Hardened by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “Why do you smile?” He asked, cocking his head to the side like a child.

  “I smile…,” I gasped, talking caused the blood pouring from my ruined face to slip into my mouth. “... because... your death is nearly here... I rejoice in your imminent demise.” I spit blood to the side, unknowingly coating my hair in my sticky life-blood.

  Julio snarled at me, grasping my thigh and digging his hand into the gash there. His handsome face was as twisted and ugly as a demon from hell itself.

  I screamed... long and hard as hot pain tore through my body. I screamed and I prayed. I prayed for Steel and I prayed for Jordon…

  Hurry, Jordon... please…

  ****

  A scream tore through the hallway, raising the hair on Jordon’s arms and slamming fear into him like the thunk of a bullet.

  “Which door?” He yelled. The hallway was sparsely lit and there were doors every ten feet or so. Jones and Rook worked in tandem with him, kicking open locked doors and flinging open those that weren’t locked.

  “Jackson, the basement door is in the kitchen. Get down here,” Jones barked into his radio.

  “Copy that, we’re en route,” Jackson responded. Jordon tuned everything out; he was focused on the screaming that he could still hear. She was close. Kicking in another door, Jordon halted in his tracks.

  There was a woman in this room; she was bloodied and nearly every inch of her naked body was bruised and cut. Her hair was shorn off in clumps, down to her scalp in places.

  “Jackson, we have civilians. Over,” Jordon spoke into his radio, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. She was plainly scared and terrorized; he didn’t want to make it worse.

  “Copy that. Get me a count,” Jackson answered.

  “I have two over here,” Rook spoke from behind Jordon.

  “I have three,” Jones answered from down the hallway.

  “Five total so far, Jackson, but we don’t have all the doors open yet. Over.” Jordon left the girl where she was. Turning his back, he followed the sound of flesh striking flesh, the distinctive noise of someone being beaten.

  Jones kicked open the second to last door; the rotting, fetid stench washing out confirmed that not all of the rooms were still occupied by the living.

  One door left. Jordon didn’t pause or hesitate; she was in there. She had to be.

  “Jones!” Jordon kicked with all his might, fueled by fear and the knowledge that Mic was in there, being hurt. Adrenaline spiked through his blood, firing his muscles into overdrive.

  The door flew open, striking the wall and bouncing back toward him. He caught it with a gloved hand and entered the room, rifle up and ready to fire. What he saw before him stopped him dead.

  ****

  Julio drew back the thick rubber club again, striking it down across my thighs. Blood poured from the cut with every burning strike. My suffering was at a new high; it spread throughout my body, tightening my muscles before seeping away and leaving my body in a rush. A throbbing ache encompassed my entire being, giving me a second to relax by a tiny measure before he struck me again, starting the process all over.

  Mentally I withdrew, sliding inside the safety of my mind where there was no pain or despair, and hope was still a living thing.

  Where were they? Were they all dead? Why couldn’t they find me?

  I slipped in and out of consciousness and reality. I was in a black place... I was floating away. Looking down at my body, I saw myself tied to the table and Julio standing above me.

  A loud crash forced me back to the present. I jerked, causing myself more agony. The door was open and like an avenging angel sent by God, Jordon stood in the doorway, rifle raised to his shoulder.

  Why didn’t he fire?

  My relief was immense, only out-paced by my confusion. A sharp sting, barely felt, answered my question. Julio held a blade to my throat. My mind was clearing rapidly, adrenaline forcing the fog of hurt from my brain.

  “Let her go. Right fucking now, or you die,” Jordon growled, sighting in on Julio’s head. Julio had dropped to his knees behind the table. He held the knife to my throat and used me as a shield.

  “Do you trust yourself to make that shot, my friend?” Julio taunted, digging the blade into my neck slightly, drawing a few drops of blood.

  “No, but I do.” Jones stepped into the room, skirting Jordon. Rook closely followed. I tried to close my legs, but it was useless. There was no way for me to spare myself even a second of this humiliation. The boys were zeroed in on Julio, thankfully, and not paying too much attention to me.

