by Cindy Dees
“How good a reason?” she retorted.
Without answering, he led her over to the steel post and latched her handcuffs around it once more. Once she was secured, he went back to applying pressure to her eyebrow.
“I thought it was a vitally important reason until I saw you getting beat up. Now, I don’t give a crap for reasons. My only goal now is to get you out of here alive and safe.”
What in the hell was he up to? She desperately wanted to trust him. But did she dare?
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked.
She glared at him. “Yes, but I’m damned well not walking upstairs into the midst of your friends so they can rough me up some more.”
“Good point. I’ll bring a bucket down to you.”
“Oh, joy.”
A faint smile bent his lips for a moment. “There’s my brave and bold girl,” he muttered as if to himself.
“I’m not your girl!”
He looked down at her bleakly. As he did so, his eyes gradually became harder and colder than she’d ever seen them before. His hand fell away from her eyebrow. “Right,” he bit out. “I forgot. In your world, we’re enemies.”
Well, hell. She didn’t mean to alienate the one person who was taking care of her and showing a modicum of kindness toward her. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m not exactly at my best right now.”
He stared at her a moment longer, and his expression softened. He fell to his knees in front of her, bringing their gazes to the same level. “I will never be able to make this up to you. I know that. I can only say I’m so damned sorry and that I’ll do my level best to get you out of here unharmed. Well, not harmed any further. You’re going to have to trust me. I don’t deserve it, and you have no reason whatsoever to believe me. But I’m asking you to all the same.”
He rose, turned and left the basement without saying another word.
How was she supposed to trust him when he wouldn’t even tell her his name, let alone anything else about who he was, why he was here among these animals or why he’d dragged her into the middle of this? Whatever this was.
She sagged against her pole, hugging it forlornly, feeling utterly alone in a never-ending nightmare. This time the tears that slipped out of her eyes and down her cheeks weren’t solely about pain.
Chapter 6
Tessa fretted while the NCIS agents in New Orleans were briefed on who Piper Ford really was and who the Medusas really were. Major Torsten also explained the importance of maintaining operational security around the Medusa Project and of getting Piper back as soon as possible before she was forced to reveal anything about the Medusas’ training and capabilities.
When the agents made it clear they understood both the sensitivity and urgency of retrieving Piper, Torsten, Beau and Tessa climbed into a helicopter that would fly them to Barksdale Air Force Base near Shreveport, Louisiana, to await news. The FBI had received a tip from a convenience store clerk who she had seen a woman matching Piper’s description with a man in that area.
As soon as they got to Barksdale, Torsten set up shop in the intelligence office there, and he put his team to work combing through intel reports from the past few weeks, in search of any clue to who might have snatched Piper.
“Keep an eye out for any references to Abu Haddad,” he ordered them.
Beau and Tessa both scowled. Beau commented, “Hell, Gun. You saw the explosion. Do you think anyone made it out alive?”
Torsten shrugged. “You two did.”
“Yeah, but we were on the deck and in the midst of jumping overboard when we blew the charges. The helicopter that was taking off went down, too. No way did Haddad get away.”
Torsten replied grimly, “And yet I have a report that Haddad’s organization is setting up some super secret deal with the Iranians and that Haddad himself is expected to close the deal.”
“Does Piper’s kidnapping have something to do with that?” Tessa asked. “Is there any way Haddad found out about us and spread word that the Medusas are back?”
The men looked at her grimly. Torsten eventually answered, “We can’t take the possibility off the table. Back to work, people. The clock’s ticking.”
* * *
Zane dropped the grocery bags on the cabin’s kitchen table in disgust. He’d hoped to go alone to get food and make a quick call to his superiors, asking for an extraction for himself and Piper, but Yousef had gone with him, and the bastard had kept an eagle eye on him. Which was a departure from the usual protocol. Mahmoud almost always used Zane as the lone white-bread American for any required public interactions by his team. The fact that Yousef had come along this time was alarming in the extreme.
It looked for all the world like Mahmoud didn’t trust him, and had sent his number two man along to babysit. Which worried the hell out of Zane. He hadn’t even had a moment to scribble out a fast note and pass it to the cashier at the grocery store.
Which meant he and Piper were still on their own in the middle of freaking nowhere. It had taken nearly an hour for Yousef to drive to the nearest grocery store, and that had been a tiny, run-down shop about a quarter of the size of a regular supermarket.
“Amir!” Mahmoud bellowed from the living room.
Bracing himself mentally and putting on his best subordinate face, Zane went as summoned. “We’ll have decent food for supper tonight. I’m cooking,” he announced.
“Praise Allah,” Hassan commented.
Mahmoud announced, “I sent the pictures of the woman and the video you shot of her. They want more video.”
It was on the tip of Zane’s tongue to ask “They, who?” but he knew better. And given the apparent precariousness of his status, he dared not show undue curiosity. “What kind of video?” he inquired.
