And there, they beat the shit out of him, demanding answers to questions he dared not answer, no matter what they did to him. No matter what they did to Sophia, which he couldn’t do anything about at the moment, dammit.
They tried, God they tried, to get him to break, to admit that he was no photographer. To learn what he’d really been doing back there in town. How he’d met Sophia. What she was doing. In between the blows, his mind raced, sought a way to escape. These tunnels. It might be possible, if he lived through this beating. A blow to the back of his head had him seeing stars as he fell once more to the ground. A kick in his ribs elicited a pained grunt, but he wouldn’t give them more satisfaction than that. He ground his teeth together and closed his eyes, fighting the pain, fighting his fear, hoping they would knock him unconscious before he reached his limit. He focused on his surroundings. The musty smell of the dirt, the scent of rotten wood beams shoring up the sides of the deserted mineshaft. The coolness of the night air against his bruised skin . . . the high-pitched scream of a bat in the distance as they disturbed his slumber . . .
11
Sophia
Her emotions raged between abject stomach-churning fear and nausea to rage at the way she’d been repeatedly manhandled over the past hours. Or was it days? She’d completely lost track of time. The gathering at the house of Abbas seemed so long ago, but it had only been a day—or had it? She felt like she’d been run over by a truck, not that she knew how that felt, but it felt like it. Her lips were cracked and bleeding from the slaps, her head pounding, her ribs sore. She managed a glimpse at her wrists where her captor currently grasped her in a vice-like grip, dragging her through the dirt across a small yard-like area toward the hillside. Toward a yawning hole in the side.
A tunnel? A mineshaft? Her heart dropped to her stomach. Were they going to throw her down a mineshaft to starve? Would they snap her neck before they dropped her in, or would they laugh as she screamed for help? From Declan, from someone.
Where was Declan? She hadn’t gotten a glimpse of him since they’d been dragged apart. Her hip rolled over a large stone, and she cursed.
“You piece of shit!” she cried out toward her captor. He laughed and tugged harder on her arm. It felt like it would pop from her shoulder socket any moment. “You coward!”
That did it. He turned and swung his free arm down toward her head. She ducked just in time, though the side of his wrist scraped her ear.
“Shut up!” He spat at her.
She roiled with rage to the point her breath erupted in harsh gasps, fighting back tears. She’d tried to be brave as they questioned her, to make Declan proud of her, but she was tired. So tired. She tried not to lose hope, but it was hard to maintain a grasp on such an ethereal thought of rescue. They were on their own.
Declan. Was he still alive, or had they killed him? What could she do? How could she get away—
The man dragging her through the dirt abruptly yanked on her arm again.
“Get up! On your feet!” he shouted at her.
She wanted to tell him to go to hell but kept her mouth shut. Her knees trembling beneath her, she did her best. Not fast enough. He grabbed at her hair and tugged her upward despite her loud protest. She turned to scowl at him, but before she completed the movement, a hard fist between her shoulder blades propelled her forward. She fell, landing with a hard thud on the ground in the darkness of the tunnel. Once again, the man grabbed her arm and started to drag her. Why had he told her to get up if he was only going to knock her down again? In a fit of pique, despite her fear and her pain, her stubborn obstinacy rose. She grabbed at anything she could to make his task harder. Her fingers clutched briefly onto a beam of some sort—all she got for her trouble was the sharp pain of a splinter digging into her palm.
“Shit!”
“You have a dirty mouth for a woman. Shame on you,” her captor mumbled.
“Fuck you,” she snapped.
He turned and swung his foot at her head. Again, she barely dodged it. He muttered again, something in his own language. She didn’t care what he said. Her ears rang, her heart pounded, and she felt an increased sense of terror.
Where was Declan?
She looked up as she heard more noise behind her, then rolled onto her side as her captor let her go and sneered down at her. Her one good eye widened as she watched two men dragging Declan in by his arms, his feet dragging heavily in the dirt behind him.
Her heart thumped again, and she felt like screaming. A primal scream that would likely never stop, prompted by her fear and dread . . . and guilt. This was her fault. Her fault!
They released Declan, and he slumped to the ground, prone beside her, her gaze darting between his torso and her captors as they turned and left the tunnel. Mine shaft. Whatever the hell it was.
“Declan!” She gasped, reaching for him. Tears blurred her vision as she saw the blood smearing the side of his face.
He appeared semiconscious, his gaze dazed, his face pale, even in the dim light threading its way into the shaft from somewhere outside the entrance. She reached for his shoulder and shook him gently, eliciting only a grunt.
“Declan,” she moaned. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.”
She managed to scramble onto her hands and knees and crawled closer. Trying to assess if he had any severe injuries or broken bones. How would she know? She quickly felt his arms and legs, but didn’t feel anything out of place. That didn’t mean anything. He could have internal injuries.
“Declan . . .”
He groaned again and then rolled over, his eyes open now, staring up at the roof of the tunnel. She bit back a gasp of dismay. His face bruised and swollen, he raised a hand to feel his forehead. She saw his bloodied knuckles. He had fought back, and fought back hard. She caught a whiff of sweat—not regular sweat, but sweat carrying a scent of fear, of stress. Was that her or Declan? She supposed it didn’t matter. Such a small thing to worry about—
“Don’t worry, I’m all right.”
