by Maya Banks
Garrett shoved her over and turned so that the blow landed on his shoulder. “Stay down and out of his way,” he ordered.
Not wanting Garrett to suffer anymore, she huddled in the seat and remained silent as they bounced recklessly down the road. It was at least another hour before they came to a stop. The headlights slashed over a hacienda-style house with an iron gate. After a moment, the gate swung open and the vehicles drove the short distance to a circular drive in front of the house.
Again, the back doors opened and Sarah found herself hauled out. Garrett fared no better, and the men took it upon themselves to land a few more blows as they herded Garrett toward the front door.
She was sick with fear and fury. He couldn’t defend himself with his hands cuffed behind his back and the bastards were taking full advantage.
“Stop it!” she screamed when at the steps, one of the men slammed his baton viciously into Garrett’s back.
Garrett’s knees buckled and he went down on one knee. He staggered back up and pinned her with his ferocious stare. “Damn it, Sarah, you promised me.”
She bit her lip to keep the sob from welling out.
She was dragged through the front room and unceremoniously shoved into a room in the back that had bars over the window and a cement floor. It was, for all practical purposes, a jail cell. A ratty mattress lined one wall and in the center was what looked to be an old bloodstain.
Oh God, what hell had they stumbled into?
A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling and the man reached up and smashed it with his baton, plunging the room into darkness. She went cold. Ice invaded her veins as he trailed his fingers up her arm.
Fear. Panic. Horrible, unending shame. Memories crowded her mind until she wanted to scream them away.
She would die before she let another man take from her what she wasn’t willing to give.
To her surprise, the man stepped away, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. Then he simply left and closed the door behind him.
She waited a few moments and flew to the door, testing the knob. It didn’t budge, not that expected it to. She stared around, her eyes adjusting somewhat to the dark. Only a narrow beam shone from underneath the door, and it wasn’t enough to make out much.
A light from outside cast just enough illumination through the window that she could make out her surroundings. Barely.
She began to pace back and forth, her mind short-circuiting with all that had happened. She didn’t understand any of it. And she was scared out of her mind for Garrett.
Where had they taken him? What were they doing? What did they want?
She heard raised voices in Spanish and then in broken English. She strained to hear. Something. Anything. She listened for Garrett but never heard him utter a word. She jumped when she heard a crash. It sounded like a chair being knocked over to the floor.
Several long minutes elapsed. Silence. No voices.
Then the low murmur of voices again. She pressed her cheek to the filthy door listening and straining.
A sound filtered through from the next room and she froze. She didn’t even breathe as a sick knot grew in her stomach. It sounded like ... Oh God, there it was again.
It was the unmistakable sound of an object hitting flesh.
It was slow and methodical. Rhythmic almost. Garrett never made a sound and the beating only got louder and more forceful. She covered her ears, trying to shut out the horrible reality. Numb to her toes, she shuffled to the far side of the room, wanting nothing to do with the bloodstained mattress.
Her eyes stung and watered as the sound echoed again, and she slid down the wall, her knees hunched to her chest. She hadn’t cried for herself. She couldn’t. But when she heard Garrett’s muffled sound of pain—the first noise he’d made at all—she bowed her head as the sobs welled in her throat. And she cried.
CHAPTER 24
WHEN the door opened, the flash of light blinded Sarah. She had no idea the passage of time, only that each minute that had passed had seemed an eternity. Her face was ravaged and raw, her eyes swollen. She scrambled to her feet as Garrett was shoved into the room.
The door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room into temporary darkness once more.
She rushed forward just as Garrett went to his knees. He put one hand down to brace himself and clutched his abdomen with his other.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. “Garrett, are you okay?”
She dropped down and wrapped her arms around him, holding on to him so he didn’t fall completely down. His breaths came in low pain-filled rasps and he knelt there, leaning into her for a long moment.
“What did they do? Why did they do this?”
She could barely get the words out around her sobs.
“I’m okay,” he said in a low voice. “Give me a minute.”
She could feel his battle as he struggled for control. Then slowly he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer into him. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and sucked in long, steadying breaths.
She ran her hands over his back and up his sides, and then she pulled away to slide her fingers over his face and down his chest, feeling for blood or swelling. When she reached his mouth, her fingers came away slick with blood and her heart leapt.
“You’re bleeding. Where else are you hurt? What did they do to you?”
“It’s not too bad. Help me over to the mattress.”
When she tried to rise supporting him, her knees buckled but she jammed one foot back to brace herself and willed herself not to stagger under his weight. By sheer determination, she managed to maneuver him over to where the bloodstained mattress lay, and her spirits plummeted even more as she realized that this wasn’t the first time someone had been beaten and left in this room.
He went down onto the thin mattress, which did little to shield him from the hardness of the floor. She tried to help him lie down, but he put a hand down to block her effort.
“Don’t. Let me do it. Only hurts when I try to move too fast.”
