Niner took another step back, his eyes still on the pepper. “Let me guess. Extremely hot?”
Atlas gestured toward the cutting board. “If it was that hot, would Vanessa be putting in on the burgers?”
Niner pursed his lips, still not trusting the bastard.
“Fine, coward, I’ll go first.” Atlas popped the pepper in his mouth, chewing then swallowing. “Yummy.” He picked up another one from the cutting board, holding it out. “Your turn.”
Niner frowned, but took it, sniffing it tentatively. Nothing. He wagged it at Atlas. “You do know I’m Korean, right? We eat spicy food all the time.”
“Yeah, and you do know my family’s from Louisiana, and so do we.”
Niner laughed. “Dude, are you trying to say that Louisiana cuisine—”
“Creole, little man.”
“—is hotter than Korean?”
“Uh huh.”
Niner jabbed the air between them with the pepper. “Bullshit.” He popped it in his mouth and chewed. The flavor was strong though nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. The skin was a little tough, but he chewed through it, the juices in his mouth mixing with this amateur of peppers.
“Ghost pepper. Bah! It’s like it’s not even—”
He coughed, his mouth blazing.
“You okay?” asked Atlas, his expression of concern clearly fake.
“Yes,” gasped Niner.
I have to get it out of my mouth.
He swallowed.
And the pepper brought the rain.
His eyes bulged, his mouth and throat on fire, then he gasped, it as if a flamethrower in his stomach was blasting out his face, the intensity so strong, it was as if literal heat were spewing forth.
“Water!” he gasped.
Red handed him a beer and Niner downed it as his face burned, everyone laughing, though their mirth went unnoticed. Atlas opened his mouth and reached in, removing the pepper, still intact, the bastard having cheeked the damned thing.
He held it up. “Only a moron eats a ghost pepper whole.”
Niner’s stomach flipped as if he were going to vomit. “I-I think I’m going to be sick.”
Vanessa handed him a lime wedge. “Suck on this.” He grabbed it, biting into the tart fruit, the juices flowing over his tongue. The relief was immediate, though the fire continued to rage. He whipped the chunk of pulp at Atlas and grabbed another wedge as Vanessa poured a large glass of milk, handing it to him.
He tossed aside the lime and downed the milk, swishing it around his mouth, the relief physical, rapturous, the fire slowly subsiding. He grabbed the milk jug and held it up to his mouth, chugging it, taking momentary breaks to slosh it around between his teeth—everywhere—and after a few minutes started to feel normal again, the heat radiating from his face subsiding, the sweat no longer pouring down it.
He lowered the jug and took a tentative breath. There were still some burning embers, though nothing like the four-alarm fire there moments before. And as his world finally came back into focus, the singular task of survival now accomplished, he noticed everyone around him roaring in laughter, Atlas at the center of it, only Vanessa shaking her head.
Niner pointed at Atlas’ cheeked pepper, still in his hand. “Your turn.”
Atlas grinned. “No damned way. I’m no idiot.”
“But I am?”
“Apparently!”
Vanessa looked at him. “Are you okay?”
Niner eyed Atlas’ massive, muscled frame, debating where to best hit him and incapacitate him so he could shove a few of those freak-of-nature peppers down his throat. “I’ll live.”
Vanessa gave her boyfriend the eye. “I told him he shouldn’t trick you like that. Those things can be dangerous.”
“Hey, he had it coming.”
Niner’s eyes narrowed. “What for?”
“What for? For making fun of my momma’s hips!”
More laughter, wives and girlfriends turning to their other halves for explanations.
Niner paused. “Is that what this is all about?”
Atlas shrugged. “That and all the other bullshit we’ve had to put up with from you.”
Niner picked up a pepper and turned to Spock. “Your turn.”
An eyebrow popped. “Excuse me?”
“Hey, you made the banner with his momma and sister on it.” He shoved the pepper into Spock’s face. “Your turn.”
Spock beat a hasty retreat, placing his wife between him and the pepper. “No way, dude, you dug your own grave on this one. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“Coward.”
Niner popped the pepper in his mouth and everyone gasped. He spit it at Atlas, the room sighing before there was more laughter.
“Are you gentlemen done messing with my peppers? I’d like to finish this sauce.”
Niner’s eyes popped wide. “You’re actually using these!” He held out his arms, stepping away. “Fall back! Fall back!” The entire Bravo Team retreated several steps, much to the surprise of the ladies present.
Vanessa gave him a look. “I remove the seeds and use very little in the puree. I’m not nuts. And there will be hot and not hot burgers.” She jabbed her chef’s knife at the male members of the group. “And I expect every one of you men to be eating the hot ones, after the way you treated poor Niner!”
Niner stepped over and gave her a hug, making a show of fake kissing her cheek and neck. “Thank you, darlin’, you know how to treat a man.” He stared at Atlas through her hair. “When you’re done with this mountain of muscle, give me a shout.”
Vanessa pushed him away. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Atlas gave them both a look. “I’m standing right here.”
“Yes you are, dear.”
