Stryker (Books 1 & 2) (Atrox Security)

by J. C. Cliff

  Four men have been taking turns pummeling me into the stone wall, each acting as if I’m the best action they’ve had in a long damn time. Every nerve ending in my body screams for mercy, but there is none. The only mercy I have is to pass out, but even when I’m about to, Caleb douses me with cold water again.

  I shake my head of the excess water running down my face, gasping for precious air. I narrow my eyes on Caleb as he stands before me, asking for the hundredth time, “What is your business here?”

  The fuckers, they won’t break me; they can’t, and the men are growing more frustrated by the minute. My lips are sealed, and they will remain that way until my last breath.

  With my silence, Caleb steps forward again. “Have it your way,” he says gruffly.

  “Oomph.” Son of a bitch! Every cell in my body goes numb as another fisted blow plows into the center of my solar plexus. Winded from the punch to my gut, I can’t even utter a curse word.

  My eyes roll back in my head as I suck in a sharp breath. Going through this reminds me of my special forces training as if it were yesterday. I remember the shit we went through during a capture and torturing exercise. It was every bit as real as this, except for some reason, and maybe it's my age, the pain from the torture is a hundred times worse.

  My jaw is throbbing, and it feels like every follicle on the top of my head is throbbing. Men like Caleb just want information. I know their kind; he’ll wind up killing me in the end. I’m sure of it. As it stands, I’m most likely good as dead right now anyway. That is, unless by some miracle Hunter can secure us backup and put together a rescue all in one day, because I don’t think they plan on keeping me longer than that.

  It was past midnight last night when Quinn told us he called on every resource he knew of, and all reinforcements were either in the middle of their own hell, or too far away to get to us quickly. So it was decided Hunter and I were only supposed to gather as much information as we could by obtaining conversations and aerial images from the use of our drones. Our focus was on the main house, because that’s where Celia and Valerie’s trackers were revealed to be.

  We had spent the better part of the night moving at a snail’s pace, taking painstaking measures to get in as close as we could without being discovered. Needless to say, I wanted answers. Hunter and I split up, both of us keeping a safe distance from the compound, or so I thought.

  I curse myself for having been too distracted with Valerie and her fight with Celia. I became dumbstruck the second I saw her step outside. I didn’t expect her to surface like that. I was even more surprised for the show of contempt she had for Celia.

  Had I not been so absorbed in everything Valerie, there was a good chance I would have been aware of the enemy sneaking up on me. Another reason why getting emotionally involved with a target was a stupid move on my part. I have to ask myself if I would’ve done anything differently up until this point. I decide, no, I wouldn’t have.

  The only saving grace is that Hunter has all of the computer equipment, so none of that was confiscated by these men. He can continue to monitor everything, gathering evidence, but I don’t know what good that’s going to do, because cartels are not easily taken down, and I already know we are in way over our fucking heads.

  “Sir,” Caleb says in a respectful tone. I shake myself from my stupor and look up to find a well-dressed man looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “As you can see, we’ve worked him over real good, but he’s not talking. We can't get a damn thing out of him.” I’m wondering if I have brain damage, because either I’m looking at a ghost, or I’m face-to-face with Graham. I memorized that arrogant fuck’s photograph, simply because I hated him so much for taking Valerie from me.

  My head is spinning with questions, as Caleb continues to inform his boss, “Any and all of the high-tech equipment we confiscated from him appears to have been wiped clean.” I want to smile at that statement, but I don’t. I remain passive and thank God that Quinn knows what the fuck he’s doing when it comes to protecting our gadgets, computers, and intel. I’m sure he had all my shit wiped within thirty seconds of my capture.

  Graham and I are in a heated eye-to-eye silent combat. He’s not happy about me not giving up intel, and I’m not happy about him being alive. He, however, doesn’t know who I am, and he doesn’t know that I know who he is. Even though he stands before me all confident, as if he holds all the cards, I believe I might actually have the upper hand.

