Echoes of Broken Orders

Prologue

Shaun Jacobsen drew in a ragged, painful breath. He twisted his hands, feeling for play in the ropes, holding his hands tied behind his back. Why the hell did they feel the need to bind his wrists when he was in a fucking cage the size of a puppy pen? Did they suspect who he was?

Don’t be stupid. If they knew who you were, you would be dead.

His eyes strained in the darkness of the stone cave that had served as his prison cell for an unknown length of time. Crouched in this cage, he didn’t have much room to maneuver. Fuckballs almighty, if he couldn’t get free soon, he was screwed. Did his team even know he was missing?

One thing he did know: he had been here too long. Had someone missed him when he didn’t check in at the scheduled time? Was anyone looking for him yet?

Nope, do not go there. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Shaun shoved the panic welling inside him behind a mental brick wall.

“Breathe.” The word was more groaned than spoken; his military training ensured it triggered the response he wanted. He took a deep breath, ignored the ache in his ribs, and exhaled. His pulse slowed, and his panic receded far enough that he could think straight again.

Of course, someone was looking for him. They had to be.

He was a Ghost, with a team of brothers who always had his back.

All former Special Forces from various countries recruited by the US military to form one of the most elite Black Ops teams ever created.

The Ghosts would be looking for him, and God damn it, if he hadn’t managed to free himself before they got here, then Rock, Grif, and the others would blow this shitty mountain cave to hell once they got him out of this damn cage.

His captors thought he was someone else. The only thing keeping him from breaking down and telling them who he was was training, years and years of stubbornness, and the fact that he knew the same second they realized who and what he was… he was dead.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? Shaun knew that if he didn’t get himself free, rescue had to come soon.

He was so thirsty his tongue felt swollen.

His lips were cracked and split. Blood he couldn’t afford to lose trickled down his face from the cut over his eye.

The skin on his wrists was ragged and torn from where he’d struggled to free himself.

He knew his captors were withholding water since the beatings hadn’t worked.

Maybe he should just fucking tell them who he was and get it over with.

A quick death was more acceptable than dying of thirst in this Godforsaken country.

But his stubborn side wouldn’t give up. He didn’t want those assholes to have the satisfaction of knowing they had broken him.

You don’t get to decide when death comes calling, his inner voice warned him.

“Oh, shut up, Shaun.”

Great, now you are answering yourself, too. Fantastic.

Breathe, he reminded himself. Just keep breathing. Your chance to escape will come, or your team will come for you. It is just a matter of which happens first.