“We need to put her under more duress so they can raise the pressure on her husband, in case he doesn’t give in immediately when we speak with him.”
Thank God. The husband hadn’t been approached yet. That meant he and Piper had at least another day or so to find a way out of here. “How much more duress?” Zane asked.
Yousef smiled aggressively from beside Zane. “It’s not a sin to rape an infidel. They’re not human, after all.”
Zane’s entire being froze. Rape? A little voice in the back of his head started screaming, No, no, no, no, no! No woman should endure that for any reason. Mentally swearing up a blue storm, he thought fast.
He said as casually as he could manage, “The problem with doing something like that is the forensic evidence it leaves behind. The FBI can lift DNA from a woman weeks after the fact—whether or not she’s alive or dead. Right now, we’re in the clear. No one can identify us. But after doing something that...” He trailed off and shrugged.
“You’ll do it,” Mahmoud declared. “And film it.”
Abject relief pounded through him. No way was he assaulting Piper. But if this attack was up to him to perpetrate, maybe he could find a way to spare her.
But on the heels of that came indecision. Should he protest being chosen to do it? He probably should, given that he’d just declared it a bad idea. “Why me?” he whined.
Mahmoud snapped, “You weren’t born Muslim. You’ve already lain with unclean females and are soiled in God’s eyes.”
Not to mention he would be the one to leave DNA evidence behind. Although there was no way he was actually going through with it. “Where’s the damned camera?” he groused.
Hassan handed the video camera over.
“Make her scream,” Yousef said, far too eagerly for Zane’s taste.
“You wanna watch?” Zane snapped.
Yousef actually hesitated before declining.
Sick bastard.
“Do I get to watch some porn or something to get in the mood?” Zane asked hopefully.
Mahmoud snorted. “As if there wou
ld be Wi-Fi reception out here. Ha.”
“Maybe on a cell phone?” he asked.
“We don’t even have cell coverage in this godforsaken hole,” Hassan muttered. “I had to use a satellite phone to send the images of the woman.”
Well, hell. There went his plan to pilfer one of the senior men’s cell phones and call for help.
“Fine,” he huffed. Zane trudged out of the living room and through the kitchen. When he closed the basement door, he wedged a step stool across the door frame and under the latch. No way did he want any of the others to get a bright idea to watch, or heaven forbid, join in the “fun.”
A faint smell of urine pervaded the basement now. Honestly, he hoped it would help keep the other men away.
Piper was awake and alert, sitting on the floor by her pole. “What now?” she asked quickly. She must’ve seen the grim expression on his face as he mounted the video camera on its tripod and pointed it at her nest of blankets.
She stood up as he approached her.
He leaned in close to her, putting his mouth near her ear. “We’ve got a problem,” he said very low, vividly aware of the other men overhead.
“How bad?” she whispered.
“Bad. They want me to rape you and film it to coerce your husband to cooperate.”
Her eyes went wide with fear, but to her credit, her voice remained steady. “I expected something like this.”
He breathed, “I have no intention of actually attacking you. Period. But we’re going to have to put on a good show. Will you help me do that?”
“As opposed to the alternative? Hell, yes.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go turn on the camera. And I’m sorry in advance.” He pushed away from the wall, hating this with every step he took toward the tripod.
He switched on the camera and turned toward her, his back to the lens. He gestured at his face, where he was miming fear, indicating that she should look afraid.
She cowered convincingly enough that a real spear of guilt stabbed his gut as he stalked toward her, considering how he was going to do this. He unlocked her right hand, but looped the handcuffs around the pipe, leaving her left hand chained to it.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered her loudly enough for the camera to pick up.
“No!”
Scowling, he grabbed the front of her shirt. He gave it a yank and buttons went flying. Piper’s eyes widened in fear for real then. Her bra was a plain white cotton affair, but damned if it wasn’t sexy as hell. Her chest wasn’t huge but had lovely curves above the cups of her bra that begged a guy to cup them in his hands.
A guy whom she trusted and wanted to share her body with. Not him. Zane had no right to even think about touching her like that. God, he hated this.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted over and over under his breath.
“Just get it over with,” she muttered back from behind unmoving lips.
He reached for the zipper of her jeans, and she used her free hand to bat his hand away.
He wound up for a backhand slap, giving her plenty of time to see the blow coming. When she met his stare and nodded infinitesimally, he swept his arm dramatically across his body. He relaxed his hand as much as possible and mostly brushed it across her face. The slap still made a reasonably satisfying smacking sound, and Piper’s head snapped to the side.
When she looked at him again, he slapped back the other way. “Whimper,” he whispered.
She complied, and his skin literally crawled at the sound. Thank God his back was to the camera because no way could he keep the apology out of his eyes.
She made eye contact with him, and forgiveness shone in her gaze.
He was humbled by it. Nearly driven to his knees by it. Only the sure and certain knowledge that Yousef would happily rape her for real if he didn’t go through with this pretend travesty kept him on his feet.
