eyes started burning again, but this time, thank Christ, he was able to push it back.
“Thank you.” Inhaling deeply, he went into mission mode. “Derek, I need any and all info you can get on what went down. More than what you got before. We’ll need exact locations, known hostiles in the area. Everything.”
“On it, boss.”
“The rest of you...use your contacts. Call in favors. Do whatever it takes to gather as much intel as possible. I want to know exactly what we’re up against. No surprises. My gut’s telling me there’s more to this than loca
l drug runners. The way the camp was hit,”—that damn knot was there again, but he swallowed past it—“the manner in which they were...disposed of,” he shook his head. “This wasn’t a simple tag and grab. I’ll give everyone time to get what you need.” Jake glanced down at his watch, “We’ll reconvene in the war room at fourteen hundred tomorrow. I know this isn’t a rescue mission, so we’ve got some time, but...I want this done ASAP.”
A moment of silence passed before Jake added, “This mission is revenge, plain and simple. My revenge. So, at any point in time if you want out, say the word. Just know, I won’t back down from this. Those bastards need to pay for what they did to her.” His fucking voice broke.
“We understand what we’re signing up for, boss.” Coop looked squarely at Jake.
“And this is not just your revenge,” Trevor added angrily.
The rest of the team muttered their agreements. Moved by their support, Jake ran a hand over his jaw to compose himself. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed, boss,” Mac quickly responded. “You’d do the same for us.”
She spoke the truth. Jake would do whatever he could for each and every person before him. This wasn’t just his team. They were his family. He just prayed they all survived his bloodthirsty act of revenge.
****
Eighteen days. It had been eighteen long, terrifying days since Olivia had witnessed the vicious slaughtering of her colleagues, and she’d been brought here—wherever here was.
She was finally able to think about all that had happened without completely breaking down or getting physically ill. Olivia now drew strength from her fear and anger, and used the horrific memories of those first days of capture as a driving force to survive.
Since her abduction, they—whoever the hell they were—had kept her here, in this tent. It was small, about eight by eight. There was no light other than what snuck through the long slit at the tent’s opening, and the floor was nothing but dirt.
Once a day, someone would come to give her a little water or some type of rock-hard bread. At the beginning and end of each day, her guard would escort her to the trees so she could empty her own waste from the bucket they’d been so kind to provide as a toilet. Disgusting, but necessary.
Twice now they’d brought her a second bucket filled with semi-clean water and a used bar of soap. Olivia had taken full advantage, even going so far as to use the soap and a piece of material she’d ripped from her own shirt to clean her teeth.
It helped some, but she would give every penny she’d ever earned for an hour in a scorching, hot bubble bath. With candles, and wine, and...Jake.
Knock that shit off. Jake’s not coming. No one was coming...an acknowledgement that still tore at her soul.
Olivia had spent hours those first few days praying Jake would show. With nothing to do but sit on the filthy cot she used as a bed, she often found herself daydreaming about her rescue.
Her favorite dream was the one where Jake would swoop in, take out the bad guys, then kiss her like crazy before carrying her off into the sunset. Olivia’s own twisted version of a fairytale.
Of course, she understood now that fairytales were the stuff of fiction, and happily-ever-after’s didn’t really exist. At least not for her.
Ironically, while she’d been in the midst of one of her Jake-Saves-the Day fantasies, Shorty—what she mentally called one of the men because of his short and pudgy stature—paid her a visit. He had scraggly, unkempt hair and squinty little eyes. Evil eyes. Though Olivia refused to show it, he scared the crap out of her.
One day last week, he’d brought her a copy of an American newspaper. He taunted her with it, laughing as she’d read the printed words. At first she’d been confused, but it didn't take long before she understood exactly what the asshole found so amusing.
Plastered on the paper’s front page were pictures of everyone in her volunteer group, hers included. The article described a memorial service that had been held in their honor. It went on to remind readers how she and the others had all been murdered, their bodies burned and then left behind.
Shorty had mocked her when she’d started to cry. The bastard laughed even louder when she’d fallen to her knees and vomited her stomach’s meager contents onto the dirt floor.
Olivia felt sick to her soul then. Not only from what these monsters had done to her friends’ bodies, but also because the article had confirmed her worst fears.
There’d be no big, romantic rescue. No sunset kiss. Olivia could no longer pretend, because in that moment, she knew. Like the rest of the world, Jake undoubtedly thought she was dead.
