Chapter 3
Grover swallowed the moan before it could leave his lips.
Every muscle in his body hurt, but he blocked it out.
He’d been through Survival Evasion Resistance and Escape training several times.
The entire team had. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, not at all, but it was necessary.
The section on torture was especially brutal, but compared to what real-life terrorists did to him, the training seemed like a walk in the park.
Grover had known what he was in for when he’d purposely gotten himself captured, but he’d do it again a hundred more times if it meant finding Sierra. He was still a little surprised that he had. And that he’d actually managed to get captured by the Taliban.
Finding out that Shahzada was working on the military base as a translator? That was a surprise—and unacceptable. The man was ruthless, with a very tight hold on the locals. Grover vowed to kill the man before he left the area.
As for Sierra…it was beyond premature to ask her out, let alone try to convince her to move to Texas, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
Everything he’d learned since landing in that cave only made him admire her more.
The fact that she was still alive was remarkable all by itself, but that she seemed to be well-adjusted, all things considered, just proved how incredibly resilient she was.
Grover couldn’t help but be drawn to her.
He’d thought she was pretty over a year ago.
He’d already liked her spunk, her bright smile, and her short stature wasn’t a turn-off.
Knowing she’d been able to outsmart her captors and use her psychology degree against them only drew him in more, and Sierra seemed receptive to getting to know him.
It was too early to assume either of them would escape this hellhole without serious consequences, though.
And while Sierra seemed to have a decent handle on everything that had happened to her, Grover still made a mental note to get in touch with a group of men he knew who ran a retreat in New Mexico, specifically for men and women suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.
Veterans, women, and children who’d escaped from domestic abuse situations, pretty much anyone who needed a quiet space to decompress and find themselves again.
He didn’t know if Sierra would require their services, but if she did, he’d make sure she got the help she needed.
Despite his desire to help, though…Grover still shook his head at his own arrogance.
What was he doing? Sierra might not want any reminders of what had happened to her—and Grover was going to be one big-ass reminder for sure.
He was likely the first person she’d communicated with in a while. She was probably desperate for human contact of any kind; of course she’d be receptive.
He’d get her out of here, or die trying, but that didn’t mean she owed him a damn thing. He hadn’t been kidding about wanting to take her out, but if she showed even the slightest hesitancy, he reluctantly decided he’d back off.
He wasn’t wearing his watch anymore, as his captors had stripped him of that and everything else he had on, except for his pants.
But his internal clock told him it was most likely morning by now.
He forced himself to pace the small niche he’d been thrown into and stretch out the kinks in his bruised body.
No light pierced the darkness this far back in the cave system—so when someone started in their direction carrying a light, every muscle in Grover’s body tensed.
He’d much prefer the terrorists to leave them alone, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards today. Damn.
He wanted to reassure Sierra, tell her that it would be okay, but he didn’t get the chance.
“It’s been a while,” one of the men said as he went straight to Sierra’s cell.
Grover wanted to rage at them, tell them to leave her alone, but remembering what he’d promised, he kept all emotion off his face and his mouth shut.
He’d be damned if he did or said anything that would make them hurt her more.
A man set up a chair outside his cell, so Grover would have a clear view of whatever they decided to do to Sierra. Two more men hauled her out of her cell, forcing her to sit.
“What are you gonna do?” Sierra asked in a voice Grover didn’t recognize from the previous night. It was shaky and high-pitched, and she sounded nothing like the strong, capable woman he’d conversed with.
Grover didn’t think too long on her voice, however; he was too busy taking in her physical appearance.
Her gorgeous red hair had been shaved, the small remainder left in uneven patches all over her skull.
She was gaunt, about thirty pounds lighter than he remembered her being, at his best guess—and she’d been petite already.
It looked as if a strong wind would blow her right over.
She wore only panties and a threadbare T-shirt, the latter with rips in the fabric.
She was absolutely filthy, as well, her skin and underwear covered in the dirt that coated every inch of the cave where they were being held captive.