  One step at a time, they flanked Julio. He was cornered and unpredictable, like an animal.

  With a quick flash, Julio rushed Jones who met him head on. Jones grabbed the hand with the knife and swiftly disarmed him. Julio managed to get enough space to land a solid punch to Jones’s jaw, knocking him sideways into the wall. Jordon was trying to get a shot, but the space was too small, the fighting too tight.

  Julio pulled another knife from his belt and stepped forward with his right foot, lunging straight for Jones, who was still recovering from the hit.

  Rook pulled his knife and ran forward. Catching Julio’s arm, he drove the knife deep into Julio’s side, twisting the blade, making sure to shred the kidney. Rook pulled his knife free with a jerk, as blood washed out over both Julio and Rook. He plunged it home again, up and under Julio’s ribcage into his back, destroying his lung.

  Dark red blood poured from Julio’s mouth as Rook released him. He staggered and stumbled, trying to gain purchase as he bled out and began to drown in his own blood.

  “Fuck this guy.” Rook kicked Julio in the back of the knee, dropping him like a stone to the unforgiving concrete floor.

  He lay there on his face, gasping and bleeding, dying by inches. It was a slow justified death.

  “Guys, if you’re done playing with him, can you please get me the fuck off this table!” I bellowed at them, reopening the wound on my cheek, fresh blood mingling with the old that covered my face.

  Jordon ran forward and cut the ropes at my ankles first. I snapped my legs closed, trying to preserve a molecule of my dignity. Jones and Rook respectfully turned their backs, pulling off their vests and weapons as they did so. Both stripped their shirts off and tossed them to Jordon before putting their armor and vests back on over their bare chests.

  Jordon draped one shirt over my lap and the other over my chest; the warmth from their bodies transferred from the fabric to my skin.

  “Oh, Bea; what did he do to you, baby?” Jordon lost all composure as he looked at me, trying to cradle my face in his hands. Everywhere he touched was either coated in my blood or still bleeding. His voice was thick and his eyes shone in the low light.

  “Jordon, I’ll be fine. Just get me off this fucking table and get me some clothes.” Talking sent shooting pains throughout my jaw and face. I could feel the cut muscles in my cheek trying to move, but it was useless. I gritted my teeth against the pain. I needed to be brave right now; not for myself, but for my men.

  “This is going to hurt,” Jones said from above my head, right before he cut the ropes. He gently helped Jordon move my arms down to my sides. I screamed again as needles of pain shot through my numb arms.

  “Jackson, we’ve got her,” Rook spoke into his comm. “She’s in bad shape. We have to get her to a hospital.”

  “No hospital. You can sew me up.” I groaned and cursed. I had so much more that I wanted to say, but I couldn’t manage it. I reached a hand up, begging someone to help me up off my back.

  “No, not yet.” Rook gently pushed my arm back down. “I need to look you over. I know you want off this table and away from this freak show, but let me do an assessment first. I have a couple of questions. Were you raped?” He gave me solid eye contact. The silence in the room was thick as they waited for my answer. It was a valid question, considering that they found me nude and splayed open.

  “No.” The pain was getting
worse by the minute. I wanted to close my eyes and escape, but I couldn’t. I needed to deal with this.

  “Sure?” Rook asked again. I summoned what little strength I had remaining and punched him in the shoulder.

  “Fuck off, I said no.”

  “Okay, good. I’m going to wrap up your leg and then bandage your face. I’ll do more on the jet. I’ll have to suffice for a doctor, we don’t have time to get Doc Hamilton. Just try and relax.” He pushed the shirt covering my lap to the side enough that he could see the wound on my thigh. The tops of both my thighs were striped purple with bruises from the heavy club Julio had used on me. The cut was straight and clean, only seeping a small amount of blood. Rook spread his kit open on my stomach and pulled things out.

  “This guy knew what he was doing; he didn’t even come close to your femoral artery.” Rook wiped blood off and sprinkled Quik Clot into the cut before wrapping it with an Israeli bandage and more gauze. It didn’t hurt all that much anymore; maybe I wouldn’t even need much more than a few stitches.

  Jackson barreled into the room just as Rook was finishing with my leg.