She backed hastily away, not wanting to add to his discomfort. When he was settled on his side, she pushed forward again and knelt over him, unsure of what to do or even what she could do. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.
“What did they do?” she whispered again.
“Beat the hell out of me,” he gritted out. “Mostly ribs. Hurts like hell to breathe. Everything else is okay though. Nothing broken.”
Tears gathered in her eyes again and she leaned down, gently wrapping her arms around him. She didn’t know what else to do—she wanted to offer comfort if nothing else.
He raised his hand and brushed it over her cheek, wiping at the wetness there. “Ah, Sarah, don’t cry for me, honey. I’ve been in worse situations. This is nothing. Believe me.”
She didn’t want to know about those other situations. She hadn’t lived through those with him. She’d lived through the sounds of his beating and knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. Rage built in her veins until her blood simmered and boiled like a volcano about to erupt.
“Those bastards,” she spat. “Those goddamn bastards. Why did they do this? What do they want?”
His hand absently stroked through her hair, offering her comfort, and that only shamed her all the more. She hadn’t been the one subjected to such brutality. She caught his hand and held it to her cheek, rubbing against his palm.
“Information,” he said. “They aren’t police. Not in an official capacity, although they probably have a pretty damn tight stranglehold on this part of the region. They want money. Want to know who I am and what potential threat I pose to them. They want ransom. These roadblocks are routine in some of the less-developed areas where the law is a nebulous being and left up to the ones doing the enforcing.”
“What do we do?” she whispered.
“We wait,” he said simply. “And in the meantime, you do nothing, and I mean nothing to draw their i
re. You become invisible and if they question you, you cooperate. You do whatever it is you have to do to survive. I’ll get us out of this, I swear.”
She could feel his gaze burning into her even though the darkness prevented her from seeing much more than the outline of his face. He caressed her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin as she continued to rub against his palm. She knew what he was telling her. Don’t fight. Even if it came to the worst. And he knew what he was asking because he already knew what she’d endured.
It was telling that even now when he was so beaten that his strength held them both up. It bled into her soul and firmed her resolve. If he could endure so much, then so could she.
“You survive, Sarah. Let me take the heat. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before and likely will again. My job takes me into bad situations all the time. It’s knowledge I live with on a daily basis. Have faith that I can endure and don’t react to anything they do to me.”
Hot tears slipped over his fingers. “But this time ... this time you’re here because of me.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
He slipped his hand around her nape and tugged her down until his lips touched hers. It was just a gentle brush and he was careful to keep the side of his mouth that was bleeding from her lips.
“Come here,” he urged as he pulled her down farther.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she protested.
“You won’t. Lie next to me. Let me hold you.”
“No,” she said. “I’ll hold you.”
She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “I won’t argue one bit. Come hold me then.”
Carefully she stretched out beside him, mindful of the injuries to his ribs. Only when he coaxed her closer, did she put herself flush against his body. Then she curled her arm over his waist and nuzzled her cheek against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to offer. Her heart ached and she was so damn angry that she wanted to rage against the bastards who’d done this. She’d doubted that she would have the wherewithal to shoot a person when she’d procured the pistol, but now she knew without a doubt that she could. Without hesitation.
Hate was an emotion that she’d done without for most of her life. She hated Allen Cross and his bastard brother as much as she imagined ever hating anyone, but here and now, her anger was a terrible, ugly thing. It consumed her and with it came a hatred she didn’t think she was capable of.
“Shhh,” he said against her hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“What now?” she asked, infusing strength into her voice. She didn’t want to come across as a whiny twit. She wanted to sound positive and as confident as he did. The least she could do was offer whatever support she could.
“They’ll probably leave us here. No food or water. Try to wear me down. Then they’ll probably take another shot at me. If that doesn’t work, they’ll use you.”
Despite her resolve not to show weakness, she couldn’t control the shiver that racked her body.
“They’re not going to get that far. My team will come for us, Sarah. I just have to buy us enough time for them to get here. That’s why I want you to keep your head down. They will come for us. You can help me by doing as I ask you.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He squeezed her a little and then tensed in pain. She raised her head and found his lips there in the dark. She didn’t care about the blood. All she cared about was finding him, showing him her love. And maybe give him something of herself when he’d already given so much to her.
Love.
It was nothing like the movies or books. No big lightning bolt from the sky where she instantaneously discovered she’d fallen in love. As if it were something random, like winning the lottery or a momentary high caused by hormones.
Maybe she’d started falling the day he saved her on the island. Or when he left her books with wine and chocolate on her porch. Or maybe it was his unwavering devotion to keeping her safe.
What she knew was that he was a good man, the kind she’d always dreamed of having. Loyal and protective. Willing to sacrifice for her. But love also meant sacrificing for him, and no matter her promise, she could not and would not go down without a fight. She wouldn’t allow him to suffer endlessly while they waited for rescue.
