Hell Or High Water (Lost and Found, Inc.)

by Jerrie Alexander

  Nate understood Tyrell’s concern, but Jake had been adamant. These two bastards were Walsh’s go-to buyers when a female was too hard to sell because of bad behavior. Sick motherfuckers should be tortured themselves.

  Holly handed Nate a cup of fresh coffee. Without thinking, he drank. The hot liquid burned the back of his throat. For some odd reason, experiencing a little pain was comforting.

  What was Kaycie enduring right this second? Was she suffering? Frightened? His fingers flexed. Palms itched. The gun felt good in his hand.

  “You’re sure we shouldn’t wait for the cops?” Marcus asked.

  “Hell, no. I’m not waiting for anybody. They’d want to put a plan together while they tried to get a warrant. I’m not holding their hands. You and Marcus take Duncan, he’s the closest. I’ll take Stephens.”

  Tyrell slid on his old-fashioned shoulder harness. A leftover from his bodyguard days. “Let’s get to it.”

  Nate was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Adrenaline pumped through his veins at supersonic speeds as he slid the Glock into his empty holster.

  “This is right. I feel it.” He turned to Holly. “I owe you. Big. I won’t forget everything you’ve done.”

  “Just bring Kay home.”

  Nate stuffed a piece of paper in Holly’s hand. “Give us forty-five minutes then call this number. Tell Tomas I know he listened to your conversation with Jake. Tell him we’ve gone ahead to check out these two perverts.”

  Tyrell and Marcus followed Nate down the stairs. No further discussion or planning was needed. They simply separated in the parking lot to carry out their assignment. No words were spoken. Nobody gave a rah-rah speech to tell them how important this was. Each man loved Kaycie in his own way and wanted to bring her home. Nate refused to believe they’d accomplish anything less.

  The motorcycle moved under Nate as if it understood the urgency. When he hit the on-ramp to the freeway, he pushed the bike faster until billboards, speed-limit signs, and light posts blurred, looking like toothpicks. Air swirled under his visor while his heart twisted inside his chest. For the first time in years, Nate prayed. Prayed for her safety. Prayed he’d get to her in time.

  Kaycie was alive. Every pulse of his racing heart said she was close. He felt it. Tasted it. Wore it like a shield as he raced into the night.

  The Saint Jude medal scorched his determination into his chest. He would find her. He had to.

  ****

  “Master,” the monster said, while tightening the rope around Kay’s neck. “You’re to address me as Master. And keep your gaze and head pointed to the ground. Punishment will be severe if you look me in the face.”

  Kay swallowed, fighting for a breath. By slipping the rope over her head before allowing her to stand, they’d effectively ended her plan to run. She clamped her lips shut, grinding her back teeth. If this sleazebag expected her to play his game, he was crazy.

  She glared at him, openly defiant. She memorized every peak and valley on his face. She’d never forget how his eyes were set too close together or the pencil-thin scar that bisected his left brow. When she escaped, she’d remember every detail and easily describe him to a police forensic artist.

  Around five-feet-nine, with a pork jowl, the overweight, middle-aged man might have appeared benign to a stranger, but to Kay, he reminded her of the deadly copperhead. The one snake that dared humans to cross its path. It didn’t slither away if given the chance—it would come after you.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve dealt with arrogant bitches who tried to escape. Fought me. Disobeyed me. After a few lessons, they learned just as you will. I won’t tolerate disrespect.”

  His gaze raked across her. With a disgusting gleam in his eyes, he gripped her tattered blouse, ripped it off, and inspected her like a prize hog. He poked at her flesh. His fingers clamped down on her nipples and twisted.

  She screamed in agony. The truck driver laughed, tightening the rope around her neck.

  The monster smiled. “Yell all you want. Nobody will hear you.” He leaned in close and stuck his face close to hers. “Except me. And the louder you are the better I like it.”

  Suddenly, all of the females he’d stripped of their dignity, tortured and killed, gathered and filled her with rage. She collected what saliva she could and spit in his face.

