Chapter 28 Kissing Death
Kissing Death
No person shall… be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law…
Several days later, news of a serious attack came mid-afternoon, leaving hundreds injured. The wounded were transported to the quarantine house for treatment since it was closest. Every medic at headquarters was called to help, so we threw handfuls of supplies into packs and hauled out.
When I arrived, chaos and blood prevailed. The injured had been dragged inside and left abandoned in the lobby, and not all of them were soldiers. They littered the floors, the chairs, the old hotel check-in desks. Some moaned, but others were so still, I feared we’d arrived too late.
In a team of medics, I set to work organizing and classifying the wounded per our usual protocol. I grabbed colored flags, throwing greens on the minors, reds on the majors, and blacks on the fatals.
So many black flags.
Body after body crammed into every nook and cranny of the building.
“Do you know what happened?” I finally asked another medic as we worked on one man with a fractured femur.
“I heard Hunters bombed one of the refugee zones outside the city,” she said.
My hand slipped on the stabilization board. “What? Why?”
She shoved hair from her face, leaving a streak of blood on her temple. “They probably heard Defiants were living there.”
My stomach cramped as I imagined being bombed by my own government just because an enemy lived nearby. Would Theo allow such a thing?
Would Williams?
I really wasn’t sure.
We finished stabilizing the man’s leg and left him for new patients. My hands grew slippery with blood as I tied off tourniquets, stabilized snapped limbs, removed objects impaled through flesh and bone.
The screams in the lobby slipped into whimpers and moans as people were moved to rooms further in the hotel or succumbed to their injuries.
“Don’t leave me!” a soldier cried when I rose to help someone else, giving him up for dead. His insides spilled through a slash in his abdomen.
Shaking wildly, he grasped for me, and I leaned close to his sweat-drenched face. The smell of burned flesh and blood was thick around us. Dark eyes held mine, fear making them glisten until the light died behind them, and he breathed his last breath.
I turned to the next patient, shoving that memory down with the other soldiers I’d failed to save.
We worked for several hours, my body overloaded by death and blood. Fatigue slowed me, and my bad leg ached. I wiped the back of my hand across my brow, taking a stuttered, steadying breath while I stared around at all the work left to do.
A scream ripped through the room.
The main door burst inward, a metal object tossed inside.
My body knew what was happening before my brain did.
I spun toward the hallway leading to the back exit right as a grenade exploded, shrapnel flying.
Thrown forward along with the mangled debris of chairs and the shredded remains of corpses, my shoulder slammed into the wall.
A yelp tore from my throat, and I crumpled to the ground.
The injury in my left leg locked up, my thigh cramping. I couldn’t stand.
Blurry anarchy descended. The tinny ringing in my ears deafened me. Dazed, I lifted my head to find throngs of Hunters invading the room. Adrenaline spiked, tingling in my fingertips. The pain in my leg disappeared.
I reached into my pocket, fingers hooking into the metal hoops of the knuckles. Screams pierced the ringing as Hunters wrangled prisoners, slicing the throats of the dying. I scrambled to my feet, using the wall as a brace.
I started toward the back door with several others, tripping over dead bodies in my effort to move quicker.
The deadly tattoo of gunfire added to the pandemonium, and the man next to me dropped to the ground.
I ran faster.
First to reach the door, I crashed into the push bar. The metal slid beneath my sweaty, bloody fingers, but I managed to escape into the cold air.
As I straightened, my heart stalled, then beat overtime. Hunters had surrounded the property. Several pairs of eyes landed on me.
My stomach dropped, but my grip on the knuckles tightened. Searching for an escape, my gaze darted over each Hunter, settling on one with kind eyes.
His face lit up. “Well, well. Look at you.” He called over his shoulder, “Hey, Colonel!”
A spike of elation drove through my chest. Could he mean Lucas? Fleeing Defiants poured from the door behind me, pushing me forward. They were wrangled by the awaiting enemy.
My attention zeroed in on the man now walking toward me.
No.
No, no, no.
Jack Miller smiled, clasping Kind Eyes on the shoulder. “Good job there, soldier.”
Panic tore through every fiber of my being.
I ran.
Two of them grabbed me before I made it even a few feet. I cut one of them, but he wrenched my weapon from me.
“Where the hell did you get Hunter knuckles?”
They held my arms and turned me to face Miller. He sauntered toward me. When his gaze slithered over my face, it widened, and a flame caught behind his eyes.