And what she knew was that she had fallen and was still falling for the badass with the big heart and gentle soul.
She whispered the words in her mind, savoring them as she rested in his arms. Now wasn’t the time for emotional outbursts, but when they were safe—and they would be because she believed him without reservation—then she’d tell him what she thought about the man he was. The man she wanted.
And if he walked away, she’d never have any regrets. Love was a gift, but it was up to the recipient to accept and cherish or to reject the offering. All she could do was give unreservedly. And for the first time since her assault, she realized that she could give something she’d never thought to give again. Her trust and her love.
CHAPTER 25
“SON of a bitch. Son of a bitch!” Donovan exclaimed.
He got up from the desk and hit the floor at a dead run. He left the war room and sprinted over to the house. He burst into the living room, where Sophie was feeding Charlotte. Sam was sprawled on the couch beside her and looked up in alarm when he saw Donovan.
Donovan didn’t waste time trying to preserve Sophie’s modesty. Nor did he bother trying to hold back so as not to frighten her. “We’ve got a situation.”
Sam was on his feet in an instant. Sophie’s eyes widened in alarm and the baby let out a mewl of protest.
“Garrett?” she asked fearfully.
“His locater was activated several hours ago,” Donovan said to Sam.
“Why the hell didn’t we know until now?” Sam demanded.
“Fuck if I know,” Donovan bit out. “Signal may have been interrupted. Maybe it was the damn satellite. But the time stamp was during the night.”
“What does that mean?” Sophie asked. “Is he in trouble?”
Sam gave a short nod. Then his expression softened as he looked at his wife and child. “He wouldn’t have activated unless he was in trouble and needed help. It’s our SOS system. It means he’s down or in deep shit.”
“Go,” she said. “He needs you. I’ll be fine. I have Marlene and Rachel.”
Sam only hesitated a brief moment before leaning down to kiss Sophie and then Charlotte.
“Bring him home, Sam,” she said in an urgent voice.
“I will, baby. I promise.”
Donovan had already turned and ran back toward the war room with Sam on his heels.
“Rio will be closest. I’ll reroute Steele and his team from Alaska, but we’ll get there first after Rio,” Donovan said. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with but I’m going to assume the worst and pull every available man to get the hell down there.”
While Donovan hailed Steele and gave him the order to pull out, Sam picked up the phone and punched in a number. A few moments later, he said, “Ethan, Garrett’s in trouble. We need you.”
Donovan was already opening the gun locker. He pulled out an array of weapons and tossed two rifles in Sam’s direction. When they had their gear packed, they hustled out to the truck.
“I’ll drive. We’ll swing by to get Ethan and then head to the jet. You raise Rio and give him the coordinates,” Sam said.
The drive was silent, but Donovan knew Sam was as worried as he was. And Donovan blamed himself. He should have put a team with Garrett from day one. When he smelled a rat, he put Rio and Steele in place but it was too little, too late. He should have hog-tied Garrett to a chair if necessary to make sure he didn’t go to Mexico alone.
It was always the cake jobs that went all to shit.
GARRETT lay with Sarah in his arms listening to the quiet rhythm of her sleep. He’d shamelessly lied to her about the condition he was in. Not that he was ready for
a pine box, but his ribs hurt like a bitch, and he hadn’t been able to sleep for the discomfort.
But he hadn’t wanted to scare her any more than she already was. He was damn proud of her for not losing it completely. She was scared witless, but she was also one pissed-off woman. It was the pissed-off part that worried him.
Pissed-off women were unpredictable.
He’d lost sense of time but he figured it ought to be daylight soon. Sarah had slipped into an uneasy sleep during the night and when she stirred, he’d soothed and quieted her as much for her peace of mind as to prevent her from moving too much against his ribs.
He hoped to hell he’d told her the truth about what their captors would do. Again there was that whole predictability factor at work. And while it made sense that they’d leave them to worry and wonder over their fate, wear them down, they’d already proved what stupid sons of bitches they were. He didn’t have a whole lot of faith in their intelligence.
He hadn’t fought them, which rankled. He’d meekly gone along, like some lamb to a slaughter, because he hadn’t wanted to risk anything happening to Sarah. If it had been him alone, he would have kicked some serious ass and enjoyed every minute of it. But Sarah was with him, and he’d die before allowing any harm to come to her.
His growing discomfort signaled a need to shift positions, but he didn’t want to wake Sarah. She’d finally settled into a more peaceful rhythm and he liked the sensation of her warm breath on his neck.
She’d kissed him the night before. The first time she’d initiated any intimacy between them. It was soft and so damn sweet he’d been able to forget the pain for that barest moment when her mouth had met his.
When he could stand the position no longer, he tried to edge to the side so he could turn more fully onto his back. She came awake instantly, her head shooting off his shoulder. She leaned over him, her hair falling onto his chest as she stared down at him, concern blazing in her eyes.
“Are you okay? Are you hurting?”