  Graham slips his hands into his neatly pressed dress pants, and rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek in thought. “Impressive,” he says, “a man after my own heart. Never rat out your own kind. I can respect that, but you have to know I can drag out this type of torture for a year solid if I want to. I know how to keep a man on the brink of death, and I also know how to make a man plead for it. You think about that,” he states arrogantly.

  “I have thought about that,” I tell him in a hoarse voice.

  He tips his head back and laughs. “Yes, I bet you have.” His eyes are full of false amusement. “You’re a smart one. The fact you found my compound in the Darian Gap earns you points, because no one has been able to get this close before, so congratulations. I have to say, however, you worked yourself in a tad too close, didn’t you? That wasn’t smart. The bottom line is you have some very intelligent help backing you, and I want to know who they are.”

  “I’m just a hired hand,” I tell him.

  “Oh, come now. Do you really think I'm that naïve?”

  “Just stating the facts.”

  “Graham?” a woman's voice calls out from God knows where in the depths of this hellhole. Her voice echoes through the cellblock walls. Graham’s entire body stiffens at the sound of his name being called. He probably thinks his identity was just now compromised, and he’s clearly pissed about that fact. He looks to who I'm assuming is his right-hand man, Caleb, and jerks his chin in the direction of the woman’s voice. “Fix that.”

  “Graham, are you down here?” The woman is much closer now, and I recognize that voice as Celia’s.

  Within seconds, I hear a scuffle out in the hallway, along with a few spoken curse words mumbled by Celia.

  “So, Graham?” I ask condescendingly, turning his attention back to me. His eyes narrow as I smugly smirk at him. “How about them guns?” I already know I'm a dead man, so I may as well fuck with him some. Hunter and I figured out in the middle of the night what the compound’s main operation was. We discovered an enormous shed tucked away in the thick walls of the jungle, via the drones. The drone we used to slip into the shed was no bigger than the size of a dove. With our night vision, we were able to see crates upon stacked crates of guns. We figured we hit the mother load of all gun cartels, but surprise, surprise—it's Graham’s cartel, and he's alive and fully operational.

  I can tell the bit of knowledge I threw at him pissed him off, because the muscles in his jaw tic. “You know nothing, but maybe you’ll be singing a different tune by tomorrow morning.” He motions to his men to clear out of the cell as he turns on his heel and leads the way out. “You think about that,” he says over his shoulder just before the sound of the iron-gated doorway slams shut. Then one of the men locks me in with the turn of a key. As if I could actually unshackle myself from this wall then open the damn cell door.

  Their heavy boots resound down the hallway then fade away, leaving me in utter silence. I know I won that round, but tomorrow will be a totally different story. I might not get so lucky, especially if Hunter can’t bring in reinforcements.

  I turn my head to the right and spit out a chunk of congealed blood mixed with saliva. It's going to be a long fucking day and a long fucking night being tied to this damn wall. My adrenaline begins to wane, and every muscle in my body starts to throb with pain. I close my eyes and breathe through the shooting stabs that seem to be everywhere all at once.

  In the quiet, I hear a small scuffle. It almost sounds like a ten-pound rat. It wouldn’t s
urprise me if it were one. No sooner do I dismiss the noise than I hear it again. I peel open my tired eyes and realize there's no rat. There’s somebody down here with me. I’m not alone.

  CHAPTER 43

  ~ Stryker ~

  “Hey?” I call out. “Who the fuck’s there?” I’m wondering if there's another prisoner down here in the dim and damp basement with me. The noise is gone as quickly as it came, and I wonder if it was my imagination. I’m pretty fucked-up right now, so it wouldn’t be impossible for me to imagine shit that isn’t there.

  My wrists and ankles are shackled, my limbs stretched out wide to all four corners of the universe, or so it feels. I don’t know why they gave me a moment’s reprieve from their torture, but I won’t complain about that. The fear is real, and even though I’m fucking terrified, I refuse to show it to them.

