Broken Dreams (Delos Series Book 4)

by Lindsay McKenna

  The Taliban had constructed the cages of slender saplings a hand’s length apart some time ago. The poles had been buried deep into the grayish soil of the cave and then the tops were pulled into chiseled sockets out of the sloped cave. She’d already tried to loosen them a couple of times, but the limbs wouldn’t budge. Her hair had come loose and she quickly refashioned it into a long, thick braid.

  Having no idea what was to happen next, Alexa watched the two guards at the other tunnel entrance. She didn’t want to think about Gage . . . how dead he had looked. Rubbing her face, Alexa knew she didn’t dare dwell on it. After going through SERE, uppermost in an officer’s mind was escape. If she didn’t think, she’d be an emotional basket case like the civilian women. She was sure they didn’t realize why they had been kidnapped and Alexa wasn’t going to tell them. It would only cause more hysteria and renewed terror.

  Why had they placed her first in the cage area? Was that significant? Had they already singled her out as different from the other captives? She curled her dirty hands into her lap, unsure. Alexa knew that her parents would move heaven and earth to locate her. She knew that black ops teams, either SEAL or Delta Force, would be coming to rescue them. But had the Taliban gotten away with their kidnapping before a drone could be set up to see where they’d been taken? Her stomach growled and she yearned for a protein bar.

  Lifting her chin, she saw another soldier, taller than the other two, looking important, snapping orders to them in Urdu. Instantly, the men came to attention. Eyes narrowing, Alexa could barely make out a man with short black hair and a well-trimmed mustache glaring into the cage cavern at them with his hands settled imperiously on his hips. He wore camouflage clothing that Alexa recognized as belonging to a Pakistani officer.

  What the hell? And then she snorted softly. Pakistan was a country where corruption, abuse of power, manipulation, and brute force ruled. The man wore a dark beret on his head with a gold insignia on the side. He packed a sidearm on his right hip. His bearing was pure arrogance and Alexa guessed him to be about forty-five. He wasn’t built like the thin, underfed Taliban soldiers. Instead, he was at least six feet tall and broad-shouldered with a classical Middle Eastern square face. Alexa was sure a lot of women would lust for this man and tried to see his rank. Clearly, he was an officer in the Pakistan Army. In fact, the insignia on his beret indicated he was a member of ISI, Inter-Services Intelligence.

  Alexa also saw a badge sewn on the upper left arm of his uniform, confirming he was ISI. And yes, he was up to his ass in the slave trade. The officer snapped another order in Urdu, and instantly both soldiers ran into the cave, their AK-47s strapped to their backs.

  Alexa’s heart rate soared as the men hurriedly unlocked her cell. She slowly moved into a crouch, tense, watching them warily. The taller one entered, snarling at her and grabbing her by the arm.

  Jerking it away from him, Alexa glared back, and ducked out of the cage, straightening. Instantly, the soldiers clamped a restraining hand on each of her upper arms, propelling her toward the officer, who waited in the tunnel, his legs spread slightly apart, wearing combat boots.

  Alexa allowed them to push her along. It would do no good to fight—yet. It was three against one. Her gaze went to his pistol. It had a safety strap over it, so she couldn’t lunge and rip it out of the holster to use it. Her skin crawled as they stopped in front of the haughty officer. He stared down at her, his gaze stripping her from head to toe.

  “Bring her!” he ordered in Urdu, spinning around and striding down the poorly lit tunnel.

  Alexa wasn’t going to let on that she knew Urdu. No way in hell. It gave her an advantage, even if it was slight. Adrenaline poured through her bloodstream as they pushed and tugged her along, almost at a trot, to keep up with the quick-striding Pakistani officer. They moved through a lot of caves and Alexa tried to remember the way. Finally, they turned left, down a brightly lit tunnel.