Before she had a chance to reply, she heard voices again. Coming inside. Her head spun, and she opened her mouth to scream just as they reached for her. Again. Would it ever stop? What would they do to her now? She hadn’t been raped—yet. Still, Sajad had suggested—
“Get up!” one of the men ordered her.
“Fuck you,” she muttered. The man turned and kicked Declan in the stomach, and he doubled over with a groan. Sophia obeyed, struggling to her feet. Declan had already suffered because of her. Because of her stupidity. Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. She wouldn’t let it happen again if she could do anything at all.
They just dragged her away, again, by the wrists. The man grasping her held on tight, his fingernails biting into her skin. She tried to bite them. She tried to kick them. She tried to do anything she could to struggle against them, but there was no way to stop them. She toppled forward and was dragged again. She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Out of the tunnel, out into the darkness, and dragged across the sand. It wafted up her nose, the grit and dust caking her mouth and getting into her eyes. She coughed, the action causing an eruption of another dull and throbbing ache in her own ribs. All across the sand, tied, like a captured animal. They took her away without a word, and all she could do was grunt and struggle and swear. “What the fuck are you doing?”
No answers.
No words.
No kindness.
They just dragged her like a gutted hog.
“Stop it! Let me go!”
Nothing.
To her dismay, they didn’t drag her back toward at the structure where it seemed she’d only been taken from minutes ago. At the same time, she was struck with mild surprise at the sight of Sajad. It almost wasn’t a surprise. It was almost a sure thing, that she would see him in her worst day, her worst nightmare. That he would be there smiling at her with that crooked rich-boy grin.
She was propelled to yet another opening in the mountainside, another tunnel. Her heart pounded
, the blood rushing in her ears in time to her racing heart. Down a short tunnel and into a small chamber or alcove. She didn’t know and didn’t care. She heard a door slam shut behind her. She hadn’t even noticed the door. A small storeroom? What if—“So glad you could join us,” he said. “So glad you’re here. Better than someplace else.”
She rolled over and sat up, surprised to find Sajad standing in front of the door. Alone. “Like my country? Like my hotel?”
“It’s better that you’re here, so I know when you get killed,” Sajad said. “Otherwise, it’s a crap shoot. You’re a sitting duck. A human target. And you’re not long for this world, despite your art background.”
“Despite the fact that I want to kill you.”
“Yes, but that’s not possible.”
“Only for as long as you have me tied up,” she said, looking again at the ropes around her hands.
“You think that’s all it is?” He stood and began pacing. “What if I set you loose right now? What would you do then?”
She thought about it for a moment, then realized there would be no need to finalize the idea. Her best bet would be to do the opposite of what they asked. Agree with nothing.
“Get up and come here,” he said.
No.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her and dragging her again. She fought and squirmed, but it only left more red marks encircling the bruises on her wrists. “Stop!” he yelled, but she wouldn’t stop. She would make it very clear that she was not cooperating, regardless of what Declan said or did. She had no idea what had transpired during their meeting, but all she knew was that she was not going to make things easy. So she swung and slapped him and tried to bite anywhere she could. The room was bare save a blanket on the ground in the corner. Dirt walls. A few upright timbers and truss structure. A small lantern hanging from a nail driven into one of them. No sounds except for the interrogator, Sajad.
“You really were hard to get ahold of.”
All she could do was swear at him.
“Please,” he said, “try to make some sense.”
“I’m trying,” she barked, then bit his arm until he let go and backed away from her and her mouth.
“The more you do this,” she said, “the more I’ll—” She paused abruptly and clamped her lips shut.
“And what is that?” Sajad said. A smug little smile crossed his face like he’d finally uncovered some secret information. But it was really nothing that they could use against her, her being a tough cookie—perhaps the toughest they’d come across. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t tough. She was frightened out of her wits. Doing anything she could to fight, to survive. She wondered how many strong, independent women they’d dealt with in these caves. How many soldiers. How many innocents they’d tortured and raped and killed . . .
Sajad grinned down at her.
“What?” she said. “What do you want?”
“I want you.”
The words disgusted her, turning her stomach. She rose to her feet, prepared to fight him until she had no strength left, to fight him and wound him as much as she could. But there were ropes, there were guards with guns outside the tunnel. And Declan. Would he pay for her obstinance? Would they take out his revenge on him?
She would have her chance . . .
“Speak,” he said.
“Speak what? How much I hate you?”
“How about how much you want to live?”
“Yes, I want to live. Sure.”
“You could,” he said. “Yes, with my blessing. There’s a lot of blessings for you. But you have to behave yourself.”
“Behave like one of your hostage women. My whole identity, my personhood, covered up away from the world like some shameful secret. Stay at home and stay away and just not vote and do anything? Is that what you mean?”
“I mean, I’m here to help you.”
“Help me?”
“Or, you can just wait and see.”