  He wiped his face with her blouse, tossed it to the ground, and then rammed his fist into her abdomen. The blow struck with such force, her bladder released, soaking through her underwear and jeans. When he realized she’d wet herself, he laughed in her face and then hit her again. Kay gagged and collapsed against the noose.

  Despair drained every ounce of strength out of her. Nobody was coming for her.

  The trucker’s voice seemed far away when he spoke. “You want her in the trailer?”

  “Yeah,” the monster said. He stepped to the back of a horse trailer and opened the side walk-through door.

  Each man grabbed an arm and jerked her up and forward. Kay surprised herself. Hell, yes, she still had fight left, and she proved it by struggling against them while they pulled her along. She dug in her feet and made them drag her. Her shoes came off so she fought for purchase with her toes.

  She wrestled with every ounce of strength she had left while they fastened metal clamps around her ankles and wrists.

  When the two men were finished, she was standing spread-eagle in the nose of the enclosed trailer. She strained against the binding only to have the metal cut into her skin. She was trapped like a wild animal. Still, she thrashed and tried to free herself.

  The stench in her new prison was overwhelming, causing her eyes and nose to burn. The walls were a dark gray, and she stood on black rubber mats that were used to help a horse or cow to keep their hooves under them.

  So the bastard actually hauled animals in this contraption when he wasn’t carrying helpless girls to their doom?

  Where the strength came from, she didn’t know. But she whipped her head back and slung her matted hair off her face. She lifted her gaze, locking onto the man’s who’d bought her.

  “You will die for what you’re doing. Maybe not while I’m alive, but a man will come. He’ll hunt you down like the vermin you are. And I promise, come hell or high water, you will suffer wrath like you’ve never known.”

  “Stop. You’re scaring me,” he said in a high-pitched, mocking tone. He jerked a rag from his back pocket, stuffed it in her mouth, and then tied one around her head to secure the gag in place. “That should silence your smart mouth until we get home.”

  “Want me to give her this last shot before you go?” the truck driver asked.

  “No. I want her fully awake. Let her spend some time thinking about the gadgets and fun items waiting for her.”

  She ignored the razor-like pain and bucked against the metal braces. Apparently satisfied she couldn’t get away, the two men exited without looking back.

  On her chest, the Saint Jude medal rested between her breasts. Knowing one other person wore its mate eased her fear.

  Nate. Saying his name inside her head gave her comfort. Comfort knowing when he came home from Colombia and learned of her fate, he’d search until he found the bastard who’d killed her. Comfort that the punishment he’d administer would be fatal.

  Soon the trailer started moving. Her wrists and ankles were shackled, but her head and body jerked and swayed with the movement. The road was bumpy, leaving her to believe they were taking a back or deserted road to their destination. With each rough spot, Kay’s appendages were stretched by the restraints, cutting grooves into her skin. The burn in her shoulders felt as if they’d slipped the sockets. Maybe they had.

  This kind of hate and cold fear was alien to Kay. She’d never wanted to kill a person with her bare hands. But then her future had never been this bleak.

  She tried again and again to spit out the gag. The trailer bumped to a stop. Then the pickup’s engine died and a door opened and closed. Not a sliver of light could ge
t inside.

  Kay was frantic. She could only imagine the horrors that the pervert had in store for her. To retain her sanity, she refused to stop struggling. Had to believe she could break free. She lunged forward. Again and again, she battled her restraints. The pain in her joints intensified. She used it. Got madder. More determined to find a way out.

  Even as the cold night air numbed her skin, her self-preservation instinct refused to let her give up. Until, exhausted, she collapsed. A dead weight, supported only by the shackles, she listened to the quiet. No human sounds. Nothing but her heaving while she fought to breathe through her nose. Her lungs demanded oxygen.

  She waited. The bastard would have to drag her outside. Where had he taken her?

  Chapter 33

  Nate killed the bike at the beginning of the dirt road and stowed it out of sight in nearby bushes.

  A hint of a breeze stirred. The sky was clear and full of stars. Using the almost-full moon, he traveled the rest of the way on foot.

  Every nerve was taut as he moved silently through the darkness. Kaycie had to be here. Had to be alive. He prayed he hadn’t made a mistake by going straight to Stephen’s house. The veterinary clinic seemed an unlikely place to hide a torture chamber. It faced a busy highway and the traffic was heavy even late at night.

