Prisoner Mine

by Megan Mitcham

  25

  “I venture we all have battle scars. Some of us wear them on the outside, others only on the inside.”

  “Yes, we do,” Greer agreed.

  An electric current of rage ran on a closed circuit in the man’s light gaze, gaining amperage with each pass.

  She took a step backward, but tried to distract from it. “Is Zeke okay?”

  “Zeke Slaughter?”

  Every receptor in Greer’s body pinged. “Yes.”

  “He won’t be. Not when he finds the woman he loves trussed up and ready to explode like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.”

  Xavier stepped forward.

  Greer countered the move with a retreating step. Her heel landed unevenly on the wheel of the BMW. “Who are you?”

  “You haven’t heard of me, but maybe you have heard of my son. Your precious Zeke killed him. Zeke and his sister, Khani.”

  He lunged. His mangled hand grabbed her throat in a flash and clamped the breath from her esophagus.

  Greer wheezed her response, but it was lost in the man’s punishing grip.

  “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” His laugh echoed from far away.

  She refused to struggle. Even old and disabled, the man outweighed her by 150 pounds or more. Her brain needed oxygen to function, but it needed to function to get oxygen.

  Greer slipped her fingers into her front pocket.

  “All right, I’ll let you have your say. You’re not the cunt I want to kill anyway.” His grip eased ever so slightly.

  Though she tried to inhale calmly, her body wracked and hacked with abandon. It was all she could do to keep her hand inside her pocket. Xavier’s grip on her neck actually helped keep her balanced.

  “We don’t have all day.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. “Actually, we have quite a few hours.”

  Air wheezed into her lungs. She held it there and gathered her courage. “Your son deserved it.”

  The second his hand clamped, Greer opened the small blade. She rammed it into Xavier’s exposed tricep and shoved with all her might.

  One hand flew to his arm. His grip faltered.

  Greer struck his wrist high and hard. His hold broke. She turned and used the side view mirror to propel herself.

  Her gaze centered on the door. If she could just get to her gun…

  Loose gravel slipped beneath her boots, pitching her forward.

  A bulldozer rammed her from behind. Jagged pebbles and rock stabbed into her palms and knees. Unforgiving hands crawled up her bare skin. He flipped her with what seemed like barely controlled rage. Hot breath hit her face.

  “I’m going to fuck you and make him watch.”

  Greer knew he meant it. She fought the urge to flail and kick.

  “You might like it.”

  She jerked her free knee high, catching the protruding knife.

  His scream lit the valley. A mangled fist arched high in the sky. His weight pinned her arms. She braced for the blow.

  26

  “If I don't slow down and your line gets tangled in the carabiner, I’ll drag your ass through the trees until we have to cut you loose. I’m not letting your reckless hide take us down,” the Blackhawk pilot explained through the HELO’s communication system.

  “I’m not planning to use the clip.” Zeke yanked the hatch wide until it clicked into place.

  “Are you planning to fall to your death?” The flight crewman nearest him, Eton, peered out to the tops of the dense forest.

  “No. But I plan on killing someone shortly.”

  “Hope you get the chance.” Eton double checked the clip on the ceiling of the helicopter.

  “It’ll only take me two minutes more to land this bird,” the pilot said.

  “I don’t have two minutes, and if I did, I don’t know what kind of traps this son of a bitch has set.”

  Eton took the headphones Zeke offered him and followed him to the door. The wind from the propellers bent the tops of the pines and oaks under its hailing force.

  “Good luck, man.”

  Zeke needed all the luck he could get, and then some. He couldn’t seem to tap the breaks. He’d ignored Hawk’s requests to think it through, plan it out, or even wait until some of her agents could accompany him. Once again he hoped it wasn’t to his detriment…or Greer’s.

  Both feet dangled in the breeze. His hands clenched the rope. Zeke waited for the calm to come, but his heart assaulted his sternum with unyielding beats. The cabin entered his field of vision. An ache clamped his chest and at the same time threatened to rip it wide open.

  “Go,” Eton barked.

