Chapter Twenty-Three #2
I’d been prepared to witness his pain. I’d been the one who’d warned him about the consequences of stepping foot in Jackson’s territory again in the first place, after all, but I’d never thought through what that would truly mean, and never in my most heinous nightmares had I contemplated watching his suffering live on television.
Only Jackson could have conjured vengeance so revolting that it stirred actual nausea.
“We both know you deserve worse,” Jackson shouted, no doubt for dramatic effect. “For what you’ve done to your country, for what you’ve done to me, you deserve to hang. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Tension resounded in Harper’s voice, his fingers stretching around the ropes holding his wrists in place as though he was clinging to the bondage for dear life.
There was a bitter sense of irony in seeing him so belittled and abused.
I’d had the pleasure of getting to know the man beneath the uniform, but his affection for me didn’t negate the things he’d participated in before we met.
Harper had presided over the agony of Fortorus.
He’d overseen the capture and captivity of thousands of innocent women, knowing full well they’d be subject to similar binds and tribulations.
My eyes flitted fleetingly closed at the bewildering paradox.
Once upon a time, I was hungry to see men like Harper on their knees, suffering the way we had all suffered.
But witnessing his pain had proved there was no satisfaction in the act, and it wasn’t only because I loved him.
Leaving Fortorus had helped me to see there was little solace in retaliation.
The best revenge for what Jackson and his cohort had done to me, and to my country, was for me to move on, to heal, and ultimately, to be happy.
I knew that would stick in his craw far more than anything the ICC could hand out.
“Yet somehow, here you are...” The camera panned to show Jackson, sitting proudly on what looked like a golden throne, staring smugly at the man he’d called a friend. “Getting away with fucking treason.”
“Treason?” My focus flitted to Akari, who looked equally as dumbfounded by the unraveling events on board the Traditional Values.
Jackson had no tangible reason to think Harper was treasonous.
His commander general had left him and absconded with a prisoner of the state, but as far as the grubby, fat man sitting on the throne knew, Harper had divulged nothing to the foreign authorities that suggested he wanted to overthrow the British government.
If my assumption was true, the whole sorry performance being aired to goodness only knew how many countries was all only for Jackson’s pleasure.
If he’d truly known what Harper had told the Swiss, then my master would surely be dead already.
I shivered at the prospect while the camera flicked back to its original angle, highlighting Harper’s face while Jackson spoke.
Harper’s brow rose, presumably at the idea that he was ‘getting away’ with anything, and despite my heartache at the burden he faced, my lips twitched at the gesture.
Even then, in the midst of dreadful pain, he was still the man I’d fallen in love with. Still the same ‘know-it-all’ Harper.
“Adam.” My voice was thick with emotion as I issued the futile call.
He couldn’t hear me. He was God knew how far away, at the whims of a madman. I knew he couldn’t hear me. Yet I needed to cry out to him regardless, as though, somehow, he’d sense that I was there for him. Even if only in spirit.
I turned away as the unknown bastard holding the whip swung the thin tail at him again, cringing at his audible sharp intake of breath. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I imagined how much each strike must have hurt, and suddenly, I was in awe of how Harper was managing the affliction.
I knew from bitter experience how awful punishments like that could be, having witnessed scores of them at Fortorus, but I’d never had the misery of seeing one in such close-up detail.
I also knew how the women receiving the whip had screamed and cried.
I could only think Harper was holding back his natural responses in an attempt to deny Jackson what he wanted the most—to glory in his power over the weakened and humbled commander general.
“This is awful.” Akari was shaking her head as I turned back to look her way. I intentionally chose to avoid the screen as another crack filled the airwaves.
“This is exactly what Jackson wants.” Despite my heartache as the camera scanned across the dreadful scene, determination was coursing through my system, and I heard it laced in my voice.
“He wants us to hurt watching this. To fear him, to fear the consequences of leaving him and to make sure no one else ever dares.” My hands balled at the bastard’s audacity. “He’ll fucking love this.”
My old friend anger was returning, its poison swimming through my veins in the way it always had when I’d been Harper and Mitchell’s prisoner.
They had no right to keep me captive, just as Jackson had no right to hurt Harper that way.
If Jackson had any genuine grievances to iron out with his so-called friend, then he should have been handling it man-to-man, not allowing somebody I’d never seen to thrash the life out of him.
“These fucking men.” Rage rolled over me in waves as I contemplated just how those men had systemically stripped me of my home, my rights, and my dignity, all in the name of taking power and spreading fear. “Haven’t they done enough damage?”