“God, I hate this,” he muttered as he reached for her shoulders, shoving her up against the dirt wall, pinning her against it with his body. A host of sensations registered all at once. Her body was soft and warm through the cotton of his T-shirt, and it fitted against his just right.
He had no right to enjoy anything about this. His gut roiled with nausea at the mere idea of finding anything about this appealing.
“I’m so damned sorry,” he murmured.
“It’s okay. I know you won’t hurt me.”
Her trust came within a hair of breaking him. He didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of this. It was his fault she was in this position at all. All. His. Fault.
Protectiveness surged through him as he covered her from the prying eye of the camera. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” he breathed. “I’ll find a way to kill them all if I have to.”
“Don’t bother. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Working on it.”
She stared up at him, and he stared down at her, silently begging her to see the truth in his words.
She nodded once. Slowly. And then she did the damnedest thing. She relaxed against him, her body going sleek and soft and warm against him. She believed him. Thank God.
She burrowed closer against his chest as if relishing the human contact and safety that he represented. He lowered his mouth very slowly, slowly enough not to startle her in the least, to the junction of her neck and shoulder, relishing the silkiness of her skin against his lips. She tasted faintly of salt but was all woman.
“Fight me,” he breathed against her neck.
“What?”
“The camera,” he reminded her.
“Right.”
She used her free hand to shove at his left shoulder, and he was shocked at how strong she was. She managed to push him back, throwing him off balance.
He stumbled back, wiped his hands across his mouth and snarled, “That’s better. I like it when my whores fight.”
Her gaze was momentarily stricken when she stared at him as if she’d forgotten for a second what they were supposed to be doing. This was acting. This was just acting.
Forgive me, he mouthed.
He stepped forward more aggressively, grabbing her by both shoulders and holding her against the wall as he kissed her too hard. Aww, hell. Her lips were as silky and soft as the rest of her. He ought to smash her lips against her teeth. Bite her lip. Make her bleed.
But damned if he didn’t do the opposite, gentling the kiss, inviting her to open for him. He simply couldn’t brutalize this woman, who’d already been so brave through so much.
Her mouth opened beneath his, and without thinking, he tilted his head to fit their mouths together better.
She kissed him back eagerly. Hungrily. Poor woman was so desperate for some safety, a pretense of normalcy, that she’d lost herself in this kiss. Not that he blamed her for a second. But when she found out who he really was, that he’d chosen to put her in this terrible situation, she was going to hate him forever. And for good reason.
Her hand, which had been shoving at his chest, fisted against his T-shirt, twisting the soft fabric in her fingers, tugging him closer. Thankfully, her hand was out of sight of the camera.
He moved his mouth across hers leisurely, enjoying the way she rose to meet him, lifting her mouth to his and kissing him back.
He shouldn’t enjoy this. Shouldn’t love the feel of her mouth against his, the scent of her feminine musk filling his nostrils, the resilient strength of her body sliding beneath his palms. Nope, he shouldn’t love any of it.
And yet he did.
She was an amazing woman, and her mental fortitude astounded him.
As they continued to kiss, passion built between them, not a wild explosion all at once, but rather a gradual falling away of everything else that had led up to this moment. It left just the two of them kissing each other, sharing their stress and
worry with each other, commiserating in their mutual danger and losing themselves in this new and unexpected attraction to each other.
Her free arm crept around his neck, her fingers twining in his hair, and abruptly, he remembered where they were and what they were supposed to be doing.
“Pull my hair,” he muttered against her mouth.
She kissed him once more and then complied, giving a painful yank that made him yelp. He jumped back and made a fist, pretending to bury it in her solar plexus. She did a credible job of jumping up slightly and grunting hard as if he’d clobbered her for real.
He grabbed her jeans then and tore the button open. She thrashed from side to side, but he used his superior weight to force her back against the wall. It was surprising how much effort it took to keep her pinned against that wall. Reaching between their straining bodies, he managed to snag her jeans zipper and pull it down.
She let out a scream then, a primal sound of frustration. But hopefully Yousef would interpret it as something more akin to fear.
Zane shoved her jeans down around her knees and was privately relieved when the sturdy fabric tangled around her legs and slowed down her thrashing. He couldn’t help but notice she wore bikini underwear—also white cotton, but with a sassy little pink bow and white lace panels on each side that took the panties from utilitarian to freaking sexy.
Piper’s torso was golden and gorgeous. Her waist nipped in to a beautiful and feminine hourglass, and her stomach was flat and toned. Her thighs were muscular against his and as toned as the rest of her. He shoved his still-clothed thigh between hers and she froze reflexively, obviously galvanized by the sensation of sensually riding his thigh.
In any other circumstances, he would be so turned on he would hurt. But as it was, there wasn’t the least thing sexy about forcing himself on any woman. And positively not this woman.
An urge to just get this over with washed over him. He reached between their bodies and violently shoved her panties down her thighs. She jolted against him, letting out a gasp of shock and protest that sounded entirely real.
