18. Calista
Chapter 18
Calista
I swallow the cry of betrayal, and it’s so much more painful than any agony the brute grabbing me can cause.
The flash of heat in his words is so strong, harsh, that even as I suspect he’s buying time, I can’t shake the feeling he just pumped me for information.
And I gave him something.
I just don’t know what.
I twist, trying to get away from the asshole who mauled me.
“Okay, then.” The man nods at Smith. “I’ll play.”
The man flings me away and I stumble, unable to keep my balance. I crash onto the floor on my hands and knees.
Smith’s up and halfway to me when the guy pulls a gun.
I’ve got a feeling Smith would have caught me if I’d been flung near him instead of to the right and behind.
I rear up, ready to attack when the merest flicker of gaze from Smith stops me.
“What do you have? I could taken her.” The guy laughs. “Questioned the shit out of her. ”
“She doesn’t know anything. She’s wet behind the ears.” Smith doesn’t look at me and I don’t know which of them I want to punch. “I was hired to get back what she stole. And I did. I just checked with her, and she doesn’t know a fucking thing.”
“Really?” the guy says in his accented English, gun on Smith. “You’re sweet on her enough to risk some torture?”
“Touch her and you’ll know a very prolonged, very excruciating death.” Smith’s smile looks benign but there’s poison in it. Violence. Anger. “Not sweet on her, she’s in enough trouble and she’s ignorant. There’s no need for torture since I just volunteered.”
He’s not betraying me. He’s protecting me.
I think.
Because I didn’t give him anything.
I don’t even know what I have. The only thing I hedged on, ever, is the Collectors and that’s personal.
The man’s deadly, a hunter. He’s playing a game.
With me? Or the jackass here with us?
I want to say it’s with the big guy, but maybe my idiot brain’s a little soft on Smith. My body burns for him because every touch, the hot, primal games he’s played with me, all make me melt.
There’s a reason I haven’t used the safe word.
I don’t want to.
I like his brand of kink, it exhilarates me like nothing ever has before.
It doesn’t mean I trust him. Or like him. Or… even if I like him, that doesn’t put us on the same side.
Not that I like him, though.
The guy looks from me to Smith and back again. “Or I take her and have some fun.”
“And then,” Smith says, “I don’t talk. ”
I’m not a crier, and on demand is almost impossible. But I’ve had guns pointed at me. A man who turns my stomach has felt me up, mauled me, and now he’s threatening me with torture at best, rape at worst.
“P-please…” I have to cry, so I think of not seeing my brother, of not avenging my mom’s death. And I think of Smith’s daughter, the girl he clearly loves and tries to pretend doesn’t mean that much, and my lip trembles. “P-please, let me go.”
I then bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough the coppery taste of blood comes, and it brings home all the violence that could happen. And what the CIA might also do to me, and I manage a few tears.
Fuck it. I’m scared, beyond scared… terrified, so I bury my face in my hands as my vision blurs and I pretend I’m bawling.
The man hisses in disgust.
Outside the door someone calls out to him. It’s a sharp command in, I think, Portuguese. It’s not one of my languages, but from the slowness of the command, and the repeat, I don’t think it’s this guy’s, either.
He yells back an affirmative. It’s something that I understand right away. The big guy then motions to the door with the gun on Smith.
“Come on,” he says. “We’ll see what you know. And if you try anything, I’m tasting your sweet thing here.”
Smith doesn’t look at me as he’s led out, the gun poking him hard in the back and I stand, dropping all attempt at tears as helplessness overcomes me. They disappear out the door, the echoing slam like some kind of bell toll at a funeral.
The moment they’re gone, I look around again. I don’t see any telltale lights for cameras, and besides, there’s nowhere to keep them hidden.
I have no idea who is behind this. So many people might want this weapon, and the blueprints… Johnny, my field agent, was on the trail for an important piece of the puzzle when he went MIA. Before he went dark, he told me not to trust anyone.
Then again, he might have said that because he was feeding me bad intel.
Slowly, I creep toward the door and place my ear against it. The wood’s thick, very thick, maybe even reinforced.
I need to keep my eyes on the prize. Finding the fucker who raped my mom. Who used her, got her in with these people, the Collectors, or… I don’t know the details, but I have to find out the truth.
Beyond the door there are muffled sounds. Voices. But I can’t make anything out.
I reach for the handle and stop.
If I can even get out and there’s a guard waiting, where am I going to go and what the fuck will he do to me if he catches me? The disgusting giant already gave me a taste. He also taunted a cold and furious Smith with my fate.
Smith…
I swallow, legs wobbling, tears pressing hard and hot at my eyes.
Funny how trying to cry in fear was hard work, but fear for Smith, a man I admit I crave in a sexual way but am not sure if I like, the tears want to come.
I think if the man had hurt Smith, shot him, I’d have attacked him. I’d have cried for real.
What does that say about me?
Other than I’m fucked up.
I move around, stepping over the tray with the thick-cut sandwiches and the remaining bottle of water, to see if there’s some miraculous secret passage out. A giggle rises in my throat at the ridiculousness, and I swallow it down .