  He’d already launched off the platform into nothingness. The man’s order faded into the whir of wind and the cacophony of his heartbeat.

  Rope whizzed through Zeke’s hands, sheering off layers of callouses. He didn’t hold tighter. If anything he loosened his grip, descending like a bomb. The small house grew bigger and bigger, until Zeke thought he might run across the roof or at least crash through it. He held tight for a spit second, and then dropped. Free-fall ushered him to the ground. Without the cumbersome spreader and AK, he tucked into a ball and rolled to a stop twenty feet from the front door.

  Zeke ran headlong for it, looking for trip wires and mines the best he could, aware he might be incinerated by a blast before he noticed the trigger.

  Xavier wouldn’t take him out now. He’d want Khani first. The logic wasn’t foolproof, but it was all he had.

  He barreled through the front door with his Glock drawn.

  Wood splintered and skid across the floor. A tiny shard bumped into Greer’s big toe. Blood smeared the top of her feet and the ropes binding her ankles to the kitchen chair. It dotted her wide-spread porcelain legs. Taut knots laced her naked torso and barred her arms behind her back.

  Dry, dirt-outlined tear tracks streaked her cheeks. But not a hint of moisture clouded her wide gaze as it bounced from him to Filipov senior and back again.

  An all too familiar necklace graced the long column of Greer’s quivering neck. A rusty green grenade hung at the end by its pin and four fat fingers gripped the wide oval so completely it nearly disappeared in the scared flesh.

  Filipov's son had worn one around his neck like a badge of courage. The thing had swung back and forth in front of Zeke’s nose while Grisha Junior exercised his futile rage on Zeke’s ribs. He remembered the crunch of the ice under the man’s boots. He remembered the numb shivers that wracked his body as the Alaskan chill seeped through his knees and took hold in his blood. He remembered the deafening explosion that rocked the cabin Grisha and his sister had been inside. He remembered the chaotic fear of thinking her dead.

  Zeke held Greer’s gaze.

  Something inside him broke away. It soothed his long held guilt. It shattered the last pieces of his reserve. It revealed a future he never knew he wanted.

  Now that he’d seen it, he’d be dead before he’d let anyone take it away.

  “I knew you would save her.” The rust in the old man’s voice matched the relic of a weapon in his heavy fist.

  Since he’d walked inside, Zeke actually looked at the man who threatened his future. Chalk white lips matched the color of his thick hair. He’d never met the man, but his mug shots showed a ruddy complexion that now drained into puddles onto the oak floor. Blood coated the bottom left portion of his shirt and dripped in a steady beat onto his soaked khakis.

  Despite his leak, a sinister sneer contorted the man’s lined face. “It was almost too easy to trap you. A little tracker in the skin and here we are.” His dazed blue eyes drifted to a bleeding hole in Greer’s forearm, and then to a pill-sized tracker on the ground beside her.

  “I thought you might save Derrick too. I turned him while he worked at the warehouse.” Xavier shrugged. A grimace revealed the effort it cost him. “People say I’d never hurt someone I love. That’s a lie.” He hissed. “It’s about finding their price. Everyone has a price, even you, Slaughter.”


  Xavier swayed, and then shuffled to the side.

  Zeke’s cross-bow strung muscles tensed impossibly farther.

  The man regained his footing. “Don’t worry. I have to hang on yet. You see, I don’t want to hurt Greer. I want you and your sister. I’m willing to make a trade.” His mostly nub hand caressed the side of Greer’s face, and then down over her collar bone.

  “Stop.” Zeke warned.

  “There’s one way to make me. I’ll trade your lover for your sister.”

  27

  Greer’s head shook before the vile words ever left Xavier’s mouth. She’d known she was the bait from the moment she realized the man hadn’t come to her rescue. Khani, Z’s sister, was the only person he had in this world. The only one he loved. She loved him enough not to make him choose between them. She loved him enough to sacrifice everything.

  It wasn’t like Xavier would actually let her leave anyway. If Khani showed up, Greer would get a bullet in the head, a knife in the gut, or fracture into a thousand pieces with the rest of them. This wouldn't turn out. Not for any of them.

