by Kaylea Cross
Whatever they had injected him with was wearing off, but he was groggy as hell and his hands and feet were bound to the chair he was on. He was shirtless. They had removed the hood but he still couldn’t see anything.
Snippets of what had happened came back to him. The Taser. The sting of the needle. Being locked in the trunk.
Jesus, he was freezing, his entire body wracked with uncontrollable shivers. Did they have him in a damn freezer?
A door opened, letting in a tiny amount of light. Quiet footsteps sounded outside the room, then three silhouettes appeared, backlit in the doorway.
Brock sat up straight and steeled himself for what happened next, fighting the lingering fuzziness in his brain. But maybe it would be a blessing. Maybe it would help numb whatever they planned to do to him.
The blinding beam of a flashlight seared his retinas. He slammed his eyes shut and turned his face away from the light, but just as quickly forced them open and squinted at the man holding it. At first the image was blurry, then it slowly took form and came into focus.
His heart sank like a block of concrete.
Manny Nieto stood in front of him, flanked by two big men, one of them his head of security.
Nieto stepped forward and folded his arms across his chest. “Awake at last,” he said with only the barest trace of an accent. “Now you can answer my question. Where is my daughter?”
He was so fucked. His SERE training had taught him how to take a beating, but he wasn’t looking forward to that part, and he’d seen firsthand what these bastards did to their captives. His teeth clacked together despite every effort to stop shivering. He didn’t want these assholes to think he was afraid.
“S-safe in the U.S.” Where you’ll never get your filthy fucking hands on her again.
Nieto stared at him for a long moment, his expression and stance calm but his eyes fierce. An underground volcano ready to blow. “There’s not much in this world that is of any real value to me anymore, Agent Hamilton. But my daughter is the one thing I would take on hell itself to get back. Now. Where is she?”
“How the hell would I know? I’m not a fucking U.S. Marshal.” He didn’t know the WITSEC Safesite location, and even if he did, he wouldn’t tell this fuckwad where it was, not even under torture. Oceane and Tori were both there. He would rather die than jeopardize their safety in any way.
The man drew in a breath and released it on an impatient sigh. “I’m only going to give you one more chance to tell me what I need to know, and then this is going to get ugly for you. Where. Is. My. Daughter.”
Brock was pissed off enough that he wanted to stare into those cold eyes in defiance, but that was stupid. He settled for staring at the collar of Nieto’s shirt instead. There was nothing he could do to stop this next part. Nothing except bear it as best he could before they broke him. Because based on what Brock knew about them, they would keep going until they broke him.
His heart slammed against his sternum as the silence stretched out, part of him wishing they’d just get on with it already.
Nieto made a soft, scoffing sound. “Maybe you’ll feel differently after you spend some time alone with my associate here.” He said something in Spanish to the others, then spun around and walked out.
The head of security spoke to the other man in English, wanting Brock to hear it. “Don’t kill him. Yet.” He stopped at the door to flick a switch. A dim light flickered on overhead. Then he walked out too, shutting the steel door behind them with a clang that echoed up Brock’s spine.
His breathing increased as the remaining man stepped toward him. Big son of a bitch, around Brock’s size and build. He had the eyes of a killer, the gleam of anticipation in them telling Brock he fucking loved his work.
This is gonna suck. He held his body rigid, put on his game face and prayed he had the strength to take what was coming.
The man stepped around behind him. Brock’s senses were on full alert, every single sound amplified over the panting of his shallow breaths, his muscles shuddering in the freezing room.
Something metallic rattled behind him.
Chains.
A chill raced up his backbone, having nothing to do with the cold. Fuck, this was gonna be bad.
Something sliced through the bindings on his wrists. Before he even had a chance to bring his arms up, steel manacles clamped around his wrists. Ice cold. Heavy. Biting into his skin.
His heart stuttered. Broke a little as he thought of Tori in this same situation. Manacles around her wrists and ankles, cutting into her skin so deeply they had left scars. The one around her throat—
A soft clanking sound came from behind him. Rhythmic. Almost like something was being cranked or ratcheted.
The manacles tugged on his wrists, pulling them out to the sides. He resisted, but it was no use.
His arms began to rise. He immediately unlocked his fists to grip the chains, his fingers wrapping around the icy metal links.
Sucking in a deep breath, he fought to empty his mind as the mechanism raised his arms above shoulder level, extending them into the air in a V shape. Then his body began to lift from the chair as well.
He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, fought back the wave of fear assaulting him as the manacles bit into his wrists. In SERE school he’d been taught to vocalize his pain in order to get his captors to go easier on him. He didn’t bother now, because it wouldn’t do him any good.
It didn’t matter how much he screamed in here. He couldn’t give them the information they wanted, because he didn’t know it, so their only goal was to break him. Inflict as much pain as they could and then either kill him or leave him to die as a statement to the DEA and the U.S. government.
Taggart and the others will come for you.
Even if it was just his body. That brought him a small measure of comfort. They would find him and take him home, no matter what.
