28. Tender Dicked
Chapter 28
Tender Dicked
Taz
I’ve had better days.
I’ve probably had worse days, but I just couldn’t think of them right now.
A meaty hand connected with my temple, and I saw stars. Stars in the darkness, as my dominant eye was swollen shut. I was pretty sure my nose was broken, but the jury was out on that one. It throbbed, and gushed, sending blood into my mouth.
Blood, and probably snot.
Kinda gross.
Whoever was hitting me struck me in the gut, and I grunted under the pressure.
I was tied to a chair. At first, they had only tied my hands down, but then they had to tie my feet down when I kicked two lackeys - one in the nuts, and the other under the knee cap. The first probably won’t have any serious injuries to his rather miniscule member. The other? I hope he had a lifetime of limping in his future.
Assuming I didn’t kill him on my way out of here, of course.
“Where is the Ghost?” The rando lackey asked for the fifth time.
I had stayed silent, but I was getting bored.
So, I asked, “Casper?”
Rando hit me again, this time in the breast.
That hurt. But not as much as it would hurt him when I’d shot him in the balls later on.
I was vaguely aware of someone setting up a laptop in front of me. My swimming head was also a bit distracted when it began to ring, and the computer screen looked into a small room, filled with somber faces.
I blinked, as I stared at the Situation Room with the familiar faces of President Davis Lau and CIA Director Roland Griffith.
It was amazing how similar Director Griffith looked to his son. He had a bit of silver at his temples, but the same dark, almond- shaped eyes, and serious jawline. I guess that’s what Kai would look like in twenty or so years.
“Miss Guerro?” The President asked, tentatively.
I wondered why, despite the constraints, they hadn’t thought to gag me.
“Corner of Amsterdam and Church Street,” I said, knowing that I was at the Prodigal Sons Compound. “Twenty Minutes due north of Mourningkill, red brick warehouse…”
I was reciting everything I knew about the location, and no one shut me up. That should have been my first clue that this information was irrelevant, but you can’t override years of training.
But the moment a familiar laugh came through from the back of the room, my hair stood on end, and I clamped my mouth shut again.
Speak of the Devil and he will come.
I had spoken of him just hours ago, and it seemed that it materialized him into my life.
I felt the familiar cold steel of a barrel, it’s jagged edge against my sensitive, swollen cheek.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Heath Carlin stood beside me, staring right into the men in the Situation Room, holding my life in his hands… again.
I suppose he was used to seeing me battered and bruised.
“I can confirm that she is, indeed, Trinity Guerro, formerly Trinity Carlin.” I looked up at him, and his bright blue eyes - the color of sapphires.
It was unfair that he could have such vibrant color in his soulless gaze. They looked like contacts, but I knew that they were real. I wanted to pluck them out, or see them grayed out in death.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear her confirm it,” Director Griffith said in an almost languid drawl. He was speaking unnaturally slow.
I knew the score.
“My name is Trinity Blaze Guerro,” I said, matching his slowed pace. “I’m a resident of Mourningkill, New York.” I rattled off my social security number, birthday, and my former rank and unit. Then, for good measure, I added, “I was never Trinity Carlin, you limp-dicked biscuit.”
The butt of a pistol came down on the side of my head, crashing so hard that I saw stars.
“Shut up!” Heath said, spittle from his jagged teeth flying onto my face. I couldn’t wipe it off, because my hands were tied, though I was two seconds from She-Hulking out of the binds just to make sure nothing of him stayed on me. I’d have to bathe in boiling iodine to sanitize him off.
Director Griffith and I had spoken slowly because we were buying time. Time for a Reaction Force. Time for a rescue. Time to come up with a plan.
When you are held captive, you can do one of two things - give in to despair, or keep the faith. The faith that someone is coming after you. That you’re not left behind or forgotten.
The bracelet on my wrist burned, as I remembered that I wasn’t alone. Not right now. Not anymore.
I was staring at Kai Griffith’s father, and he had to have known… something.
“You already know my wife,” Heath said, turning to the men. “Now tell us where the Ghost is.”