  Xavier was as good as dead anyway. When she’d come to—stripped and tied to the chair—he’d sat across from her, holding pressure to his arterial nick. The injury was a blessing and a curse. He hadn’t had the strength to rape her or even touch her overly much. At the same token, what little will he had siphoned off him like rain water.

  The moment he finally dropped, she’d go too. Z could save himself, as long as he didn’t come any farther into the cabin.

  Panic bubbled up. The ropes bit into her flesh. Still she jerked and twisted her wrists and ankles. The last two hours of fighting hadn’t helped, but she’d be dead before she stopped.

  “Greer.” Zeke’s voice called across the room. The utterly calm tone warmed her from the inside out.

  Her gaze found his. Xavier jerked her head to the side, but his mangled hand didn’t have the force necessary to turn her away from Z’s quiet grey eyes. Truly, the collected serenity in his usually tumultuous gaze stole her breath.

  “Awe. Isn’t that sweet. The lamb fell in love with the wolf.” Xavier shoved her head. A jarring thunk danced in her skull.

  Again she didn’t look away from Z. If this was the end, she wanted to see him.

  Her defiance incited the old man. His two fingers twined in her hair and yanked. Greer dug in, even as her scalp stung and roots gave way. She trained her gaze on Z.

  The lips that had brought her rage, fulfillment, and love quirked into a wide smile. Hers dropped into a wide gape. Trust me, Z mouthed.

  “Yes, she did and she does.” Greer smiled.

  “What a pity.” Xavier sneered. “He doesn’t love you. He can’t love you.”

  “Yes, he does,” Z barked.

  A lone tear dropped off Greer’s eyelash.

  Xavier jerked and turned to Z with a loose jaw and drawn brow.

  Sparks spit from the barrel of Z’s Glock. The gun coiled and kicked another bullet, and then another.

  They landed in a tight spread on Xavier’s chest.

  Before Greer could rejoice in the declaration of Z’s love or the death of the man who’d tormented her, he lurched away.

  The thin chain tightened around her neck. “Run!”

  Z ran. His legs already stretched wide and contracted with speed reserved for four legged animals and olympians. Only he ran in the wrong direction.

  Each stride gobbled the distance between them. Each breadth brought him closer to danger.

  Xavier’s knees hit the floor. He collapsed face first onto the cold wood. The pin snapped from the grenade.

  “No.” Greer reached to catch the live explosive. Her arms didn’t move.

  A cold prick slapped her chest. The empty pin of wire weighted her more than the grenade.

  When the thick metal crashed to the floor Greer flinched, tearing at her raw skin.

  Z slid on his knees. He caught the grenade on a bounce. One arm lifted Xavier’s shoulder. The other stuffed the explosive under the corpse.

  It wouldn't be enough.

  The muscles in Z’s exposed neck and arms knitted. He lunged. Her chin met his chest with a hard knock. The icy floor disappeared beneath her toes. Z was up and running. Two strides and he slowed.

  No. Farther. They were too close.

  The cold intensified at her back. A bright white wall hit her right shoulder. Not a wall. A refrigerator. Could Z fit behind the shield with her in this chair?

  Detonation ceased her thoughts.

  28

  The buzzing whined wide and then honed to a sharp point. Zeke kicked the refrigerator door off his back. Jagged stars shimmied in his periphery. He shook them away, managing to replace them with a lancing headache. His vision blurred. A few blinks brought the screen of dust, curtaining the cabin into focus, and his sweet Greer.

  Blood trickled from her nose. Long, matted lashes rested soundly on her bruised cheek. Her head lolled back, pointing her chin toward the ceiling. Her lips parted in the slow signature breathing of the unconscious. But she was breathing.

  Zeke peeled himself from around her, straightened the chair to all fours, and heaved off his knees. The refrigerator door hung lopsided with its broken top hinge, giving him a straight line view to the mangled remnants of Xavier Grisha Filipov, senior.