  “Mic, what the fuck?” Flynn gasped from beside Jackson, taking in the blood all over the floor and the dead Julio lying in a growing pool of his own blood. It looked like a slaughterhouse in here.

  I rolled my eyes, giving up on speech. Rook was starting to work on my face. The deep slice went from just under my right ear, down to the corner of my mouth. I hissed and jerked back as Rook tried to clean it. I slapped at his hands, not thinking, just animal instinct trying to escape the pain.

  “Stop it. This needs to happen. Jordon, hold her.”

  Jordon grabbed my hands and held on tight. He spoke softly, reassuring me. “Let him work, Mic. Then we can get you out of here.”

  “Hurry up, Rook,” Jackson ordered. “We have to get moving. Pierce is on the roof, keeping an eye on things. This calm won’t last” His voice was music to my ears. He finally allowed himself to look at me, taking in my wounds and bloodied body.

  “God, Mic, your aunt is going to have my ass for breakfast.” I never thought I’d hear fear in Jackson’s voice; it was definitely a first.

  I tried to laugh, but gasped in pain instead, my broken rib reminding me it was there.

  “Chest hurt?” Rook asked, as he stuck a large pad to my cheek and wrapped my head in gauze. Great, ‘mummies-r-us’.

  “Yeah; broke a rib…,” I ground out past my clenched teeth.

  “We’ll deal with it later. Get her up.” Rook motioned to Jordon, I clutched the shirt to my chest with my free arm.

  “Clothes... weapons.”

  “Get her dressed. We’ll meet you upstairs. Flynn, let’s go.” Jackson led the way; Flynn followed close behind, though he kept looking over his shoulder and staring. I felt like a car wreck.

  “Jones, you too,” Rook said calmly. He nodded and followed Flynn out. Jordon ripped open the cabinets of the little cart; tucked neatly inside were my clothes and shoes. The machete was also there, but no rifle. I didn’t think I had the strength to carry my rifle right now anyway. Rook held my arm at my elbow and upper arm, then helped me sit up and swing my legs off the side of the table. I pulled my forearm tight against my waist. The broken rib was stabbing me and making it impossible to breathe correctly.

  Jordon handed me my bra and underwear first. There was no way that bra was going on my chest right now. I threw it to the side and took the panties from him.

  “Turn. Please,” I begged. I’d had enough open viewing of my lady parts to last me a lifetime. They respectfully turned their backs. I dropped the shirts and forced myself to ignore my blood-coated skin as I slipped on my clothing. My leg throbbed when I stood, but it held.

  My belt had disappeared, so I had no way to attach the machete to my thigh like before. I kept it in my hand.

  “Okay, guys,” I spoke, trying to move my mouth as little as possible. “My boots... I need help.” I fucking hated that I couldn’t bend over and put my shoes on. Just bending down to step into my pants had sent blood pounding through my head and cased my broken rib to stab into my side viciously.

  Jordon knelt at my feet and quickly laced my boots.

  “Mercedes?” I gasped the word out. Where the fuck was she? She’d stared at me earlier, but I hadn’t seen her since.

  “No show. We didn’t see her.” Gunfire erupted from above; the guards must have rallied and were attempting to take back the mansion.

  “Hurry the fuck up! We need to leave!” Jackson’s voice erupted from the radios, punctuated by more gunfire and another explosion.

  “Let’s go.” I grabbed Jordon’s arm and hustled out with them. He had one arm slung around my waist and the other held his rifle out in front of him.

  We passed room after room; I saw that each had just a small mattress on the floor and a bucket. I looked back the hall to the one door was still closed, but Jordon stopped me when I moved to open it. “She’s gone. Don’t open it.”

  We were almost to the stairs now; I was slow as fuck, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “Where are the others?” I asked. It smelled of death, decay, and broken dreams down here.

  “Flynn and Pierce got them. They’re upstairs. Mexican police are on their way now,” Rook explained.

  “Are we waiting for the police before we leave?” Jordon asked as we reached the stairs which loomed large and dark before us. The pain was progressing to nausea, but I forced myself to swallow it down. I didn’t have time for this. I could be sick later.