  The residence, however, was secluded in the country away from curious people and the law.

  His gaze swept over the property. A brick house with detached garage and a barn sat in the middle of a wooded area. No outside lights were on, which suited his plan. He whistled low, fully expecting to find a couple of dogs wandering loose. Nothing. He stepped into the open and went straight to the house.

  He’d put all his military training to work tonight. Control was the key. Mentally, he slowed his racing heart to a nice normal rate. Regulated his breathing.

  He wasn’t going to waste time covertly searching in the dark. If Kaycie was here, Stephens could get his ass up and take Nate to her.

  Opening the back door was a snap. He eased inside then glanced around to get his bearings. This was a big house with room for more than one man, but Tyrell’s intel indicated Stephens had never married and lived alone.

  A dim light shone from the front room. Nate moved closer, keeping his body flush against the wall. A Budweiser clock that looked like it belonged behind a bar hung over a rock fireplace. It provided enough light he could see his way around. A couch, a couple of chairs and a flat-screen TV gave the place a homey look. Nice cover.

  Nate quickly moved down the hall. The first and second bedrooms were empty. The third, he hit pay dirt. They were alone.

  He slid the knife Tyrell had lent him from his boot. In one motion, Nate jerked the figure in the bed to the floor and pressed the razor-sharp blade against soft flesh.

  “Nod if you’re Carl Stephens.”

  The bastard moved his head in admission.

  “Where is she?”

  Nate’s sense of right and wrong had vanished long before he entered the house. The pain he wanted to inflict on this sorry excuse for a human being almost consumed him. He eased the pressure, reached up, and flipped on the bedside lamp.

  The man lay very still. That he didn’t struggle or fight sent warning flags waving in Nate’s head.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the weasel croaked out.

  “Tell me, or I’ll cut your fucking balls off and stuff them down your throat,” Nate growled. His confidence Kaycie was here grew when Stephens refused to look at him.

  “Who are you?” The fear in Stephens’s eyes didn’t sway Nate one bit.

  “Your executioner. And you’re closer to death than you realize. Where. Is. She?”

  “You can’t break in here like this. If you’re the law, where’s your warrant?”

  “Pressed against your neck.”

  Stephens’s body tensed. His gaze narrowed. “If you’re not a cop, you’re breaking the law.”

  Nate’s lips curled in disgust. The pervert had nerve. “Which means I have no boundaries or restrictions on my behavior. I kill you and nobody ever knows I was here. You brought a woman home with you. Where is she?”

  “Look around. There’s nobody here but me.”

  Nate dragged the overweight man to his feet and threw him in the corner. “Don’t you move.”

  He searched the room. Looked under the bed, dug through the closet and found nothing. His frustration built with each failure. He stomped his boots on the floor, looked for loose boards. Tossed the rugs, checked for secret rooms. Found nothing.

  He wrapped his fingers around Stephens’s shirt collar and pushed him from room to room where Nate repeated the search.

  “Listen you scumbag, I know all about how you get off torturing women. But you picked the wrong woman. For every pain you’ve inflicted on her, you’ll suffer three.”

  “You’re crazy.” Stephens tried to look defiant, but the flicker of panic behind his eyes had given him away. “Get off my property.”

  “Outside.” Nate threw the bastard onto the porch when he moved too slow. “Don’t you move a hair.”

  Pulling a penlight from his back pocket, he searched around the porch. Frustration built when he came up empty. Stephens’s refusal to tell the truth drove Nate to the edge of snapping.

  The barn sat a few hundred feet behind the house, and he marched Stephens down the drive to the big double doors. Nate’s heart rate jumped. No padlock, something most people who lived out in the country didn’t use, made him fear she wasn’t inside. He kicked open the doors, dragged the vet inside and unceremoniously tossed him to the dirt floor.

  Nate stuffed the flashlight into his pocket and then stabbed his fingers through his hair. The urge to beat the shit out of Stephens was getting hard to resist. Fear for Kaycie ate at Nate’s insides, churning his guts into knots. He tightened his hands into fists then relaxed them again and again, forcing his muscles and tendons to unwind.

