Rescuing Rayne (Delta Force Heroes Book 1)

by Susan Stoker

  His words were cut off when the entire corner of the building, right where the room full of hostages had been, disappeared from their view under a fiery blast and a column of smoke.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Sarah exclaimed, obviously at the end of her rope.

  “What do you want to do? Demand to be released like that guy who got shot?” one of the other women being held with them jeered caustically.

  Rayne didn’t blame Sarah for being antsy. They’d been moved around several times since they’d been separated from the men. Diana, Paula, and Tracy weren’t dealing very well with wondering if their men were all right. Rayne would’ve felt the same way if she’d been with Ghost and he’d been separated from her. Fighting amongst themselves wasn’t going to help anything.

  She glanced over at the three men, actually two men and one boy, who were guarding them at the moment. The guards had been switching out, but it was obvious they were a ragtag bunch who didn’t really know what was going on day to day, they were just following orders.

  At one point, the boy had come over to their group. He hadn’t said anything, and hoping to try to make him see them as humans and not as animals that should be shot, Rayne had broken the rule Chase had demanded she learn about blending in and never standing out, and smiled at him. The boy had stopped and looked her in the eye. He’d nodded at her and went back over to the two men on the other side of the room. Rayne hoped that his nod meant that he saw her as a friend and not an enemy. That she’d humanized all of them to him. Maybe he had a sister he loved. He had to have a mother…right?

  Rayne tried to keep her voice clear and calm, just like she’d been taught to do in emergencies on the plane. “You’re both right, we should be thinking about what we might be able to do if we get the chance, but we also can’t demand things; that will just irritate them more.”

  “What should we do?” That was Paula. Always looking to others for direction.

  The thing was, Rayne had no idea. There were about fifteen of them in this room at the moment. There had been seventeen, but their captors had taken two of the women away, and they’d never returned. Rayne didn’t want to think about what might be happening with them. She glanced over at the gunmen. They were talking with each other, and only occasionally glancing over at them. Rayne supposed their group didn’t look all that threatening at the moment…they were sitting in a small circle, huddled together for comfort.

  “Okay, this is a new group of gunmen, right? We haven’t seen the same men since we’ve been in here. So they’re rotating the guards out.”

  “And?” It was an Australian woman named Pat who spoke up. “What good is that knowledge to us?”

  “I’m not sure, but at this point, any information is better than none,” Rayne returned easily, keeping her voice carefully modulated. Even though she was irritated, she couldn’t let it show.

  “Here’s what I think,” another woman, probably in her early twenties, piped up. “I think we ought to charge them. There’s fifteen of us, and only three of them.”

  “But they have guns,” Paula said nervously, wringing her hands.

  “True, but I’m thinking a couple of us can distract them, while the rest tackle them.”

  Rayne barely resisted rolling her eyes. It was the worst plan in the history of plans. It was as if she was in the middle of a bad B-movie. At any moment, the chick would tear off her clothes and parade herself around and the good guys would burst in and save the day. It just wasn’t going to happen.

  The door to their room was suddenly flung open hard enough that it banged against the wall and made every single one of the women jump in fright.

  There were two men who entered, armed of course. One held a box as well as a rifle and the other one immediately started talking to the captors in the room in a language they couldn’t understand.

  The women all stood up and huddled together against the wall, sensing something was about to happen, but not knowing what.

  The boy, who Rayne had smiled at not long before, pointed over at her when the newcomer barked a question at him. Rayne held her breath, wondering what the men were doing.

  Rayne really didn’t like being singled out. Shit. Chase had warned her. When this had happened to the other two women, they’d been taken out of the room and hadn’t returned.

  The man with the box placed it on the ground near the other two captors and came toward her. Rayne backed away as much as she could, which wasn’t far considering there was a wall behind her.

  The man grabbed hold of her arm and wrenched her toward him roughly. Rayne heard Sarah whimper, but not one of the women said anything. They’d learned from the last time to keep quiet, otherwise they’d get hit.

  Rayne gasped as her other arm was grabbed in a rough grip by another captor. She was dragged out of the room between the two men, with the boy following close behind. She glanced back one more time and caught the agonized look of grief on Sarah’s face before the door shut firmly behind them.

  “Where are we going?” Rayne asked, not really expecting an answer.

  “Boys become men,” the tall, bearded man next to her said in a rumbly guttural voice.

  “What?” Rayne hadn’t expected an answer, so she hadn’t been concentrating on understanding his thick accent.

  “Boys become men,” he repeated, not at all seeming to be put out at having to say it again.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Typical. Americans stupid. Never understand.”

  Rayne wanted to protest, but kept her mouth shut. She changed tactics and tried to memorize where they were walking. If there was any chance she could get away, she had to know which way to go. The last thing she wanted to do was run right into a nest of terrorists when she was running for her life.

  They walked, half-dragging her along several corridors. The building was huge. Rayne was afraid she’d be lost in the maze of hallways for the rest of her life.

  A large explosion sounded somewhere behind her, and the men stopped and waited for something. The ground shook under their feet and Rayne shuddered.