Niner agreed. “Yeah, you’re kind of hard to miss.”
“Uh huh.” Atlas jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t make me take you over my knee and spank you.”
Niner bent over, cocking a cheek in Atlas’ direction. “Please! Spank me!”
More laughter, Sergeant Gerry “Jimmy Olsen” Hudson shaking his head. “And you wonder why there’s confusion.”
Vanessa turned to the crowd gathered in and around the open concept kitchen. “Who’s hungry?”
A chorus of “me”s erupted.
“Then calm these two down so I can get some cooking done!”
Red, the most senior of Bravo Team present, ushered the team out of the cramped quarters. “You heard the lady, give her some room.” Everyone in the kitchen shuffled out, setting up camp in the living room, Vanessa still participating through the opening in the kitchen wall. Niner parked on the arm of a couch, Red shoving him off and taking his place. “That’s my wife you’re sitting beside.”
“Gee, I wish BD was here. He’s nicer than you.”
The room became subdued. Red’s head bobbed, his lips tight. “I talked to him this morning. He said he couldn’t make it—Maggie had therapy.”
“How’s he doing?” asked Spock’s wife, Joanne.
Red shook his head. “Not good. For a man like that to take himself out of rotation, you know it’s bad.”
Spock rested a hand on his wife’s leg. “But she’s getting better, right?”
Red nodded. “Oh yeah, she’s progressing. Physically, at least.”
An eyebrow crept up Spock’s forehead. “What do you mean?”
Red took a swig of his beer. “Well, let’s just say that she isn’t her usual cheery self.”
Joanne put a hand on her husband’s. “Depressed?”
“Yeah.” Red paused, frowning. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but she was actually a little mean.” He held out a hand. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame her. God knows she’s been through a lot, but, well…” Red squeezed his wife’s shoulder as she wiped away a tear. He sighed. “She’ll get better eventually, I guess.”
Niner’s stomach growled, cramps gripping his intestines. “Oh, God, how quickly are those things suppo
sed to go through you?”
Atlas grinned at him as he doubled over. “Not that fast.”
Jimmy chuckled. “Umm, dude, aren’t you lactose intolerant?”
“Oh my God!” Niner bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him as he desperately tried to make the toilet in time. Atlas’ roar of laughter momentarily overwhelmed the others as Niner’s cheeks hit the seat. “I’m gonna kill you!”
9 |
ISIS Held Territory Kobani, Syria
Mary Todd eyed the darkened building with suspicion. Her understanding was that she would live with a family in Syria until reunited with her friends, perhaps within a few days, at most a week or two. She expected delays—it was, after all, a war zone—yet she wasn’t expecting this.
This was no home.
It appeared to be an old industrial building, fairly large, scarred by bullets and worse, not a light on in sight.
Further proof of her betrayal.
“Where are we?”
There was no hiding the fear in her voice.
“Home.”
She stared at the driver, her eyes wide. “You live here?”
“No. But you do, for now.”
The driver opened his door and he climbed out, the passenger, Marwan, doing the same.
She didn’t budge. “That wasn’t the deal. I was supposed to be living with a Syrian family then taken to my friends.”
Marwan spit. “You stupid American. Your friends are long gone, probably dead, and you are now the property of Daesh.”
Bile filled her mouth at his words. “But I converted for this! I’m one of you now! I’m a Muslim! Your sister!” A sob erupted. “You can’t do this to me!”
Marwan reached for her, but she recoiled, avoiding his grip. “You’re an infidel, and I can do to you as I please.” His hand darted out, locking onto her arm, painfully yanking her out of the truck as the driver grabbed her backpack from the back. As she was hauled around the front of the truck, the driver rapped on the door of the building, a Judas hole opening for a moment before the thick, heavy door swung aside.
Shoved into the gaping darkness, the door slammed shut behind her, sealing her fate with an ominous echo. Lights flickered on and she found herself in a long hallway, the paint on the cinderblock mere flakes now, it perhaps once a happy pale blue, everything now a depressing gray. She continued forward, her arms folded over her chest in an attempt to stifle her trembling, her lip quivering more with each step before they finally reached the end and another door. The driver opened it and stepped inside.
The smell was overwhelming.
She gagged, following him in, then gasped. Dozens upon dozens of threadbare mattresses lined the walls of the large room, most occupied by women, some her age, most younger, many pressed against the wall, hugging their knees.
“Wh-what is this place?”
“Your home.”
“But-but what are you doing with all these girls?”
Marwan laughed. “They are all here to serve the warriors of Allah, just like you.”
A wave of weakness washed over her, her breath becoming shallow. “What do you mean?”
Marwan grabbed her breast and squeezed. “You’re going to put these to work, you stupid kafir!”
“You mean…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, and it would have been pointless, regardless, her worst fears confirmed.
She was about to become a sex slave to the very people she had sworn to support.
10 |
Todd Residence Queens, New York City, New York
“Bobby!”
Bobby Todd’s mother grabbed him, hugging him hard, her shoulders shaking with sobs before she finally let go. He reached out to shake his father’s hand when instead the man grabbed him, giving him an uncharacteristic hug.