  The blaze of overhead lights strung across the ceiling of a smaller cave hurt her eyes. Tears came then and Alexa bowed her head, trying to avoid the painfully bright lights. She saw two men sitting at a long wooden table that was chipped and had seen better days. There was a laptop computer with a satellite phone attached, a cell phone nearby, a digital camera, and a video camera. Just above them was a hole to the outer world and she saw wires strung up and out of it. To where, she didn’t know. Her mind went blank with momentary shock. Was this a makeshift auction house? Were buyers calling in about the women who’d just been kidnapped? Were these men taking photos of them and sending them by sat phone to prospective buyers around the world?

  To her left, as they hauled her in front of the table, she saw a pale green blanket that had been hung in one part of the cave. There were lights that she recognized as the type a photographer might use to take indoor photos. Her throat closed up as she rapidly put it all together.

  The soldiers released her but were within easy reach of her should she try to escape. Breathing harshly, Alexa wrapped her arms against her chest as the men at the table studied her intently. The silence was heavy. She felt as if something awful were about to happen to her. It was the not knowing that made her nerves scream with anxiety.

  The Pakistani officer took a third seat at the table. He gave a brisk nod to the other two, and one of the men, in a dark blue Pakistani wool robe that was heavily embroidered with gold thread, sneered at her. He was short and fat and had longish black hair, shining with some kind of pomade. The pencil-thin mustache only emphasized his thick lips. He reminded Alexa of a bloated toad and in her mind, that is what she dubbed him, “the Toad.”

  The man in the middle was thin, nervous-looking, dressed in traditional Afghan clothes, a rolled cap on his head. He wore dark brown wool pants and a white long-sleeved shirt with a black vest over it. He had the laptop in front of him. Alexa called him “the Scribe.”

  Unsettled by the Pakistani officer at the end, his cinnamon brown eyes never leaving hers, Alexa mentally referred to him as “the General,” because she recognized his rank on the lapels of his starched, clean uniform. Even his black boots were like polished mirrors.

  She wondered if these men had been waiting for them. Rage flowed through her, because the General was part of the Pakistan Army—the corrupt part. She knew members of ISI had worked directly with the CIA and NSA and other secret branches of the U.S. government.

  And this smug sonofabitch was a slave trader! Alexa was sure he was getting a cut out of any sales done here. Further, with his high rank, he could employ planes, helicopters, and ground vehicles, using them to get the captives across the border and deliver the slaves to the buyers. There was no name to indicate who he was. He’d taken off his badge.

  She met his implacable stare with one of her own.

  The Scribe said in broken English, “Please give us your name?”

  Alexa wanted to curse at all of them, to tell them to go fuck themselves. She bit back on it and lied. “Donna Collins.”

  “Ah, very good,” the Scribe said, quickly typing the information into his laptop.

  “And your age?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  The Scribe duly noted it, smiling nervously at her.

  “And your job? What were you doing at that village?”

  “I’m an aid worker for Delos.”

  “I see . . .”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  Alexa’s eyes widened with surprise over such an intimate question. Anger soared through her. “Go to hell,” she told them in a snarl, her anger leaking through. The Scribe looked startled by her sudden change in demeanor.

  The General’s low laugh rumbled through his chest. “I see we have a fighter here.”

  The Toad gave her a measured look, interest glinting suddenly in his eyes. “Indeed.”

  The Scribe said, “She is the only one of the women who wasn’t sniveling and crying when they were brought in.”

  The Toad looked more pleased, giving the General an approving
glance. “This is more than I had hoped for.” He gestured toward Alexa, rings on four of his five short, thick fingers, the diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires on them flashing beneath the light.

  “I have a client who wants his slave to be a fighter. Pity she’s twenty-eight though. He wants a girl around fifteen or so . . . That will lower the price I can get for her, because she’s old. But I’m sure he would be interested in her if for no other reason than she won’t bore him.”

  Alexa stood there, pretending not to understand what they were saying in Urdu. Her blood raced with outrage and she had to lower her eyes so they wouldn’t see the anger in them.

  The General gave a negligent shrug. “He’ll overlook her age for the fight in her, that I’m sure of. I’m sure this American whore is no virgin.”

  Alexa’s fingers curled into fists as she forced herself to try to relax.

  The Toad chuckled.