  “Yes. They’re on the way.” Rook paused to press the button on his radio. “Jones, ETA on the police? Over.”

  “On approach. Over.”

  “Copy that; we’re almost out of the basement. Over.” Rook led the way up the stairs, which were too narrow for Jordon and me to traverse abreast.

  “You go first; I’ve got your six,” Jordon gruffly said.

  I limped up the stairs, pain jarring through my battered body with each step. After about what seemed like a hundred painful steps, I finally reached the top and the bright daylight of the kitchen.

  “Screw this,” Jordon said, reaching to pick me up.

  “We’re not in Colombia, my leg works fine. No.” I stepped away and followed Rook. I found myself back where I started, in the expansive marble foyer, staring up at the sweeping staircase. There were five women huddled together in the corner, holding onto each other while they shivered in fear like frightened animals. They each were bruised to the point of being unrecognizable, their hair haphazardly shorn off. From what I could see, they were all blonde, and under the bruises and blood they were stunningly beautiful.

  Where did he get these girls?

  I stepped toward them, holding my hands out in front of my body, letting the machete dangle from my fingers near my leg.

  “Don’t bother Mic, they don’t speak English,” Jackson said from above me. He was hurrying down the steps.

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  “Best I can tell, they speak German or Russian. We’ll hand them over to the Mexican police in a few minutes. What forces of the cartel are still alive, have retreated. The immediate threat is over.” He slipped an arm around my waist and helped me hobble to a plush and gilded chair.

  “Take a load off; you look like shit,” Flynn said, from behind Jackson.

  “Fuck you guys; I’ve had a shit day.” I leaned my head back against the chair and tried to breathe past the pain; past the anger and despair coating me like a shroud.

  I felt warmth press against my good leg. Looking down, I saw Jordon squatting on the floor, leaning against me, rifle at the ready. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be letting me out of his sight anytime soon.

  “Don’t do that again, Bea,” he spoke.

  “Okay,” I said, knocking his hat off with my hand. I rubbed my fingers through his hair; it was just long enough to brush between my fingers. The fact that he was coated in sweat and dirt and I was probably smearin
g blood into his hair didn’t bother either of us.

  “You’re in so much trouble when you heal up. You have no fucking idea,” Jordon said, leaning into my hand and softly groaning.

  “Okay.” I ran my hand down the back of his shirt and along his neck and shoulder. His skin felt amazing. I needed to reconnect with someone, to feel a touch that wasn’t painful. The adrenaline that had fueled me for hours seeped away. I was crashing hard. I kept my hand where it was, tight against his skin, as I let the pain go and finally, gratefully drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 26

  I slowly came awake, noticing that I was warm and somewhat uncomfortable. There were raised voices echoing around me. I was still in the chair in the foyer, but Jordon was no longer against me. He was standing beside me with his arms crossed, observing the exchange going on. Lights shone from chandeliers above us and the windows were dark. Night had fallen while I had been sleeping.

  I shifted and pain racked my body, forcing a groan from my lips. Jordon looked at me, concern carved into his handsome features.

  “I’m sorry. We’re trying to get you out of here, but the Mexicans don’t want to take those girls and Jackson says he can’t either.”

  “The fuck they can’t.” I stood, shaking with pain and fatigue. I lightly touched my face, the bandage on my face was tacky with blood. I needed to get it seen to, sooner rather than later.

  “What seems to be the problemo, boys?” I snarked off from beside Jackson. I kept my arm pressed tight to my ribs, trying to hold them snug to lessen the pain. Shock registered on their faces. I’m sure I was a sight to behold. Standing before them, covered in blood and questioning them.

  “No girls. We cannot take them.” The man speaking must be their commander. His broken English was no better than the thug who first took me.

  “I told you; you have to take them. We can’t.” Jackson’s face may as well have been carved from stone; he was really pissed.

  I pulled Jackson’s pistol from his side before he had a chance to react. “Either you take them, or I shoot you.” I held the barrel against the leader’s forehead, his sweat shiny against his dark skin. His men pulled their weapons and mine followed.