Chapter Three
Rebecca’s head jerked back as the driver hit her.
Pain exploded in her cheek. It felt like they kept her in the chair for days, yet it lasted only a few hours.
Harrison and Jackson demanded they stop torturing her.
Their words fell on deaf ears as the men kept up their ruthless attack.
She refused to give them Avie’s location and focused on Julio, imagining him bursting through the door at any moment.
The assailant kicked the chair, making her fall to the floor.
She grunted as her head hit the concrete and her eyes rolled back into her head.
Nausea threatened as her head pounded along with the rest of her aching body.
The man cursed in another language before hauling her up, untying her, and dragging her down the hallway.
He left Rebecca in the bedroom and she curled up, trying to stave off the pain in her ribs.
The room beside hers remained quiet, making her worry. What did they do with Harrison and Jackson? Her eyes refused to stay open and she closed them, praying for relief.
When she opened them again, the room was dark, indicating that some time had passed between when they brought her back and her current state.
Listening, she heard the two assailants speak to one another, then a door opened, and something skidded across the floor.
A minute later, one of the men opened hers, and a tray sailed across the floor with a paper plate.
She guessed the men got their meals too, even though she didn’t hear any noise coming from them.
Raising her head, she held her ribs and touched the food, guessing it must be a sandwich as she felt two slices of bread.
Her stomach growled since she last ate at the airport in Texas before returning to New York.
No, she reminded herself, they might’ve drugged the sandwich to get her to reveal Avie’s location and she refused to take the chance.
Pushing it farther away from her, she moved to the bed and checked for the phone.
She didn’t have a charger, and knowing they didn’t have any service, Rebecca didn’t bother turning it on.
Holding it gave her a connection to Julio and made her feel slightly relieved knowing when she didn’t respond, he’d investigate.
The doorknob rattled, and she thrust it back under the mattress and lay down, pretending to be unconscious.
“What shall we do with her?” the driver asked with his heavy accent.
“We wait for Hasan,” his partner advised. “The men ate. Soon they’ll be unconscious. When she eats, we can sleep. The men will arrive in the morning. If they refuse to tell us the woman’s whereabouts, then we’ll torture her again,” he said before closing the door.
What the hell? They already tried that. Why did women always become the victims in these scenarios? She sighed and leaned against the bed. Her head ached, her eye throbbed, and her cheek stung. They didn’t offer any water and her mouth tasted coppery from the blood when she bit her cheek.
Deciding to pretend she ate the food, she stuffed it between the mattress and the boxspring on the opposite side, hoping she got everything.
Rebecca lay on the floor, waiting until they came back to check on her. Hopefully, they’d slip up at some point, allowing her time to escape, and she rested until the opportunity presented itself.
A while later, they shone the flashlight on the floor, and she barely breathed as they determined her asleep.
“Bring her back into the living room. Hasan wants to speak with her. Maybe she can warm our bed,” the driver suggested.
“You’ll have plenty of time once Hasan finishes with her.
Until he arrives, we only get the information,” the other man replied angrily as he grabbed her hands and pulled her out of the room and farther away from her phone.
Despair filled her as they set her upright in a chair, her limbs stayed loose and flailed around them.
She almost got some personal satisfaction as her hand slapped the driver in the face.
He muttered under his breath as they tied her.
“She’s not going anywhere,” he grumbled. “Leave her here, and we’ll check on her every hour. I’m starved and tired. Once we get the location, we’ll not have any rest until Rahimi’s satisfied.”
“I’ll prepare our dinner. We take turns watching her.
Hasan will have our heads if she escapes.
Maybe sitting in the wooden chair all night will make her softer,” her assailant said as he wrapped her blonde strands around his fist. “She’s pretty.
Casim will like her hair coloring. He prefers American ladies. ”
“Leave her be,” the man warned.
Her attacker reluctantly let go and followed the other into the kitchen. The smell of rice cooking and spices she didn’t recognize filled the room, making her stomach growl.
After they ate, the two men sat at a table and played cards.
The driver went off to bed, and she let her shoulders relax as the other man took first watch.
She must’ve nodded off because when she peeked, the driver sat on the couch.
He read a book, and his head bobbed and jerked back as he fought sleep.
Rebecca bided her time until his head lowered to his chest in slumber.
Her hands frantically worked the knots on the rope.