“Ex,” I said, louder than necessary.
“What?” Heath snapped, slapping me on the cheek so hard my head whipped to the side, the sound of it echoing on the bare, plaster walls.
I coughed and spluttered, feeling my nose and mouth fill with blood. I spat it at him, but it sprayed uselessly and disappeared before it could stain his pristine skin.
“Ex-wife. I’m your ex-wife, remember?” I said, with a laugh. “I left you cos I was too busy getting banged by real Green Berets.”
That was his accusation. Now… it was partially true. I had had two amazing nights with my former teammate. Three, if you counted the one from all those years ago. My only regret was that I didn’t fuck Kai Griffith sooner.
I could see the string that bound Heath’s temper pull taut, ready to snap.
I had to read a lot of books after I got out of my relationship with Heath. When I finally pulled myself from that disaster, I had to do a post-mortem to figure out where the fuck I had gone wrong. How I had ended up under his spell and his power.
I looked up why a person would abuse another, and why someone would harm their spouse.
If they weren’t total emotionless psychopaths, it could all be summarized in a single thing: Limp Dick Syndrome.
The kind of man who hit his wife was an insecure, petty, pathetic human being, whose only means of control wasn’t from giving value, but from causing harm.
Pa-the-tic.
“And before you ask,” I said, remembering to keep my words slow. Every minute counted. Every second I delayed my rapidly approaching execution, was a minute I upped my chances of being saved. “Yeah, their dicks were better, and bigger than yours.”
“You fucking whore!” His teeth ground together, and I hoped he cracked them under the pressure.
“And it felt so good! Much better than yours–”
He lunged at me, striking me square in the middle of my forehead, throwing my head back in a whiplash that sprained my neck. Fuck…
There was no additional blood, though, so that must have meant that my hard head didn’t take on as much damage as I thought.
I blinked, trying to see through my one remaining eye, and saw his fist was red. I didn’t know if that was from smooshed blood, or if it was because they were swollen. I hoped he hurt those pretty little fists of his.
“Tell us where Joaquin Guerro is.” Heath looked at the camera, grabbing the hair at the crown of my head, forcing me to look the President dead on. “Or you’ll watch me beat his daughter to death.”
I laughed. My dry lips cracked, as more blood slipped down my chin.
“That’s gonna take a while…” I giggled. “You used to take forever to cut firewood. I don’t think you know how much effort it takes to actually beat someone to death—”
Smash! Another blow to the head.
I was going to have the mother of all concussions.
“Jesus, don’t tell anyone we were married. People will think I taught you how to hit,” I said through a bloody smile. “That’ll just ruin my rep.”
Smash!
My head fell to the side with that strike, my hand straining against the binds. I ground my teeth, and took in a deep breath, and forced another smile.
“You’ve gotten so sensitive!” I said, spitting saliva that had pooled in my mouth. “Take a pill, dude.”
I was pissing him off, and I wasn’t a hundred percent certain it was the best move.
But years of resentment bubbled to the surface, and I had no intention of letting him believe that he was anything but the frail, soft-footed wash out that he was!
“Mr. Carlin!” It took a second to figure out that the President, and Roland Griffith, had been calling his name, telling him to stop his little tantrum.
Roland Griffith would be my future father-in-law, and grandpa to our kids… assuming I lived long enough. Was he in communication with his son? Did he know about me?
Kai must be so worried right now.
“Tell us where her father is!” Heath demanded. “What name is he going under? What’s his cover?”
“I know where he is,” I said calmly, blinking up at the ceiling for a moment.
There was silence in the room. Nothing but the static from the video conference.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. Precious, precious minutes, as I zoned out, counting the spots on the ceiling.
“Well?” Heath finally asked.
I snapped back as if I was startled. “Well, what?”
This is what weaponized incompetence looks like, ladies and gentlemen.
“Where is he?” He yelled right up into my face so loud that it blew the hair from my brow.
“Who?”
He didn’t bother asking, but instead punched my now broken nose. He hit me once. Then twice.
By the third hit, I was laughing.
