Duty Bound (Blackthorn Security Book 1)

Chapter 27

Blade had been stripped, his wrists bound, his body thrown unceremoniously to the floor. He lay in filth in a world of pain while the enemy kicked the shit out of him.

“Who are you?” The voice yelled in his ear.

He didn’t reply.

Another kick to the ribs, then another, which coincided with a muted crack. He winced.

Fuck, it hurt to breathe.

His left arm, already awkwardly positioned beneath him, felt wrong. A sharp, searing pain confirmed his suspicion—broken, likely from the way they”d twisted and slammed him down earlier.

He tried to curl into a ball but was hauled to his knees.

“What is your name?”

Blade caught a whiff of stale coffee and cigarettes.

A fist connected with his jaw, and he tasted blood. He spat it out at the man’s feet. Another blow, this time to his head. He keeled over, seeing stars.

A boot connected with his face, crunching his nose in a way that caused blood to immediately flood his mouth and dribble down his chin. Darkness encroached on his vision. Maybe he’d pass out. Then he wouldn’t feel any more pain.

He welcomed it.

The only thought in his head was Lily. Stitch had gotten her through the checkpoint. She’d be on her way to Kabul right now. To freedom.

Away from the men hunting her.

Away from here.

“Who are you?” the man shouted again.

Being naked and screamed at was supposed to unsettle him, but he’d gone through worse during training. He’d been here before, and that gave him some comfort. This wasn’t a new experience for him.

Blade let his head drop and tried to appear as subdued and as feeble as he could. It was what they wanted. If he’d gone all gung-ho and said fuck you, they’d only continue the violence. Better to play into their hands.

“You are U.S. Army.” The other man sneered then spat on the floor.

Blade looked contrite, like he’d been found out.

Army was one thing. If they discovered he was Special Forces, they’d assume he’d been part of the hostage rescue. It didn’t matter that he was no longer in the unit.

So far, his capture hadn’t reached the Taliban leaders up in the mountains who were presumably still searching for them, but it would soon.

When that happened, all bets were off.

When he didn’t answer, he got a rifle butt in the head. The shock sent him reeling over onto his side again.

He didn’t move, tottering on the edge of consciousness. Maybe they’d think he’d been knocked out.

They kicked him in the back to make sure, so he moaned incoherently but didn’t move. Hopefully, they’d think he was too far gone to continue with the interrogation.

They weren’t giving it their all, anyway. It was a half-assed attempt to discover his identity. From what he’d seen so far, these guys were not particularly organized, and there was no clear chain of command. All things that acted in his favor.

Blade curled up in the fetal position on the cold, concrete floor and let the darkness envelope him. There was nothing else he could do right now.

When his head cleared, he’d take stock of his surroundings and try to figure out how the hell to get out before Lily’s captors came for him. As long as they didn’t know who he really was, he had a fighting chance.

Blade drifted in and out of consciousness. He had no idea how long he lay there. Eventually, he opened his eyes—rather, his one eye that wasn’t swollen shut—and looked around. He was in a concrete room, about twenty by twenty, with the door behind him and two windows in front. The blinds were broken, causing thin shards of light to shoot across the floor.

It was still daylight.

He grimaced as he tried to move.

Fuck, everything hurt.

They’d definitely busted a rib. Probably his collarbone too. He tried to move, then gasped as a deep, searing pain radiated through his left arm.

Christ.

His hands were still tied together, but he couldn’t move the right one without the left exploding in agony. Eyes watering, he added that to the injury list.

The room tilted a little. The wooziness was from a concussion caused by the repeated kicks to the head. At least it was no longer pounding like a goddamn jackhammer. That was a good sign.

After several false starts, he managed to get himself into a sitting position. It took a few wheezing seconds to recover. Using the wall for support, Blade staggered to his feet.

First thing’s first. Check the door and windows. He didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to leave them open, but you never knew.

The door was locked, the windows didn’t open.

Shit.

Outside was a yard of some sort.

“Well, I’ll be…” This wasn’t a secure compound. It was a house, and he was looking out onto a barren backyard. As he watched, an armed guard walked by.

Blade pulled back behind the blind. The man didn’t spot him.

After a moment, he peered through the slats again, wincing at the explosion of pain in his left arm. He couldn’t see anyone else. The guard lit up a cigarette and had a smoke.

Common sense told him there would be more guards, maybe in the house. Maybe on rotation. Soon enough, a chief interrogator from Kabul would arrive and take over.

He did not want to be around for that.

If he was going to get the hell out of here, now was his chance. The house was relatively insecure, there were no bars on the windows, and the door didn’t appear to be reinforced.

Blade looked around for a weapon, but there was nothing in the room except a wooden chair and a small puddle of fresh blood, which belonged to him.

He stumbled back to the window. It was old style glass, thin, but not shatterproof. That gave him an idea.

The guard finished his smoke and disappeared.

Blade waited, counting the seconds until he came back again.

Three hundred Mississippis.

Five minutes.

That’s how long it took to patrol the perimeter.

As soon as he disappeared the second time, Blade pulled the blind aside and clenched his hands together. He punched a small square out of the window.

There was a soft tinkle as the tiny shards landed on the dirt outside.

He waited, but no one came.

Without wasting any more time, he used the shards that remained in the pane to saw through his plastic ties. They separated with a snap, but the sudden jolt to his left arm nearly made him pass out.

Gritting his teeth, he contemplated his options. Kick down the door or go through the window. Both were risky. Breaking all that glass would draw the guard, but kicking down the door would draw the attention of whoever was still in the house.

He chose the second option.

Blade picked up the chair and using his good arm, hurled it at the window. Glass shattered, leaving dangerous shards glinting around the edges. Pulling the blind off its railing, he knocked out most of the glass and clambered out. Despite this, it still cut his hands and legs.

As expected, he heard the sound of running footsteps, but made it to the corner of the house in time to stick out his fist and send the guard flying.

He bent down to pick up the fallen AK-47.

Shit, if only he could use his left arm. He was still wrestling with it when he heard a voice shout, “Put down the weapon!”

Slowly, he turned to see two more guards standing in the doorway, pointing their semi-automatics at him.

Fuck.

He considered taking them both out, but knew the odds were against him. On the other hand, surrendering would mean getting hauled back inside and given another beating, and this time they wouldn’t be so lenient.

He hesitated, feeling strangely detached, like he was in someone else’s body. The two men watched him warily, waiting to see what he’d do.

Their instructions were to guard him, not kill him. He might have information that was useful, failing which, he could be ransomed.

What these guys didn’t know was the Taliban leaders wouldn’t be thinking along the same lines. That decided it for him.

Damn it all.

He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Blade reached for the trigger.