  The Scribe gave a horse like whinny, nodding his head vigorously as he typed more information into the laptop.

  “My client who wants a fighter doesn’t care if she’s a virgin or not.”

  “Good,” the General said.

  The Scribe switched to English. “Do you carry any sexual diseases?”

  Alexa stared at him in disbelief. “You can all go fuck yourselves. I’m not answering any of your questions. I want to be let go. You have no right—”

  The soldier to the left grabbed her by her long braid and slammed his boot into the back of one of her knees. In an instant, her knee buckled from beneath her and Alexa found herself on the dirt floor of the cavern. She groaned as the soldier held her head back, exposing her throat.

  The Toad gave her a haughty smile and spoke British English flawlessly. “Now, whore, you will not speak unless spoken to. Are we clear? The next time you speak without being asked, I’m afraid the General will be all too willing to show you some pain to remind you to keep your pretty mouth shut. Do we understand one another?”

  Her breathing was choppy, her heart pounding. The pain in her scalp made her whimper as the soldier tightened down on the hair he had wrapped around his fist. “Y-yes,” she gasped.

  Instantly, the soldier released her, shoving her forward so she landed on her hands and knees.

  “Get up!” the Toad snarled.

  Slowly, Alexa got to her feet, rubbing her scalp, the pain still radiating across it.

  “She’ll be fully examined by the doctor later to ensure she’s healthy sexually,” the General told the Toad in Urdu. “Let’s move on.”

  Stunned, Alexa barely kept her face straight. An examination by a doctor? What the hell was he talking about? Everything began to seem surreal to her. These men were talking about her like she was a piece of meat to be looked over.

  The Scribe nodded. “Have you ever had children?”

  Alexa shook her head.

  The Toad made a pleased sound in his throat that was buried in layers of fat.

  “Have you ever had a miscarriage? An abortion?”

  She shook her head no, afraid to speak, afraid of the anger and rage they’d hear in her voice.

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Are you engaged?”

  “No.”

  “How many men have you had sexually?”

  The Scribe had to be kidding! Alexa’s mouth dropped open. This was unbelievable! She’d had enough. “Fuck all of you. I’m not answering any more of these asinine questions! I’m an American citizen, and I demand to be released immediately!”

  Instantly, the two soldiers grabbed her. They stripped off the black parka she wore, throwing it to the floor. Alexa started to fight, watching the General slowly get up, his irritation clear as he strode around the table. She saw him lift his shirt, unbuckling a thick, wide leather belt. His mouth was set, and his eyes held hatred for her as he hauled the belt off from around his waist.

  She grunted and tried to break free of the soldiers as he approached her. Terror raced through her as the soldiers dragged her over to another part of the cave. There was a metal rod suspended on top of two metal posts. Alexa saw leather cuffs dangling from ropes above it. NO! She was not going to do this!

  Before she could make a move, the General was upon her, grabbing her by the braid, yanking her head back to control her.

  Screaming and cursing, eyes tightly shut, Alexa was cuffed by the two soldiers as the Pakistani officer held her still. Then the soldiers pulled on the thick ropes at either side of the metal rod, hauling Alexa off her feet, her toes inches off the floor of the cave.

  Breathing hard, her shoulder sockets burning with pain as she hung helplessly, she saw the General lean closer to her, his lips lifting in a snarl. She could smell the odor of goat on his breath and she tried to pull her face away from his.

  “Now,” the General growled in her face, gripping her hair, making her wince, “you will learn that women do not speak like that to a man. Ever!” He released her head with a jerk.

  Fear tunneled through her. Alexa’s shoulder sockets were burning and she couldn’t see the officer but felt his hatred circling around her. The soldiers stood by the posts, smiling.

  “Pull her sweater down!” the General rapped out as he backed away, measuring the distance between him and Alexa.

  Instantly, one of the soldiers tugged down the ends of her sweater over her hips. It had ridden halfway up her torso during her struggles.