He must really be scared.
“Have you heard from her?”
His father shook his head. “Nothing.”
Bobby handed his jacket to his mother, kicking off his shoes. “What have you guys done?”
“We’ve called our congresswoman, but she hasn’t called back.” His father threw his arms up. “And what are they going to do? She went voluntarily!”
His mother disappeared for a moment, returning with his sister’s Bible. “And then there’s this!”
His eyes narrowed. “What? The Bible?”
She removed the dust jacket, holding up the book triumphantly. He didn’t catch on at first, focusing more on her than what she was holding. His eyes finally focused on the book and he gasped. “Holy shit!”
“Watch your mouth!”
“Mom, I think we’ve got bigger problems than my cussing.”
“You’ll remain civil, even when being tested.”
A flash of anger momentarily overwhelmed him. “Well, if He’s testing us, He’s an asshole!”
“Bobby!”
His father held out his hand. “Enough.” He pointed at the Koran. “I think she lied to us. That evil book was on her nightstand.”
Bobby’s head slowly bobbed as he reevaluated everything. He was certain the motivations of the men who had taken her weren’t pure, already convinced she was either now or soon to be a sex slave for the soldiers of ISIS. But this revelation had him wondering what was really going on. He looked at his father. “I heard her speak some Arabic.”
“What?”
His mother recoiled as if lashed. “She doesn’t speak Arabic.”
“It was just a greeting, but it got me wondering.” He gestured toward the Koran. “And now this. Could she have converted?”
“Oh God, no!” His mother collapsed against the wall, his father reaching out and catching her. Bobby helped him move her to the living room and place her in her chair. She stared at them both, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. “We’ll never be able to show our faces at church again!”
Bobby frowned. “I hardly think that should be your primary concern.”
His mother stared at him, aghast, then snapped her jaw shut. “You’re right, of course.” She slapped her hands against her knees, looking blindly around the room. “Oh God, what are we going to do?”
“We need to figure out what the truth is.”
She focused on him. “But how?”
“We need to get onto her computer.”
His father sat. “You’re right. Do you know her password?”
Bobby shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Bobby shrugged, his mind racing, trying to find a solution to a problem far bigger than them, far bigger than any family should have to deal with on their own. “We need the government.”
His father laughed. “The government only helps important people, and we’re not important.”
Bobby frowned, his father right. They were the working class, three votes out of millions, with no money to fill the pockets of their political masters. He stared at the television screen, still playing from when he had arrived unexpectedly, the hotness that was Aynslee Kai delivering the nightly local news.
He smiled.
“We need to get the press involved!”
11 |
WACX Broadcasting New York City, New York
Aynslee Kai lay on the couch in her office, eyes closed, lights out, letting her body ooze into the luxuriant leather. The life of a news anchor had its perks, and for good reason. It seemed easy to those who watched at home, too many thinking all she did was read what was on the teleprompter, breezing in thirty minutes beforehand for some pampering in the hair and makeup department, before delivering the news over half an hour, with most of that commercials and other reports, perhaps speaking for only ten minutes on a good night.
But it was more than that.
There were meetings before and after to discuss what was going on the air and what wasn’t. She still had her segments she would run down her own stories for, though those were too few now that she was the face of the network’s nightly broadcast.
She pushed deeper into the leather, sighing.
Not really.
There was a knock at the door and she groaned.
Just fifteen minutes. That’s all I ask!
“Come in.”
The door opened and one of the interns poked her head in. “Umm, sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone downstairs insisting on seeing you.”
Aynslee held up her phone, checking the time. “It’s after midnight. Are they kidding? Tell them to book an appointment with Theresa tomorrow.”
“Umm, he won’t talk to anyone but you. He says it’s a huge story.”
Aynslee grunted. “They all are. Tell him I’ve gone home and if he wants to see me, he has to go through my assistant first.”
“Okay. Sorry to bother you.”
The door closed gently as did her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath then let it out slowly.
Serenity now!
Another knock.
“For the love of God, can’t I have just fifteen minutes to myself!”
“Oh, umm, sorry.”
She leaped from the couch as she recognized the muffled voice through the door. She yanked it open to find the portly frame of her friend and protector, Detective Justin Shakespeare, walking toward the elevators. “Justin!”
He turned, his face slightly dejected.
You poor dear!
She walked toward him, arms extended for an embrace that always made her feel safe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.” He brightened slightly. She wrapped her arms around his generous body, he returning the hug.
“I figured you’d still be here, so thought you might like to grab a coffee.”
She let go, smiling up at him. “Absolutely! Let me get my jacket.” She rushed back to her office, grabbing her jacket and purse, quickly rejoining the man who had saved her life on more than one occasion and had become a good friend, one of the few she could tell anything to without being judged, the missing father figure she needed so desperately at times.
And he seemed to enjoy her company, never in a creepy way, she aware of the effect her looks had on men, Shakespeare one of the most honorable men she knew.
Forgotten Page 3