Her hopes of being rescued by anyone died that day as surely as the world thought she had. It was the same day she stopped wasting time on useless dreams and fantasies, and had begun to plan.
Thankfully, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted—a miracle in the midst of hell. She was pretty sure Shorty would’ve tried, if not for the guard stationed outside her tent.
She’d overheard the two men arguing one day. Olivia knew enough Spanish to understand the gist of the conversation. For some reason, their boss had ordered the men at the camp not to touch her.
At first, the words brought instant relief. Then, she heard the guard tell Shorty that she wouldn’t bring as much money at the subasta—auction—if she were presented to the buyers in “used” condition. The guard went on to remind Shorty, in horrific detail, what had happened to the last man who’d defied their boss.
Olivia hadn’t needed to hear the gruesome reminder. She’d seen it happen through the opening between her tent’s flaps, and could still hear the snap of the whip, along with the convicted man’s cries for mercy.
Apparently, her guard made his point clear because Shorty walked away after that and hadn’t been back since. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gone far.
Each time she’d go outside with her bucket, the creep always seemed to be there. Staring at her with way too much interest.
Olivia’s daily routine consisted of spending twenty-three hours and fifty minutes in this God-forsaken tent. During that time, she waited. Planned. Prepared for the right time to escape.
That time had finally come.
This morning, she’d been escorted to a small building at the edge of the camp, where she was ordered to take a shower. When she got out, she realized they’d taken her clothes, leaving a long, white dress in their place.
While walking back to her tent with her guard, another man had approached them. He told her guard they were planning to transport her to the auction’s location sometime after dark. Tonight.
Like hell.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what the buyers wanted from her. Olivia would rather die than step one foot in front of a group of vile men who’d use unwilling women for their own sick pleasures.
Unfortunately, Olivia knew she may have no other choice but to do something vulgar herself in order to get away from the men holding her captive. Or risk dying. Probably both.
Considering her plan involved traipsing through an honest-to-goodness jungle alone and without any supplies, dying was a very real possibility. But the alternative—being sold to a monster—was far worse. One way or another, by this time tomorrow, she would be free of these men.
The day she’d read that article, Olivia had begun making notes, both mentally and with her finger in the dry dirt floor. She estimated the time of day when her guards changed shifts. When she normally dumped her bucket, and when most of the men turned in for the night. She did this beneath her cot so no one would notice.
A few times now, a large group of men would leave very early. They’d come back hours later, laughing and shooting their guns in the air. Celebrating.
Olivia dreaded those days. Not only because their joy most likely meant someone else’s suffering, but also because the sound of the gunshots always took her back to that day.
To the terror and blood. The thought of leaving Jake behind. The guilt of her inaction.
&
nbsp; So far, with the exception of the shower, today had proven uneventful, but Olivia’s time was running out. The dress wasn’t ideal for a run through the jungle, but they’d taken her other clothes, so she had no choice.
Her plan was simple. She’d lure her guard into the tent and try to seduce him. The thought nearly made her laugh, given how she probably looked, but the shower and dress would help. That, and the fact that she had no panties.
Bile tried making its way up again, but Olivia held it back. If she’d learned anything these past two weeks, it was that she was willing to do whatever it took to get away. These men were animals who thought they could sell her as if she were nothing more than an animal herself.
I’ll prove them wrong.
She was no weak, defenseless creature. She was a strong, independent woman. Strong enough to do what was necessary to escape, and find her way back home.
Mikey and Jake had taught her a few self-defense moves years ago, when they’d come back home from basic training. They both wanted to make sure she could defend herself, should the occasion call for it.
After that, any time they were on leave, they’d force her to practice the moves. Over and over. Olivia just prayed she remembered everything they’d taught her so she wouldn’t freeze up like before. Don’t go there.
Shoving the guilt back, Olivia sat on the edge of her cot, both hands clenching the metal frame so tightly her fingers ached. Forcing herself to stay focused, she mentally ran through the plan one last time.
She’d proposition her guard. Once he was in a vulnerable position, she’d disarm and hopefully maim him enough to be able to make an unnoticeable escape into the trees. From there, she had no idea where she would go, since she had no idea where she actually was.
At least out there, she’d have a fighting chance. If she continued to sit here, she’d be taken somewhere else tonight. God only knows what would happen to her, then.