  He was nowhere near finished looking. He shoved bales of hay and sacks of feed out of his way. He searched a storage room full of medical supplies. The more frustrated he became, the more he tossed the place. He found no trace of Kaycie or any other female.

  “You son of a bitch.” He stalked back to Stephens. “I’ll kill you if you’ve hurt her.”

  Stephens’s lips narrowed to a thin line. He didn’t speak. The look in his eyes had shifted to cold and defiant. Way too cocky.

  “Tyrell.” He and Marcus hadn’t checked in since heading to the other suspect. “Talk to me.”

  “Sorry, bro. Been busy. We found a girl.” Tyrell’s voice came through Nate’s earbud. “Alive and hysterical. Fucking torture devices everywhere.”

  “No sign of Kaycie?” Nate rocked back on his heels, barely controlling his urge to lash out at the vet.

  “Not that we can see. The young woman was naked, cut, burned, and barely coherent. Marcus unchained her, wrapped her in a blanket, and carried her outside into the fresh air. We asked if she’d seen another female. She shook her head. Cops and paramedics are on the way.”

  “Then Kaycie’s here.” Nate turned his gaze toward the vet. Pounding the sick bastard into the ground was getting closer to a reality.

  “We’re heading your way when the EMTs arrive. Kay has to be there,” Tyrell said.

  Nate stuffed his cell in his pocket. He jerked Stephens to a standing position, pulled him close.

  “I’m about to cut your sorry throat. Which means you’re seconds away from death.” Nate pressed the blade into the man’s flabby neck hard enough to draw blood. “I’ll find her while you bleed out.”

  “Wait. I know what you’re searching for. I’ll show you,” the slimeball said, his self-confidence apparently reversing itself. “But the person you’re looking for isn’t there.”

  Ignoring the stab of pain in his shoulder, Nate dragged Stephens outside the barn and tossed him in the dirt.

  “Where?” Nate’s mind couldn’t imagine what might be in such
a torture chamber. Besides, Stephens was too quick to give up his hiding place. If this was a trick, it was about to be his last.

  Stephens scrambled to his feet, and Nate took his flashlight from his pocket. Illuminating a small path, he escorted Stephens through the trees to a clearing. Nate sucked in a breath when he spotted the cellar door.

  “Open it.” A deadly calm washed over him. Stephens would die underground if she was down in that dark hole.

  The stench of urine and fear burned his eyes as he followed the man down the steps to a man-made hell. A flip of a switch flooded the chamber of horrors with light. Nate’s mind took a second to wrap around the disgusting scene.

  He shoved Stephens against the wall, bouncing his head off a shelf and rattling chains suspended from the ceiling. “Move one inch, please. There’s only one thing I want more than seeing you dead.”

  “I told you,” Stephens whined. “No one is down here.”

  Nate’s experience in the war had taught him about the cruelties of man. But as his gaze swept the area, he realized the horrors he’d witnessed in Afghanistan were nothing compared to what had been endured down here. And by how many young women?

  A metal table was surrounded by leather whips of every size. Chains with handcuffs were suspended from the ceiling along with branding irons and cattle prods. He turned away from the razor-sharp instruments scattered around the small room and searched. He found no hidden chambers and no Kaycie.

  “You sick son of a bitch, you’ll sleep with the devil tonight.”

  “I’m a collector,” the vet said. “I would never use any of these things on another human being.”

  “Keep lying, and I’ll suspend you from the ceiling and leave your sorry ass down here to rot. You can die with your collection.” Nate herded Stephens back outside. “Get your disgusting ass back to the barn.”

  Nate shoved Stephens across the yard and through the barn doors. A low whinny drew his attention.

  “Get halters on those two horses. Release them into the corral out back.”

  Stephens followed the instructions while Nate watched. Then he turned off the flashlight, returned it to his pocket, and then flipped on the interior lights. He grabbed a pitchfork and carefully pushed through the dirt floor of the stalls, hoping to hit a fake bottom. He prayed to hear the dull thud of the tines striking a hidden door. His efforts were fruitless.