  When his gaze wandered over Greer’s naked, bound form he wanted to kill the man all over again. He yanked the knife from the small of his back. The ropes were so tight he wouldn’t chance wedging the blade between them and her skin. He sliced at the fibers from underneath the chair.

  She’d thrashed against the bindings so hard it gouged her tender flesh. Zeke’s stomach churned. His hands shook. His hands never shook. He tightened his grip on the blade and freed her ankles, torso, arms, and wrists. She slumped forward. The suppleness of her body pillowed against his chest.

  “I shouldn't have left you.” The whispered words blew whisps of her hair. He sheathed his knife and breathed her into his soul.

  The whop, whop of helicopter blades vibrated the cabin. It sounded far away in his abused eardrum, but it wasn’t.

  Through the busted out window Zeke watched the Base Branch HELO descend on the uneven gravel drive. He cradled Greer against his chest, covered as much of her as he could with his arms, and bolted for the Blackhawk.

  To the men’s credit—or his half-hinged scowl—they didn’t gawk at the naked woman—at his naked woman. He sprinted across the lawn and carried her into the belly of the war plane. The moment his feet met metal they lifted off.

  Eton averted his black eyes and busied his hands, lowering the stretcher from the wall. The other member of the flight crew shoved headphones onto his ears, opened a wool blanket, and secured it around them with an upturned chin.

  “What’s her condition?” The pilot’s voice crackled over the air waves.

  His fucking lips moved like brittle clay. “Solid pulse and respiration. Unconscious. The nearest hospital.”

  “We’re ten minutes out, but it’s civilian. Closest military hospital is twenty-three minutes away.”

  “Civ—” A small, cold hand on his days’ old scruff cut him off.

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital.” Greer offered him a smile too brilliant for their environment.

  His cheeks knotted into the goofiest grin. “You look like you’ve been through battle.”

  “I have been,” she agreed.

  “Why do you look so damn happy about it?” He gently lowered his forehead to hers.

  “I won.” She shifted his chin down. Her lips molded to his.

  “Sir?” Eton knelt next to the cot with his box of first aid supplies opened by his knees. The other crewman, Bradfield, hooked an IV to the low metal peg and unkinked the length of tubing.

  Greer’s hand dropped from his face to the front of his shirt. She bunched the collar in her fist and yanked him down for a wearing kiss. “Don’t put me on the stretcher. I’m fine right here. Just a
few cuts and bruises. No big deal.”

  “Kiss me all you want. You’re still going to the hospital.”

  “Ruthless.” She grinned against his lips.

  Zeke shook his head to the men. “Thank you.”

  They snickered while they pulled down seats and reclined into them. One of them said, “Whipped.”

  He braced his back against the cockpit wall, spread his legs wide, and nestled Greer onto his lap, not caring one damn bit what they thought.

  “Where to?” the pilot asked.

  “Take us to Basement Underground,” Zeke said.

  “Sir, I’m ordered to deny your request. We have a civilian on board,” the pilot countered.

  “She’s not a civilian. She’s a marine, the woman who dethroned Stockton, and I’ll keep her occupied on approach. Clear it with Hawk and take us to the Underground.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How exactly are you going to occupy me?” Greer’s blue gaze rolled toward the men across from them. “We do have company.”

  “I’m going to bandage your wrists and ankles.” He kissed the end of her nose.

  “That doesn’t sound like fun.” Her lips plumped into a pout.

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Oh yeah?” A hint of sadness crept into her bright gaze. It slid to his neck, and then drifted out the dull cargo window.

  Zeke pulled the headphones from his ears. “Greer?”

  “Filipov’s dead?”

  “Yes.” Lord, he sounded like a mythical forest creature.

  “The Stas?”

  “Being dismantled.”

  “What about US Elite?”

  “The same.”

  She nodded. “My uncle?”

  “Is discovering the joys of captivity and intensive interrogation.”

  “Torture?”

  He shrugged.

  “What about Raisa?”

  Finally, he could impart some good news. “Someone’s being sent to pick her up.”

  “Someone?” Her brows and red cheeks widened.

  “Someone trusted with several countries’ security secrets. I think he can deal with an orphaned Russian girl.”