  Shutting her eyes, Alexa didn’t know what would happen next. She heard a hissing sound and her back exploded with red-hot pain as the belt landed across her shoulders. A cry tore out of her, and her whole body jerked. Sobbing for breath, Alexa couldn’t see it coming. The next time she heard that sound, she tried to brace herself. The belt landed savagely against the center of her back.

  The third one laid into her back diagonally. The stinging heat made her cry out. It was impossible not to scream. Her fingers fisted as the weight of her body pulled her down. Her shoulders felt as if they were going to tear off her body as the belt kept coming, raining blow after blow upon her back. Her cries weakened with each strike and soon Alexa felt faint from the mounting agony exploding across her back. Her flesh felt stretched, as if it were on fire, the muscles beneath it swelling from the harsh blows, making her gasp for air.

  Alexa lost count of how many times she was struck by the General’s belt. All she knew was that the pain ripped through her whole body, making her jerk every time he whipped her. The leather was applied with such brutal force and intensity that she felt blackness overcoming her. Her skin felt as if it were burning up and exploding, her nerves on fire. And then, mercifully, Alexa moaned and her head fell forward onto her chest; she had fainted.

  Pain throbbing throughout her back forced Alexa into consciousness. She slowly opened her eyes and felt as if she were floating. She looked up; bright lights glared overhead. She tried to look around, but something was drawn tight across her brow, not allowing her any head movement.

  Where? What? The pain throbbed unremittingly throughout her back. She felt chilled. Where was she? Her mind seesawed back and forth. When she tried to lift her arm, she couldn’t. Her mind wasn’t working, but she suddenly realized she was strapped down to a cold metal table, legs parted, her heels in cold metal stirrups and unable to do anything except grunt and try to shut her mouth.

  “She’s coming around.”

  Mouth dry, Alexa heard the Urdu from a man with a rasping voice. She felt movement and then she saw him. He was in his fifties, balding, wearing metal-framed glasses and a white lab coat. Leaning over her, he studied her silently.

  “Good, you’re conscious.” He reached over on a tray and brought up a digital camera. Standing back, he took a photo of her. Setting it aside, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

  “Take this down,” he ordered his young Afghan assistant. “This is Number 2507. Female. Red hair. Hazel eyes. Caucasian. American citizen. Five feet seven inches tall. Weight is sixty-one kilograms. No remarkable sc
ars seen on her body. No birthmarks. No cancerous moles.”

  Alexa blinked as his large hands forced her mouth open. He leaned over, close to her, his breath fetid. She tried to protest but a strangled moan erupted from her instead.

  “Still fighting, are we?” he murmured, smiling over at her as he moved his fingers into her mouth, checking her gums, and then taking a small penlight, flashing it to study all of her teeth. “Not many women are fighters after they’ve been whipped by the General, but you still have fight left in you. It must be your red hair. Maybe you’ll last more than a month or two with the client who just bought you for two million U.S. dollars. He likes red-haired fighters like yourself.” He straightened, turning to report to someone.

  “Gums are healthy. She has six cavities, all filled. Teeth are strong and clean. No sign of periodontal disease.”

  Her chest heaved with adrenaline as Alexa realized with a start that she was naked on the table! And the doctor had just taken a picture of her! Humiliation tore through her as she slowly realized there were other men standing nearby. Her eyes wouldn’t focus.

  Everything blurred. Her mind refused to work.

  The doctor looked into each of her ears, giving his assistant more information. He then moved another instrument up into each of her nostrils. The sensations weren’t painful, but they were uncomfortable. Alexa moaned in loud protest, not wanting to be assaulted like this.

  “Now, now,” the doctor said, “it looks like I’ll have to give you more of the drug. I can’t have you this active while I try to examine you. The client doesn’t want you harmed or bruised in any way. And the way you’re fighting, you’ll hurt yourself. I can’t have that . . .”

  Eyes widening, Alexa saw a young man bring over a small tray that held a glass bottle and a syringe lying next to it. What were they going to do to her? Rage erupted within her, but Alexa felt incredibly weak, her mind still foggy. She flexed her fingers weakly, trying with all her might to move, to jerk free of the leather cuffs binding her wrists to the table.