  I begin to think about Graham and his cartel. I wonder how long he’s had this grand operation of his in full swing. Talk about a well thought out strategy. The man staged his own death in order to escape the authorities, his wife collects on the insurance money while he continues to rake it in by selling illegal arms, and God knows what else.

  The quiet consumes me. I hate it. The stillness taunts me with my own thoughts. I lay my head against the hard cement wall and close my eyes, hoping like hell this isn’t the end of me. My breaths are heavy and labored, every inch of me screaming out in pain. It’s even more pronounced, now that I’m having an adrenaline crash.

  My mind is jumping all over the place, and I begin to think about Laine. I hadn’t thought about my sister once since I began chasing after Valerie and Celia. I’ve had even less time to grieve for her. I know I shouldn’t do this to myself, but I do it anyway. I start thinking of all the things I could’ve done differently for her. I even wonder if I could’ve truly prevented her early demise if I was more adamant about her seeing the appropriate doctors. In the back of my mind, I know I did all I could, especially since my hands were tied at every turn. But I still can’t help thinking I could’ve done more.

  I don’t know if I’ll even live to see tomorrow at this rate. I probably won’t ever get the chance to have a family of my own one day. I think of Valerie and her betrayal for the second time, having left me for Graham yet again. The bitterness eats a hole right through my heart, because let's face it, she and Celia both left the hotel willingly.

  I have zero clue what their catfight was about, but she was damn serious about gutting her best friend. No telling what went down between them, but one thing is for certain: she sure as shit isn’t rotting away in a damn torture cell like me. She didn’t look abused in the least. No, she came back to be with her fucking husband. I’m so filled with anger I pull at the heavy chains in vain, some small part of me hoping I can break free.

  The sound of someone moving around again catches my attention, and this time, I know my mind is not playing tricks on me. “Who's there, dammit?” I call out in a gruff voice, because I'm in a very pissed-off mood right now. I’m done playing games.

  I can barely see anything through the dim lighting, but a small figure emerges out from the dark shadows. Seeing the outline of a little boy takes me off guard. “I’m thinking this ain’t a good place for you to be, boy.”

  He studies me for a brief moment, unfazed by my warning. “Are you a bad man?” the boy asks inquisitively. He’s a brave little shit, I’ll give him that.

  “No, I’m not a bad man,” I quietly tell him on a sigh, suddenly exhausted. “I’m one of the good guys, if you can believe that.” The boy squats down in front of the bars and stares me down in silence. “What’s your name?”

  He straightens up and puts a smile on his face, before he proudly answers, “I’m James.”

  I raise my brows, a little surprised. That’s not a Spanish name. “You’ve got a good name, kid,” I tell him. “That’s my middle name. You got a middle name?”

  “Yep. It’s Turner.”

  My heart stops mid-beat, because fuck me, that's my last name. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I’m not going to tell the boy he’s got my name. “Well, that is a cool middle name,” I tell James. “Where are your parents?”

  “My mommy just got here from far, far away, but I can’t see her right now.” He shrugs, wearing a frown. “Daddy says she's not feeling good. I have to wait for her to feel better before I can see her,” he divulges in one breath.

  I can't even wrap my head around this shit right now. So this is Valerie’s son? He’s alive and well, just like Graham? “When was the last time you saw your mother?” I ask, needing to know the answer.

  He thinks for a moment, as if he’s adding numbers up in his head. “Twelve months, I think?” he questions himself with a small lilt to his voice.

  He hasn’t seen her for a full year? I’m turning this bit of information over and over in my head, when the little boy asks me, “What’s your name?” Shit, what do I tell him? I can’t tell him the truth. “Obi-Wan,” I blurt out.

  James laughs at me. “That’s a funny name.”

  “What, you never heard of me before?”