God, he was glad Tori was starting her new life in the morning. He didn’t want her to ever know what had happened to him, it would rip her wide open. She’d been through enough without adding that to her burden.
The chains continued to lift him.
His ass came off the chair. His feet bore his weight for a few more precious moments. He stretched up onto his toes to prolong it, buy himself a few more seconds before the pain hit, dreading the moment when his arms would bear the full brunt of his two-hundred-ten-pound frame.
He locked his jaw as his toes left the ground and tightened his grip on the chains. He was strong, but sparing his shoulders and arms was only a temporary reprieve. In this cold, within minutes the strength in his hands and forearms would be gone, leaving only his wrists and shoulders to hold his weight.
He held on as long as he could. Long past the moment when his hands and fingers froze to the metal and turned so numb he could no longer feel them. But finally, the inevitable happened.
The burn in his shoulders was immediate as his grip gave way, the freezing, unforgiving metal clamped around his wrists biting into his flesh as they held him prisoner. All the while the chain cranked higher, higher, raising him toward the ceiling. Dangling him a couple of feet off the floor.
His whole body shook in the cold, the shivers making the pain worse, the muscles in his shoulders and arms now stretched to the breaking point. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth to keep from making any sound, refusing to give this sadistic asshole the satisfaction.
The chain stopped moving. Brock swung back and forth a little, bound and helpless for whatever this asshole wanted to do to him. Terror and dread were like a dark tidal wave growing inside him, rising higher with every heartbeat. He choked it down. Used all his mental strength to make his mind go blank.
Go somewhere else in your head.
“I’ll be back in a while to get started on you,” the man said with a heavy accent, breaking through his concentration. “Don’t go anywhere.” Laughing under his breath, he paused to flick off the light before walking out, plunging Brock b
ack into total darkness.
The sound of the door closing echoed with terrifying finality, the darkness seeming to make the temperature drop another ten degrees.
Hanging there in complete blackness, Brock tipped his head back and prayed. His wrists and shoulders were on fire, the unforgiving metal cutting into his skin as gravity did its job and slowly began to rip his joints and muscles apart.
How long was he going to be held like this? Until he froze to death?
Desperate to escape the only way he could, he closed his eyes, cleared his mind and thought of the only person who could bring him a measure of comfort right now.
Tori. And if he could go back in time, he would have told her he loved her before walking out that door.
Chapter Fourteen
The muggy, tropical air hit Oceane as soon as the aircraft door opened, flooding her with a thousand bittersweet memories. After so many months, she was finally home.
Except this didn’t feel like home anymore. Not after everything that had happened, and especially not with her mother gone.
She followed one of her marshals down the metal staircase they had wheeled up beside the plane, with Victoria right behind her. Security was tight, a mix of DEA and Mexican military personnel on hand to ensure their safety, everyone heavily armed.
She prayed all of them were with the good guys in this scenario, and not planted here by her father’s network. Given what had happened to Brock, however, she wasn’t hopeful on that count.
Taggart was at the base of the stairs waiting for them, a powerful, commanding figure in camouflage tactical pants and a black T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame. “Good to see you both,” he said, shaking hands with her and Victoria. “Thanks for coming.”
“Any word on Brock?” Victoria asked, her voice urgent.
Oceane glanced at her. The question and worry on her friend’s face made it plain that something significant had happened between her and FAST Bravo’s team leader, and at this point Oceane figured Victoria didn’t care if everyone knew it. All she cared about was getting him out of this alive.
“A few tips, but nothing solid yet. No trace of the hostage takers. We traced Hamilton’s phone. Got a signal early on when he was first taken, but they must have disabled it soon after because there’s been nothing since. Mexican police have roadblocks up and they’re monitoring all airports, marinas, train and bus stations. CCTV footage located the getaway vehicle, but it was ditched and they transferred to a new one in a blind spot. Based on the intel we have, we think Hamilton is probably still somewhere in Veracruz city itself, or close by.”
Oceane’s heart sank. So much time had passed since he had been captured, and Veracruz itself was hardly small. How would they ever find him now?
“I’m taking you straight to HQ. I’ll bring you both up to speed on the latest during the drive there,” he said, gesturing to the SUV idling near the small terminal building.
She slid into the backseat with Victoria and a marshal, while Taggart got into the front passenger seat. Her heart leapt when she glanced up to see Gabe turning to look back at her from the driver’s seat.
“Hi,” she breathed, unable to hide her smile and relief. Had he driven Taggart here because he wanted to see her?
For the most part she was getting better at masking her emotions, except around him. He was always contained and hard to read, but now she knew there was far more going on under that calm surface, so she didn’t want to hide her feelings. She wanted him to know what he made her feel.
Protected. Alive. More female than she ever had in her life.
His pale blue eyes warmed, the barest hint of a smile tugging one side of his mouth up. “Hi. Flight okay?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Good.” He turned back around and put the vehicle into gear.