  “That was your friends,” one of the men holding her said, a bit too happily for Rayne’s peace of mind.

  “What?”

  “We just blew up the room they were in. Teach lesson to the world.”

  “Oh God,” Rayne moaned, as she was once again hauled roughly down the hall. They’d blown up the room with Paula, Sarah, Tracy, and sweet Diana? Could they have survived? Why was she spared? She had so many questions, and absolutely no answers.

  The boy behind them said something in a whiny voice that grated on Rayne’s nerves. The man to her left barked at him in a pissed-off tone that would’ve had Rayne cowering if she wasn’t already. The boy mumbled something and they were on their way again.

  They came to a door at the end of a long hallway and the boy hurried around to open it. Rayne was propelled inside by the two men. The room was dark and smelled horrendous…like sweat and body odor, and a coppery stench that could only be blood. It was taking a while for her eyes to adjust to the dim light so she didn’t fight the hold of the two men as they dragged her to the corner of the room. It wasn’t until she felt a cold band wrap around her ankle, so tightly it pinched her skin, that she realized she was in big trouble—and she began to try to wiggle out of the tight hold of her captors.

  There was laughter around her, and Rayne glanced down at a man kneeling at her feet. The one who’d just wrapped an iron cuff around her ankle. It was attached to a long chain, which was bolted to the wall. Behind her was a rusty bed frame with a thin mattress on it, which had several dark spots.

  The man at her feet said something and again, everyone around them laughed.

  “He said you have fat ankles,” a modulated, accented voice said from across the room.

  Rayne would’ve been offended—she did not have fat ankles—if she wasn’t so scared. They were perfectly normal, tha
nk you very much, but she was too frightened to open her mouth to rebuff the claim. She’d always thought if she was ever in a situation where her life was threatened that she’d be brave and could smart-mouth her way out of anything, but that had been a pipe dream. She was absolutely terrified at what was going to happen to her in this horrible room and couldn’t say a thing to try to defend herself.

  There had been six men waiting for them as they’d entered, all wearing gray robes that covered them from their shoulders down to their feet. None were wearing any sort of head covering or mask. They were sitting on a platform of sorts…three men on the bottom row and three on the top row. They all had long beards and were watching her with lecherous intent. It looked like some kind of pagan ritual or something.

  The man who had fastened the cuff around her ankle picked up a huge knife from the floor. It was rusty and had serrations on the blade. Before Rayne could move, her biceps were pulled behind her back, wrenching her arms at an awkward angle and holding her immobile. She frantically wriggled and squirmed, futilely trying to get out of the hold.

  “If you struggle, there’s a greater chance of being cut,” the accented voice said.

  “Why are you doing this? What’s going on?” Rayne desperately needed answers.

  The man at her feet took his time. He brought the knife up to her pant leg and oh so slowly began to slice upwards. Rayne could feel the tip of the blade against her leg, but couldn’t tell if it was actually cutting her or not. Her legs felt numb—hell, everything felt numb.

  “In our culture, a boy becomes a man when he first takes a woman.”

  “Oh shit.” Rayne was beginning to understand.

  “I see you understand. You should feel honored. Moshe chose you to be his first.”

  Rayne finally found her spunk and her tongue. “That’s not your culture. Egypt is a beautiful country filled with wonderful people, and that’s not the way of its culture. It might be your way, assholes, trying to pretend it’s normal and right, but it’s not. You’re brainwashing your children to be killers and rapists.”

  Her head was flung backwards with the force of the smack one of the other men delivered.

  “It’s also the way of our culture to make sure women know their place. And their place is to be quiet and to speak only when spoken to.”

  “Fuck that,” Rayne muttered, only to cry out in pain when she was hit again, this time not with an open palm, but a closed fist. It hurt, but she knew that whatever these psychos had in store for her would hurt a whole lot more. Her breaths came out faster and faster as her destroyed jeans fell to the floor. There was more laughing from the men as she stood before them in her black lace underwear. She’d felt sexy when she’d put it on, however many days ago it had been. Now she felt defiled and dirty.

  There was a conversation between the men and the boy that Rayne didn’t understand, but the man gleefully translated for her. “Moshe’s father praises his son and tells him he chose well. You have spunk, and your thighs are thick and full and will cushion him as they should. Your hips are wide and can bear many sons.”

  “Oh God, please, don’t do this. Let me go.”

  The man with the accented English continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The ritual is to take you seven times. Seven is a lucky number in our country. Once he fills you seven times, he will be a man.”

  Rayne couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. Seven times? She was going to be raped by this man-boy seven times?

  “It is our job to critique him, to tell him the best ways to master a woman, to make her compliant under him. He knows you will fight him at first, it is expected, but by the time his ritual is done, you will be broken and will do whatever he tells you and will take whatever he wants to give to you. You might as well accept your fate now, American whore. The two before you fought valiantly, but in the end took our new men with no struggle, as proper women should.”

  Rayne closed her eyes and prayed. Not for rescue, but for a quick death. If she could get ahold of the knife the man was using to cut off her shirt now, she would plunge it into her own heart.