Like I’m going to press a brick and freedom and unicorns will be waiting to fly me the fuck out of this hellhole?
This isn’t Harry fucking Potter and no one’s locking us up with secret passages.
But I keep checking.
Finally, I collapse onto the floor, slumping back against the wall, wishing I had a weapon hidden. I rub a hand up under the long layer of hair that hides the undercut.
The door opens and Smith’s flung in. He lands on the ground, and I’m on my feet so fast, rushing to his side, my heart thumping.
He groans and I gently touch his face. He lifts his head, his blue eyes burning into me, lip bleeding but other than that, he looks fine.
“You should see the other guy.”
“You look fine,” I say as he pulls me into him. I hate myself for going, for leaning into him as his mouth presses to mine. He kisses me, tongue hot, seductive, the taste of his blood, of copper and salt, it all makes a heady mix.
The taste of Smith and blood.
“Looks,” he whispers, “can be deceiving. And it hurts. On the inside.”
I push him to lift his shirt, but he pulls my hand away. His mouth back at mine. “They’re coming to get me again. They want information on where you have the weapon shit. There’s a setup with a satellite computer. The cloud you mentioned?”
The cloud? “I told you I have one, but there’s nothing on it.”
“Bullshit. You’re under thirty, everyone has a fucking cloud. And they keep crap on it.”
I’ve got a couple, a personal one for not overly personal things, one for backup digital photos. And… I swallow. “Where are we? ”
“Best I can work out, Cuba. But none of them are Cuban. Outskirts of Havana, is my best guess.”
Suddenly, I pull back. “How…?”
“Information gathering’s easy with certain people. These are grunts. Hired help from various countries. I don’t know who they’re working for, but they want the weapon info you have.”
“How…?”
“Think about it, Calista.” He slips a finger down my cheek and I can’t shake the feeling he’s playing me as well as these people. “You got people looking for you. Your employers want you. Someone powerful wants whatever you have.”
I take a shaky breath. “If you give them something, we’re dead. If you don’t, we’re dead.”
“No. I’m buying time. Time to trust me, Calista.”
I narrow my eyes. “But I don’t.”
“Fake it.”
Since I was younger, I’d store pointless stuff, things I made, code and fake info. A game I played with Henry when I was teaching him how to hack. He was only half-dedicated to coding and hacking. There was real stuff hidden there, but it wasn’t useful. And I was also trying to find ways to hide information in plain sight. Make it so I could have sensitive information almost out in the open and no one would know because even if they could get past all my firewalls and protections, they’d would still need the key to unlock what it all meant.
It's something I’d been working on with the CIA. And it’s also one reason why they wanted me. I could cipher cryptograms and break all sorts of codes others had tried to hide their information in.
But occasionally I’d throw something in there to test, nothing much, but always coded .
“You can give them this.” I lean in and put my mouth to his ear, trying not to breathe in his intoxicating scent. Then I whisper the cloud address and the password.
He kisses me again. “Calista, I could fuck you.”
“It’s just a kiss.”
“Then later.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Whatever happ—” Smith stops. “Thank you.”
He pushes himself up and then bangs on the door. “Got it.”
It opens and the brute looks at me and licks his thick lips before dragging Smith out. I leap up and punch the door the moment it slams and locks.
Did he play me? Again? Or is he buying time? And how the hell are we supposed to get out of here if we give them what they think they want?
The door opens again. I stumble back and two men grab me. They’re also big, and they speak the dialect of Bolivian.
At first I think they’re taking me out of there, but they shove me back into the room and onto the floor. I land with a thud, pain and shock ricocheting through my ass.
One of them grins down at me, uglier than the brute, and the other kneels behind me, pulling me down.
It takes a moment before I start to struggle. A moment before I get what they plan to do next.
Then the panic and the fury bubbles and spits. I kick at the grinning one while trying to kick the other one off me.
“Let me go!” I say.
He dodges my leg and unbuckles his pants and says in English, “I don’t understand.”
“Bastard.” I twist out of his grip, kicking again. I manage to hit him just shy of the balls. He grunts and waves a hand at his friend who has my top half pinned down.
He punches me, and for a moment everything is numb. Ringing .
Something hits my face, soft, stinking, and I shriek. The one pinning me down pulled out his dick.
Oh fuck. He’s hard. It’s not that huge but it’s big enough, and I don’t want it anywhere near me. He drops, sitting on my legs, and he reaches up to pull my pants down.
“No!” I scream and try to lift my arms so I can grab the cock that’s rubbing on my face, getting harder by the millisecond. I just need to grab it and try and gouge it, twist it, cause the fucker some intense pain. But he’s on my shoulders and upper arms, and I’m locked down.
Tears run down my cheeks in puddles as I try to throw them off. Pleading, angry words pour forth.
The one at my feet has his hands hooked in my pants now and has them down to my ankles.
“No, please, no,” I whimper, my body locked tight against the ground with no lifeline to grasp on to.
And no one coming to save me.