She didn’t want to wait and see. She could barely wait and see for the next minute, let alone her lifetime. If Sajad had any inclination of being a good person, she would know right now.
“So?” she said, waiting for him to finish the thought.
“So,” he said, “I can show it to you now.” She struggled to gasp some life back into her, preparing for whatever chance she had to turn things around. Claim life for herself.
“So now we have some privacy,” he said with a smile.
She found that smile disgusting. Pervert. “Yeah, for what?” she challenged despite wanting to vomit.
“For me to do some terrible things to you,” he said, assaulting her with that damn grin.
She shrugged away, trying to hide herself in the shadow he’d created.
“Scream,” he said.
“What?”
“Go ahead and scream for me.”
What a sick fucking bastard . . .
“Come on,” he said. “Scream. I’m serious.”
He hovered over Sophia, not touching her, but waiting, demanding that she scream. No one could be this cruel.
“Scream,” he said, calmly, rationally. He was as cold and rational as a killer.
“I’m not going to scream,” she said, “I’m going to—”
And then his slap produced the scream he’d been asking for. Her cheek stung, and tears brimmed in her eyes despite her effort to blink them back. She finally gave him the sign of fear he’d been wanting. She screamed again. He smiled.
“Very good, Sophia, very good. Now we’ll continue.”
Continue what?
She didn’t understand anything about their exchange, why he wanted her to scream, why he didn’t keep slapping her.
“I’m helping you,” he finally whispered. Then he said it again. “Now scream.”
She screamed louder, for no reason and for every reason she could think of. She was separated from Declan, and separated from home, and separated from anyone who knew her and who could protect her. She was all alone, and her only option was to listen to what creepy Sajad said. Scream. So she screamed.
And he joined in with the gag, slapping his thigh. Nodding to her. Slapping himself. It was then that she understood. He wanted to make it sound to the others as if he were raping her. He was helping her! And then suddenly she saw her way out, her escape, her salvation. Not being raped. Being perhaps helped. But why was he helping her?
He kept slapping, and she kept screaming.
Then he moved forward closer to her, his face more resolved. His hand lifted and suddenly struck. Her cheek again burned, with pain and humiliation.
“It’s for your own benefit,” he yelled, slapping his thigh, then slapping her, not allowing enough time for her to understated fully what he was doing. The only thing she could understand was that she was being violated.
But not the ultimate violation. He was going easy. He was not touching her anymore. He was not raping her.
She was safe.
She cried, but not at his hand and not at his threat. She was playing along.
She was listening.
She wasn’t able to hear his quiet apology over the pounding of her heart. She saw his lips move but didn’t hear a sound . . . She couldn’t believe it, like everything else, but it happened. He did apologize. He needed to make it sound real, or so he said, apologizing quietly while savagely beating her sound-wise.
She gathered up the courage and finally asked him, her voice a mere whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
“You mean why I’m not doing this?”
“Sure. Why anything?”
“We are not all bad men.”
“What? Of course you fucking are. I’m fucking tied up here—”
He blocked her words, his finger to her mouth and with a shh.
“I don’t want to hurt you. So please don’t make me.”
“Then just please don’t fucking hurt me. It’s pretty simple.”
“I don’t want to treat you any easier than I wou
ld any other prisoner. Because you’re a woman. A beautiful woman, doesn’t matter.”
She heard the prayers being called again outside. It would be over soon. Sajad had to go to prayers, no matter what he was involved in with her inside this chamber in the tunnel. Relief surged through her. She would be left alone again. At least for a little while.
12
Declan
A fresh bruise maybe. He studied it, observing her face as she was dragged in, checking to see what new damage they’d inflicted upon her while she was away. Yes, a fresh bruise beneath her eye. And what else? Declan imagined any number of cruelties done to her. Had they raped her? He wanted to ask but didn’t dare. He saw physical bruises, and the invisible bruises she might only talk about later. His rage surged, over his own pain, his own uncertainty. All he knew at this moment, staring at her, studying her every expression, was the desire to save her. Even more than he wanted to save himself. She might talk about what they’d done to her, or she might swallow it up and never mention it ever again. These were the types of decisions he knew as a soldier and hated that she knew it at all.
“Sophia . . .”
She sat hunched up, arms wrapped around herself as her captor roughly set her on the ground nearby, then retreated. The call to prayers. He had heard one of the men calling from outside. It sounded distant. Had they taken shelter in the dilapidated structure? How many remained to guard the entrance to the tunnel?
He turned back to Sophia. She sat with her arms wrapped close around her body. Completely shut off to the world. Definitely shut off to him. Declan said again, “Sophia . . . ”
She looked up at him. God, those bruises, the swelling along the side of her jaw, the bruising around her eyes, the right one looking tender and puffy.
“Declan,” she mumbled.
“Are you okay?” What a stupid question. Obviously, she wasn’t.
“I’m about as okay as you are.”
“I’m not too okay,” he said, thinking she was probably a lot worse than not too okay. But he waited for her to say it. He didn’t want to presume. All he really wanted to do was reach on over and hold her and hug her. Be with her gently.
Dark Escape (DARC Ops Book 10) Page 7