He hit me again and I laughed even harder.
“You like that baby? Is this how you get your rocks off?” His voice dripped with hate and derision. “It fucking figures.”
His smirk was sadistic. An obvious insult, and insinuation that I liked what he had done to me all those years.
My face throbbed in pain. I hoped that when I smiled, my teeth were covered in red blood.
“I like my men the way I like my coffee,” I said, spitting on the ground. “Flying off the roof of my car as I drive away.”
Heath’s menacing chuckle sent goosebumps crawling over my skin. A chuckle that gave me a feeling like the coming of doom. A past nightmare coming back, right when you had thought they were gone for good.
“She’s funny, isn’t she, guys?” Heath laughed, even though his expression was tight.
He was trying to save his image in front of the guys.
My swollen eye barely opened as I gazed up at the face of my own personal sadist. The villain of my tale.
I looked back to the guys on the screen.
“Mr. Carlin,” the CIA director said, as he looked through the camera, at me, visibly distraught. “You already know Joaquin Guerro’s name. What more do you want from us?”
Kai’s dad was playing stupid. It was a time old technique to delay what was going to happen - me, getting beaten, or shot to death. I appreciated the technique.
“What’s his cover name? We all know he’s not running around using his real name. Where is he embedded?” Heath was visibly losing patience, knowing that the Director’s play at ignorance was a direct insult to him and his limited intelligence.
“Mr. Carlin, if you just wait…” Director Griffith went on, but I was back in Heath’s sights. He was focused right on me again.
“Did you miss me, baby?” he said, leaning into me until we were practically nose to nose. “I’ve missed you.”
He ran a gentle finger down the side of my face. But even that was a threat.
“Who knew I had such a precious little bitch in my bed. I woulda tied you up and never let you whore yourself to that little prick on your team. What’s his name?” My blood ran cold. “That’s right. Kai Griffith. Is that right, Director?” He turned back to the screen where Kai’s father stared with an impassive expression. “She’s boning your son, isn’t she? You think my wife finger fuck’s his asshole?”
“Don’t get jealous, baby,” I interrupted, because he had no right to talk about Kai. He could call me a whore all he wanted, but to talk about my guy was off the fucking table. “I have great memories of you being a bottom. If you want I can peg you--”
His retribution was swift, and angry as he slapped me with the pistol again. He kicked my chair over, and I fell backwards, landing on my arms as I crashed, my head slamming on the concrete floor.
I swallowed, then thought better of it as blood filled my mouth again. I held it on my tongue and said nothing.
With his leather boot, he kicked my arm where he had broken it seven years ago. It was intentional. Like he’d catalogued the injuries he’d given me and wanted to make me relive every single one.
Mutual abuse? Yeah-fucking-right!
I had never noticed it before, but his blue eyes were devoid of anything but pleasure. Pleasure in my pain. A fucking sadist.
But I had hurt his ego in front of his little biker friends. And that gave me pleasure as well, despite the throbbing ache all over my body.
He picked up the chair and righted it, the legs slamming on the ground, sending my head into another whiplash.
He leaned down in front of me so we were eye to eye. “You ready to behave, sweetheart?”
I spit blood in his face, and smirked when he flinched away, the red liquid splashing over his features.
His nose wrinkled, like it tickled, as his lips curled up in a snarl. The slap wasn’t totally unexpected.
The part that was unexpected was the laughter that came through me.
“You wash out!” How did I not see how weak he truly was? How had I let myself think he hung the moon when he couldn’t even hang a picture? “You’re still so fucking tender dicked about the fact that you didn’t make it through Ranger School, but your wife did. Grow a pair of balls, jackass.”
I would never have done that five years ago. Hell, I’m not sure I’d have done that two years ago, when I decided to get out of the Army, and to make my own way, alone.
Maybe I wouldn’t have laughed as recently as a few days ago, before Kai made me talk about it. Before Kai held me by the face and declared that he was the guy. My guy. The one that I was supposed to end my story with.
When his boot came up to my chin, I almost regretted my smart mouth.
Almost…