“Fuck me, gents, I think I found me a keeper.” He reached out to touch my cheek, and I snapped at him. “Feisty little thing.” He seized me, fingers digging into my upper arms.
“No!” I jerked away, trying to dislodge his grip. A fleeting spark of hope lit when one hand released me, only to be extinguished as he punched me across the face, breaking the skin of my cheek.
Exquisite electric shocks sizzled into my eye and ear, dazing me.
“That’s better,” he said above the buzzing in my brain. “Why don’t you give us a smile, sugar?”
I spat in his face.
His fist landed a blow to my temple, knocking my head to the side. Stars danced in my vision, and the world tilted dangerously to the left.
He stepped closer. The sandalwood in his cologne and the winter air mixed, poisoning those scents for me forever.
The third punch knocked me out cold.
Light speared through my eyelids, slicing into my brain like a cruel knife. The pounding in my temple swelled first, but then came an array of other stings and aches. My left thigh throbbed, but that wasn’t new. My ribs smarted with each breath.
I ached between my legs.
Groaning, I turned my face from the light.
“That you, sugar?” called a male voice.
My eyes snapped open.
That voice.
The smell of sandalwood swarmed me, and my gaze landed on a man in the doorway.
A raspy scream erupted from my throat. I jerked away, but got nowhere. My wrists were bound above my head, cuffed to the headboard of a bed.
Jack Miller swaggered toward me, a smile lighting his face. “Welcome home.”
I yanked again, trying to free myself.
“Now, calm down. You’ll like it better here than with the other prisoners. Trust me.”
My body stilled as tears rose to my eyes and the enormity of the truth crashed over me.
Prisoner.
“That’s better.” He reached the edge of the bed, cool green eyes sweeping my face and body. “Why don’t you tell me your name?”
Anger mangled all sense of self-preservation. “Go fuck yourself.”
He chuckled, then slapped me across the face. The sting spread through my cheek and into my nose, but before I could process it, a vice clamped around my ankle.
Lungs fought for air, but the panic… It rushed through my veins.
The world spun.
Cold hands on my legs.
Rough fingers between my thighs.
I compartmentalized. Blocked it out.
Hours passed. Or was it years?
Goosebumps took up permanent residence on my naked skin. The cuff burns on my wrists grew numb.
Don’t think about it.
The pervasive scent of sandalwood suffocated me. Always followed by torture.
Pressure. Burning.
Don’t think about it!
How long now? Light then dark. Sleep and tiny sips of water. Timed trips to the bathroom, like I was a dog being potty-trained.
Don’t think about it.
Fuck! Teeth?
Try to forget.
Trees… Rain… Cypress…
Please stop.
Please save me.
I tried not to think of Lucas. It hurt too much. My tortured heart was halved by the knowledge I’d never see him again. He’d never know what happened to me.
Where was he now?
Was he searching for me?
Would he find me?
Don’t think about it.
Time elapsed. Interminable amounts of it, marked only by my dwindling wish to survive.
My thumb touched the gold ring encircling my finger.
Try to forget.
The tears came, sliding down my temples into my hair. Raw, aching hunger struck. I clenched my fists.
Don’t think about it.
At some point, the door slammed open, jolting me awake, and Miller stormed in, hair windswept, blood spattered across his pale skin.
I cringed when he reached for me.
Rough hands positioned my body face down, my wrists still cuffed to the headboard. “Forty men lost today. Good men. God-fearing men.” Taking hold of my ankles, he looped a rope around them. “Can’t find the traitor who’s screwing us. You got any ideas who it might be?”
I whimpered as the rope tightened around my ankles, and he attached me to the footboard.
“Of course you don’t. Fucking useless whore.”
He crawled on top of me, straddling my hips. His cold hand grazed my spine. A horde of spiders would have been more welcome. His scent once again punctured my consciousness. Weren’t villains supposed to smell bad? Jack Miller was always clean, his nails trimmed and dirt-free.
The crisp point of a blade touched my upper spine, and cut deep into my skin. A sob burst from my mouth. Sharp, electric agony detonated across my skin. Screaming, I tried to buck him off, but his weight and my position made it impossible.
Over and over again he dug the knife into my back, cutting for the mere pleasure of watching me bleed. The blood dripped around my sides and pooled on the bed beneath me.
By the time he finished, I was heaving great sobs.
The knife fell to the floor with a thunk. He lifted my head up by my hair, pulling out strands. “Now everyone will always know who you belong to.” He spoke the words against my cheek, his breath hot and minty.
My whole body shook with adrenaline and the burgeoning agony of the cuts.