  He giggles harder, shaking his head. I grin at him, realizing he’s never seen Star Wars, or he’d know I was pulling his leg. I just shrug. “It’s a cool name. You’ll see.”

  The kid switches gears yet again, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he has severe ADD, because he’s bouncing around on subjects. “If you're not a bad man, why are you tied up?”

  “Because your daddy thinks I'm one of the bad guys, but I’m not.”

  “He don’t believe you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

  “No, James. He doesn’t believe me.” He shifts closer, pressing his cheeks between two of the metal bars to get a closer look at me, and then adds, “I believe you.” I half laugh at his bravado, but the movement in my ribs hurts like fuck. I groan in pain. “Why are you bald?” he randomly asks.

  God, I love how kids just blurt out blatant shit. “‘Cause I got tired of combing my hair.”

  The little boy chuckles again, and hearing that little laugh does my heart good, and it serves to shed a little light on my darkest hour.

  “You’re not a bad man,” he states, and as if saying it for the second time out loud makes it true in his mind.

  “That's because I'm not,” I assure him, “and I bet you didn't know I’m best friends with your mom.” Yeah, I'm a bastard. I’m going to play this card for everything I can. “But that’s our little secret.”

  The little boy gasps with excitement. “Really?” Then he narrows his eyes, as if maybe he doesn't believe me, so I decide to take it a step further and blow his mind.

  “Really. She talks about you all the time. She showed me the candle you got her last Christmas. You know, the purple one? She takes it with her everywhere she goes.” His eyes are big as saucers, as he eats up my every word. “She also has this really beautiful necklace that you gave her for her birthday, and she never takes it off. She never stops telling people how much she loves you.” If this doesn’t give me good guy credibility, nothing will, and if I’m not mistaken, I believe the little boy is about to cry some happy tears. “Has it really been a whole year since you’ve seen your mama?” I ask in a concerned voice.

  “Yeah. I miss her so bad.”

  “Wow, that must have been really, really hard not having her around.”

  “Yeah,” he replies stretching the word into one long syllable.

  I know damn sure these men plan on making my life miserable for the next twenty-four hours, if not longer, so I take a chance, and ask, “James, do you think I could have some water? I’m really thirsty.”

  He quickly nods his head. “Okay.” And before I can say another word, he’s gone.

  James has been a good distraction for me, but now that he’s gone, my entire body begins to throb in pain again. A few minutes later, I open my eyes at the sound of a key engaging into a metal lock. He actually came back. Being so young, I thought he’d get sidet
racked.

  James pushes open the cell door and walks in with a purpose, showing no fear. His courage holds me speechless.

  He stops before me, looking at me as if he’s perplexed. “How you gonna drink it?”

  “That’s a mighty good question. I’m too tall for you to hold it up for me to drink.”

  He scratches his head and looks up at me, concern etched on his face. “Ohh, you bleedin’ a lot,” he says, his little voice troubled. His forehead wrinkles. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yes, very badly,” I try to answer without cussing. Little James doesn’t look happy about my predicament. He sets down the bottle of water, turns around, and leaves without a word.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper to no one, and drop my head back against the concrete wall, closing my eyes. I guess it was too much to ask of a little boy.

  I’m in disbelief when he not only comes back less than a minute later, but he came back with a folded-up metal chair. He’s got a serious look of consternation on his face as he wrestles with the chair, unfolding it right beside me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have to take care of Mommy’s friend,” he says as if I just asked him a stupid question. He stands himself up on the chair, reaches his little hand into his pocket, and pulls out another key. What the ever-loving hell?

  “How’d you get that?” I’m totally dumbstruck from the cleverness this kid has all the way to his show of bravery.

  “I know where Daddy keeps all his keys,” he says matter-of-factly. His tongue is caught between his teeth as he reaches upward in concentration, trying to free me of the metal cuffs. I can’t believe this shit. Once he has me free of the chains, I slide down to the floor, stifling the long moan that wants to surface from moving every bruised limb in my body.