She fastened her seatbelt, still smiling a little. The entire flight down here she’d begun to question everything about her decision to do this. Knowing she might possibly save Brock’s life helped ease her panic. It didn’t matter how afraid she was, she had to do whatever she could to help him. Her life wasn’t in jeopardy with her father. Even if she was taken by him somehow, she could attempt an escape later.
Ten minutes later they arrived at the base where they had set up headquarters. Everything became far too real as she followed Taggart and Victoria to the main building. She hung back to walk beside Gabe, his solid presence helping to calm her nerves. If Taggart hadn’t been right there, she would have reached for Gabe’s hand to bolster her courage.
He glanced over at her, kept his voice low. “You doing okay?”
It felt good just to be beside him like this. “Yes.” Terrified she would screw something up and dreading the moment when she heard her father’s voice again, but otherwise not too bad. “This is going to work, right?”
“Sure as hell hope so.”
Headquarters was a hive of activity and noise. She faltered at the threshold, momentarily overwhelmed.
Gabe stepped forward and set a hand on her lower back, his touch warm, reassuring. “We’ve got your back,” he reminded her in a murmur, his fingers curling against her spine, the gesture protective, even a little bit possessive.
It calmed and centered her. Helped stem the tide of alarm threatening to overwhelm her.
Taking a deep breath, she walked over to where Taggart stood with Agent Rodriguez and a group of Mexican law enforcement officials. After introductions, she and Rodriguez translated back and forth for both sides as the taskforce laid out the potential plan they had devised during her transport. Everything they said made sense to her.
Taggart turned to her. “You ready to do this?”
She stole a glance at Gabe out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t said much during the discussion, but he’d been watching and listening carefully. If he had concerns about the plan, he would have said so. So that made her feel a little better.
“Yes,” she said to Taggart.
He nodded once. “Get her a phone,” he said to no one in particular.
One of the Mexican officials brought over a cell phone she assumed was secured with some kind of encryption and ushered her to a private room. Taggart followed, and so did Gabe.
Standing next to the desk when Taggart shut the door behind them, enveloping the four of them in blessed quiet, she shoved aside the anxiety swelling inside her. “What do I say?”
Taggart handed her a piece of paper with a number for the contact on it. “Tell him what we talked about in there. We need proof of life on Hamilton first, or there’s nothing further. Once we get that, we go from there,” he finished, his cryptic words sending a shiver down her spine.
In all honesty, the less she knew about the operational side of things, the easier this would be. She didn’t want to know what they had planned. Better for her to be totally ignorant of that part, so she couldn’t accidentally screw up by giving something away to her father or his men.
Staring at the number in her hand, Oceane drew in a deep breath. She prayed this would work, that Taggart and the team could somehow get a lock on the signal of the phone she was about to call.
Once they got proof of life, hopefully she could figure out a way to help them get the location where Brock was. If she could save him by doing this, then it would all be worth it, even if it meant never getting the answers from her father or the closure she was looking for.
She reached for the phone, heart pounding, palms clammy, aware of Gabe’s eyes on her from his position beside the door. But he couldn’t take this next step for her. She had to find the courage to face this on her own.
“Okay,” she murmured as she began dialing the number. “Let’s do this.”
****
Manny looked up from the latest spreadsheet from his accountant when David walked into the kitchen. His head of security smiled. “She’s here.”
Manny slapped the laptop shut and swiveled to face him, his heart beating faster. “In Mexico?”
He nodded. “Veracruz.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. I just got a heads up from Sanchez. She called the number we gave them. She’s with the DEA contingent.”
So fast. Incredible to think she was finally here, back where she belonged. He hadn’t spoken to her personally for security reasons. “And? What did she say?”
“She said she wants proof of life on Hamilton before we go any further with the negotiations. A video. That was it.”
Negotiations. He snorted in irritation. It infuriated and insulted him that he should have to negotiate to get his own daughter back. Was this Oceane’s demand, or the DEA’s? He would make them pay for turning her into their puppet.
It also angered him that she would make such a demand of him, dictate that he had to prove the enemy was still alive, even if he had been expecting something like this. But he’d been praying for this chance for so long, and his daughter had a soft heart. He could use that to his advantage.
“Get the video. Send it to them and name the place where I get to pick up my daughter. If they try to stall or pull anything, he dies, and my men attack their location to get her back.”
“Of course. I’ll call the men and alert them to what’s going on, get the video started. Once the proof is sent, you and I can go over everything, make sure we’ve covered all the contingencies before we hear back from the Americans. Also…”
“Yes?”
“Victoria Gomez is with her.”
Manny processed that in silence for a moment. “Why would they bring her down here?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got people tracking her movements, just in case we want to use her for something.”
“Good.” Manny dismissed him by turning back to the laptop, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. He opened it, a huge lump in his throat, the backs of his eyes burning.
His little girl. At last.
After all this time he was finally going to see her again, and hopefully begin the long process of reconciliation he’d been dreaming of these past months. It wasn’t going to be easy, but the most important things in life never came easy. Manny was used to battling for everything that mattered to him. Now he would fight for Oceane, the only thing pure left in his life. She was his future.