  The words in the room sounded as if they were coming from a long way off and Rayne felt disconnected from her body. It was as if someone else was being held, having their shirt cut off, being laughed at…not her.

  She thought about her brother, Chase, about how he’d feel learning what had happened to her…if he ever learned. And her sister, Sam. Sam was happy as a clam in Los Angeles chasing her dream of becoming an actress. And Ghost…

  Oh God, Ghost. What she wouldn’t give to be able to see him one more time. If she lived through this, she swore right then and there to not let these animals take away the beautiful memories she had of Ghost making love to her, of their night together.

  What was about to happen to her had nothing to do with the lovemaking they’d shared.

  Rayne was jerked backwards and would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for the man behind her holding on to her so tightly. He dragged her to the filthy mattress and flung her down on it. The chain around her ankle clanged loudly in the room. She kicked and struggled against the men, but their hold on her was too tight. As her other leg was chained to the bedframe, and her arms were wrenched over her head, the damn voice kept on describing what was about to happen.

  “First, Moshe will take you on your back, so he can look at your face. This is step one, and will most likely be quick. Most boys are quick to release their first time they get inside a woman. The second and third times will be from behind, so you can understand he has all the power, and you are like a dog. Worthless, good for only taking what he gives you. The fourth time he will release inside your dark hole. This is the transition time. If he cannot hold out for one hundred strokes, he will be seen as less than a man in the eyes of his father, uncles, and holy men who are here to witness his transition to manhood.”

  Rayne whimpered, thinking about how badly a hundred thrusts into her untried back hole would hurt.

  “Then you will take him down your throat for the fifth time. The sixth will be against the wall, and the seventh will be again with you on your back. By the time the seventh time comes, you will be slick with his release and your blood, and will be ready for him and will take him easily and without fight. The goal is for him to make you find your womanly release that last time. If he can hold on and not release until you do, he will have succeeded and will be a man. If he cannot make you release, he will have failed. And will have to start again on another day.”

  Rayne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After being raped seven times, if she didn’t orgasm, she’d have to go through this again? It was obviously a setup so they could rape women over and over again, all in the name of their custom. It wasn’t as if any of them really gave a shit if the women they were with orgasmed or not.

  She wasn’t sure she’d survive being violated once, let alone seven times, and Rayne knew she’d die if she had to go through the barbaric ritual more than once. She’d find a way to kill herself before suffering through it again. These people were insane.

  Rayne kept her mouth shut, knowing nothing she could say would make these monsters change their minds.

  She glanced over at the men sitting in the chairs, waiting and watching. Some were related to the boy; and that made the fact they were there and supporting this awful ritual a hundred times worse. They didn’t look like old wise men, they looked like lecherous middle-aged men who got off on observing a woman being raped and tortured.

  “The more blood that flows, the luckier he will be in manhood. The more you struggle and fight, the more of a man he will become.”

  Rayne couldn’t hold back her words, finding the courage she’d been lacking up to this point. What did it matter if she pissed them off now? If they killed her? It was actually probably better. Maybe if they got mad enough they’d just slit her throat or something, although that probably wouldn’t keep Moshe from raping her. The thought of him violating her dead body made her want to th
row up, but she didn’t let it stop the words that spewed out of her mouth.

  “Shut up. Just shut up! You’re all sick. This is rape! This is wrong. You can’t honestly believe the shit you’re spewing. Let me go, I don’t want your little penis anywhere near me!” She frantically thrashed in her cruel bindings as the boy came up beside the mattress and looked down at her and smiled.

  Rayne looked at him in the hopes of seeing the person who’d nodded at her shyly back in the other room. He wasn’t there. He’d been replaced by a boy on the cusp of manhood who wanted to impress the elders sitting and standing behind him, and who had nothing but lust-filled thoughts of fucking for the first time.

  He stood there and watched her struggle for a moment, then turned and said something to the men behind him. There was laughter and agreement.

  Of course the man who spoke English was there to translate for her. Rayne knew she’d hear his heavily accented voice in her nightmares for years to come. “Moshe says he is pleased. You are round and ripe and your skin ripples as you struggle. Already your blood flows from your wrists and ankles. He says he will be the luckiest man this ritual cycle.”

  Rayne closed her eyes as the boy brought his hands up to his pants. This was happening. She couldn’t believe it. She had to believe it.

  Rayne forcefully brought Ghost’s image to her mind to block out everything around her. His face, his hands, his scowl as he took a picture of the nasty taxi driver’s license when they were in London, the words inked on his side…quiet professionalism.

  If she was going to die, the last thing she wanted to see in her mind was Ghost.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dude and Hollywood worked together as if they’d always been teammates. The SEAL and Delta Force member eased in and out of the shadows as though they belonged there, setting charges at strategic points along the perimeter of the building.

  Blowing out holes in the walls of the government building probably wasn’t the Egyptian government’s first choice in tactics, but after watching a bomb explode in a corner room that had to have killed all of the women inside, the teams were done waiting for permission. They were sent in to take care of business, and that’s just what they were going to do. No other Americans, or any other hostages, were going to die on their watch. They couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. That’s not what they’d been trained to do and now was the time to act.