It took almost an hour to get untied, and she moved slowly to undo her feet.
The soft glow from the kitchen light gave her enough sight for her to spy his gun on the side table. Weighing out her options, she decided to knock the man out, search for keys to the room where they held her teammates and grab her phone.
Moving silently, she rose from the chair. Rebecca gently picked up the weapon and smashed it over his head. The driver fell to the floor, and she used the ropes to tie his hands and feet. Glancing around, she ran into the kitchen and tied a towel around his mouth.
Her hands worked swiftly as she checked for keys and ignored her body’s pain.
Finding none, Rebecca hugged the wall, listening for any signs of the other man.
She turned the knob to her room, grabbed the device and her coat, slipping the phone into her boot.
Knocking softly on the wall, Rebecca hoped one of her coworkers would hear her.
When no one made a sound, she frowned. The best bet for all of their survival lay in alerting the CIA and getting a message to Leo’s team.
Rebecca knew once Matthew knew the location, the men would move Avie and her son, Deni.
Knowing how Shadow pestered her, she felt assured he’d keep them safe.
Slipping out the door, Rebecca glanced down at her chest for any sign of the snipper gun.
When no red dot appeared, she ran toward the dense wooded area.
She grimaced and held her arms close to her body as her ribs made her want to scream in pain.
Rebecca stopped every few minutes to catch her breath and listen for any signs of someone coming for her.
Shivering in the freezing winter temperatures, she focused on imagining the warmth of Julio’s body next to hers.
He radiated heat, and half the time she slept under a sheet to avoid overheating.
Crouching low, she shielded the phone with her coat to keep light from giving away her location.
She powered it on and checked for cell coverage.
No bars. She cursed under her breath. Leaning against the tree, she prayed for something to come into view.
The temperature dropped even further, making her body stiff as she ran, holding her ribs.
Her thoughts drifted to the coworkers she left inside the cabin.
Even if she managed to overcome the other assailant, Rebecca doubted Harrison or Jackson would wake in time for them to escape together.
Her best bet remained in contacting the CIA and getting a team ready to take the bastards after Hasan arrived.
“Come on, Rebecca,” she urged herself as her teeth chattered. “They’re counting on you.”
She reached a road and turned right, sticking to the woods.
Rebecca lost track of how far she walked, but she marked her turns to lead the team to rescue her friends.
A cabin appeared through a clearing, and she took off in a dead run, ignoring the pain.
She beat on the door, calling out for help.
When no one came, she grabbed a piece of wood stacked up against the house and ran around to the back door.
She broke the glass and turned the latch, letting herself inside.
“Hello?” she called again.
Silence greeted her.
Locating the bathroom light, she flipped it on and closed the door, allowing enough to seep through the crack and still appear as if no one broke in.
She cleared each room and searched the house for a landline.
Finding none, she searched for the keys to the car in the garage.
As she entered the kitchen, she pulled out a can of peaches from the cabinet, opened them, and searched for a spoon.
Sighing, she ate the fruit and sat down, taking out her phone again.
The signal didn’t appear any better. Taking out the weapon she stole from the driver, she checked the magazine, counting four bullets.
“Use them wisely,” she said out loud, rising from her seat.
Throwing away the can, she put the spoon in the sink.
Returning to the garage, Rebecca went to the car and studied the older model.
Her hot-wiring skills might be a bit rusty, but it seemed worth a try.
Rebecca knelt and pulled the wires from under the dash, connecting them.
The car refused to start. She tapped on the old gas gauge, realizing even if she started it, it most likely didn’t contain gas.
The cabin appeared deserted from what she saw.
Maybe someone used it as a vacation spot or summer place.
Dust covered the vehicle and the furniture.
The fridge didn’t have any food, and the cans in the cabinet were close to the expiration date.
Her body, now fed, grew weary, and she needed to rest. Yet Rebecca refused to stop thinking of the two men.
She opened the dresser drawers, layering socks, and found a pair of winter boots.
Trading them for her cowboy boots, she sat on the bed and put them on.
Rebecca gripped the phone, willing Julio to find her, then turned it off and placed it inside the sock, closest to her skin.
According to the clock, Rebecca had two hours before sunrise. She needed to find help. Slipping back into the dark, she pressed on for the men still held captive. The sooner she brought aid, the faster she could fly back to Texas and into Julio’s arms.