Akari inhaled as though she had no response, but the answer was smacking me in the face.
They had done more than enough.
“Have you got anything to say for yourself?” Jackson rose from his seat, his question stirring me from my bitter monologue. Motioning for the guy with the whip to halt his vile progress, Jackson loomed over the man I’d come to adore.
“Only what I’ve already said, Mr. President.” Harper glanced up at Jackson, those same expressive blue eyes that had surveyed my misery and humiliation on so many occasions finally subject to his own wretchedness.
Once more, I was struck by how I should have been ‘enjoying’ his torment.
I loved him, yes, but Harper was an architect of the regime that had nearly destroyed me.
He deserved to pay for the things he’d done, even if I was reticent to lose him to the penal system.
But yet again, my lack of gratification was telling.
After so much hate and hurt, there was nothing fulfilling about watching him suffer.
Standing there, all I longed to do was to save him.
“I am sorry for abandoning you,” Harper continued. “For abusing your trust and for all the hurt I’ve caused.”
Stoically, he still refused to express the pain he was in, though I knew him well enough to see the anguish swimming in his eyes.
“And you think you can just saunter back in here, apologize, and what?” Jackson glanced toward the camera, intentionally putting on a show, and evidently, relishing every second of it. “Everything will just be forgiven?”
“No, Sir.” Harper heaved in a breath. “I deserve to be punished.”
“Damn right, you do.” Jackson rolled his eyes, once again ensuring the camera captured the gesture. “If it had been anyone else but you, Adam, I’d have them hanging from the masts of my gorgeous ship already.”
“I understand.” Harper lowered his head, revealing some of that gray hair I found so sexy. “I’m thankful for your clemency, Mr. President.”
“Clemency?” I retorted, staring out at the pale light coming in through the windows. “How is such brutal treatment clemency?”
Though I knew in the system the new order had created, it was.
“I think he had to say so.” Akari shrugged. “To appease the president.”
“I know!” I snapped, unreasonably irritated with a woman who’d only ever really been kind to me.
“I know what people have to do to survive, but...” I exhaled, my anger giving way to a heavier, more desolate energy.
“It’s just bloody difficult to see this all unfolding.
” Rubbing at the growing tension at my temples, I slumped onto the small sofa by the window and stared at the screen.
“How much longer is Laurent going to let this go on for?”
Akari tugged her phone from her pocket and checked the smaller screen. “There’s no news from him, but the intervention has to be soon.”
“Yes, well...” Jackson snorted before his ugly lips stretched into a smile on the screen. “Clemency is more than you deserve. A few more licks of the whip should help to reinforce the point.”
“Mr. President, Sir.” A nervous-sounding male voice from out of shot interrupted Jackson’s evident enjoyment.
“What is it?” Jackson hissed, glaring at the newcomer. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed during the broadcast!”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” The owner of the voice remained off camera. “But there’s a problem. The command deck needs to speak with you urgently.”
My pulse sped up at the explanation, hoping the problem he referred to was actually the French military imposing itself.
“Now?” Jackson blew out a satisfyingly irritated breath.
“Er, yes,” came the reply. “I think so, Sir.”
Jackson’s glare slid from the intruder to Harper, still bound on his knees before returning to the camera.
“This isn’t over,” he declared, gesturing for the armed sentry to follow him. “Cut to our sponsors. Commander General Harper’s penance resumes soon.”
The picture disappeared, replaced by the commercial propaganda the BTP spewed between its alleged news coverage. I’d experienced a few weeks of its drivel before I’d been dragged into hell at Fortorus.
Akari flicked the television to silent, her expression expectant when her gaze met mine.
“This is Laurent, right?” I asked, vocalizing what I suspected we were both thinking.
“Yes.” She flicked back into her phone, as though the device would have confirmation for her, though if there was any, she didn’t report it. “This is Laurent.”
“Good.” I rubbed harder at my head, praying that Harper could hang on. He’d shown resilience so far, but the wounds on his back had to be killing him. “Can you make sure there’s a medic on The Libération who can help him?”
Akari’s lips twisted as she replied. “There will be.”
Wrapping my arms around my body, I hugged myself, listening to the same mantra pinballing in my head.
This has to be Laurent. It just has to be him.
But despite Akari’s assurance, I couldn’t ignore the gnawing dread rising in my solar plexus. Even if the distraction was Laurent and the French military, Harper was far from safe.