Grover felt physically sick. He wanted to throw up. He hated seeing her this way. Her shoulders slumped forward and she continued to whine and plead for her captors to leave her alone. To not touch her.
Just when Grover thought she might’ve had a mental break in the night, that she couldn’t possibly be acting, her gaze met his for a split second.
What he saw in her eyes made every muscle in Grover’s body tighten.
Anger. Determination. Hatred for her captors. And a potent strength the likes of which even he had underestimated.
This woman looked subjugated and beaten, though she was anything but. Every word out of her mouth was for the benefit of her captors. She was acting—and she was absolutely glorious.
He hated the very slight shame he saw in her eyes.
If she thought he was disgusted by her condition, she was dead wrong.
No one had ever impressed him more than Sierra did right at that moment.
When they’d first met, he’d thought she was too trusting and innocent.
She’d only been in Afghanistan a short time, and she’d been so excited to serve her country, even if it was just as a food contractor for the military.
The woman in front of him had lost her cloak of naiveté and in its place was a mantle of steel.
Grover knew it was ten kinds of fucked up, but he was so much more attracted to this woman than the almost gullible one he’d initially met. Which was saying something, because he’d been plenty interested in that Sierra as well, all those months ago.
Her eyes filled with tears as she continued begging the men to leave her alone. To let her return to her cell. To please not hurt her.
Before the men started in on their torture, a fourth person approached, walking down the narrow and uneven cave path.
Shahzada.
Grover’s lip curled involuntarily.
He did recognize the man, now that Sierra had told him who he was. He’d been arrogant and annoying when Grover saw him in the chow hall over a year ago, and nothing had seemed to change.
The leader of the Taliban’s organization in this part of the country stopped in front of his cell, completely ignoring Sierra as she carried on behind him.
“Welcome back to my country,” Shahzada said.
“Not much of a welcome,” Grover commented.
The man smirked.
“And…it’s good to see you again,” Grover said.
“So, you figured it out,” Shahzada said.
“That you’re Muhammad, one of the translators the Army trusted and hired?
That you have almost free rein on the military post and you’ve been kidnapping contractors for a year now?
Yeah, I figured it out.” Grover didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“I also figured out that you’re a fucking coward.
You didn’t kidnap soldiers, because you knew you were no match for us.
You could only handle untrained men and women.
You’re pathetic,” he sneered, wanting to turn the man’s ire on him and away from Sierra, if possible.
As he’d hoped, Shahzada’s face turned red. “You will regret those words,” he said in a deadly tone.
Grover opened his mouth in a huge fake yawn. “Whatever,” he said after a moment, doing his best to look bored.
Shahzada growled and turned his back on Grover. Without hesitation, he grabbed a long, thick stick from the man nearest Sierra and slammed it down onto her thighs.
Grover wanted to leap up from his spot on the dusty ground, where he’d sat in a show of indifference when Shahzada had joined them. He kept himself still. Barely.
Sierra howled so loudly, it hurt his ears, but Grover kept his face impassive and stoic.
With every blow to her body, Sierra cried harder for mercy. If she hadn’t warned him last night, Grover might’ve added his own pleas for them to stop. It took everything in him to remain where he was.
Objectively, he could see that Shahzada wasn’t doing much more than causing superficial bruises.
He wasn’t breaking her skin, which told him a little of the level of pain she was enduring, and none of the blows were designed to kill.
She’d been right—this was a show for Grover’s benefit.
But that certainly didn’t mean he wanted to watch her being abused.
After only a few minutes, Shahzada threw down the stick and scowled at her. She had tears streaming down her face and she hadn’t stopped begging.
“So pathetic,” Shahzada sneered. “I am tired of this.” He turned to look at Grover. “I want him.”
Grover knew what that look in the man’s eyes meant. He was in for another long, painful session at his hands. But if it meant he stopped beating Sierra, he’d willingly take it.
Two of the men hauled Sierra to her feet—she still hadn’t stopped wailing—and threw her back into her cell. Grover breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he heard the lock clicking into place once more.
Her beating was over. His pain was just about to start.