Chapter 11
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QUINN COWERED IN FRIGHT as she was forcefully taken from the vehicle and shoved into a small, ramshackle structure.
After driving an hour from the airstrip, they’d arrived at a compound teeming with Afghani men.
There were other small shacks and tents, vehicles, weapons, and men moving between each, busy with their tasks.
The entire area looked like it had been quickly assembled and added onto as the group grew larger.
Fear churned through her.
Even if anyone knew where to look for Quinn, her kidnapper could quickly move her. This was hardly a permanent home. He could take her to a new location, remain on the run, and ensure she was never, ever found.
She sucked in a gasp of the dry, desert air.
She’d barely gotten her bearings before being hustled inside.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and for a moment, Quinn was worried she was about to be raped.
There was a small sleeping mat on the dirty ground, bags filled with supplies stacked around the perimeter, and not anything in the way of seating aside from the ground.
A tarp covered an opening in the wall. It was a window of sorts that could let in light—or keep prying eyes out.
Her wrists were still tied together, her body sore and exhausted. Even if she ran and jumped through the opening, she couldn’t fight. Her head swam. She barely remembered the last time she’d had anything to eat or drink, and if her kidnapper attacked her, she feared she could never fight him off.
Quinn turned, swaying on her feet, and his disdainful gaze raked over her.
He didn’t say a word, and somehow that made her more uncomfortable. The fear of the unknown was almost worse than whatever would happen. Seconds ticked by, both a brief blip of time and an eternity.
Noises from the camp rang out around them—pots clattering, voices shouting, engines rumbling.
It was dimly lit and dusty inside—as far from the cool, crisp Seattle air as one could get.
Quinn could feel a headache throbbing at her temples, the pain sharp.
What she wouldn’t give to be home safe in her own bed.
To be at the office with Knox or her IT team, bouncing ideas off one another
Yet Quinn was here—alone in a goddamn shack with the man who’d kidnapped her off the city streets of Seattle. She blinked as she stared at him.
He moved without a word to his gear, quickly riffling through it. Quinn swallowed. He seemed to assume she wouldn’t run. He was right.
“Why did you bring me here?” she finally asked, finding her voice. It sounded hoarse. Rough. If she asked, would he give her water? Would it even be safe to drink?
His eyes hardened. “Why? You’re going to assist us.
It appears that your skills will be a great asset to the cause.
I took you because you were following me, but this is even better than I could have prayed to Allah for.
You have useful knowledge, not to mention technical skills that will be extremely helpful in our mission.
I must prove my worth, and bringing you here will help me to do so. ”
“What makes you think I have any skills?” she questioned.
He stared at her, and she felt like he was studying her the way a predator watched its prey. “I have your cell phone. Your emails. Your texts. Your contacts. I’m aware of exactly how capable you are. You weren’t very smart following me though,” he added with a dark chuckle.
Her stomach dropped.
Nothing classified was on her cell phone, but it gave away plenty. She could play dumb and then—what? He’d hurt her. Force her. She could bide her time, but Quinn had a feeling this man was used to getting what he wanted one way or another.
“I have joined the movement here in Afghanistan,” he continued, sneering at her. “I am a true jihadist now, blessed by Allah. You crossed my path because he knew you were to be my wife—an American woman that I can mold and tame. You will forget your old life and be subservient to me now.”
He moved closer, and Quinn backed up, stumbling into the wall.
“Remove your clothes,” he told her.
Quinn froze, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She needed to stall him. Question him. Do anything and everything to prevent what was about to happen. “My hands are tied,” she pointed out.
“So they are,” he said, moving closer.
Quinn trembled. It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d walked by her car back in Seattle. Things had seemed so normal then. He’d completely transformed during the flight here, ridding himself of his American persona and trying to blend in with the Afghans.
“What happened to the crates?” she asked, trying to distract him. “They were in the trunk with me. What did you do with them?”
He licked his lips, smiling. “They were sent exactly where they were intended. Just as you were sent where you were needed as well.”
She could see the ruddiness of his face as he inched closer.
Smell the faint odor of sweat. Feel the heat from his body.
She pressed back into the wall, her gaze darting around the small shack.
He grew more excited the more fearful she became.
Before she could utter another word, he pounced, ripping her shirt down as she screamed.
His big hand covered her mouth, and Quinn tried to knee him in the groin, thankful her legs were free.
He cursed, shouting, and the area outside the hut suddenly grew quiet.
Quinn whimpered, trying to scream again, kicking at him again as she struggled.
His meaty hands pawed at her breasts, tugging at her bra. One moved to the waistband of her pants.
Tears streamed down her face as she tried to fight him, when two men suddenly burst inside, yelling in Farsi.
Her kidnapper cursed and stepped back, apologizing to them profusely. Quinn gasped and cried, trying to cover herself once more, her wrists still tied.
She watched the scene in confusion, trying to understand the dynamic. It seemed her American kidnapper was beneath them in the hierarchy at the camp. His angry glare shot to Quinn when they left. “We must be married first if this is to be a recognized union.”
He stormed across the space, grabbing a rope from a bag. She was too petrified to move and watched in horror as he returned, his intentions clear.
“Please don’t do this,” she pleaded.
He yanked her toward him, tying the rope securely around her waist before knotting it around the frame of the structure. He gave it a good tug, making sure the rope was secure, then turned and left without another word.
Quinn stood there in shock, her wrists bound, her shirt ripped open.
Fresh tears fell down her cheeks. She yanked and pulled at the rope, trying to free herself.
It likely wouldn’t have held any of the men on Bravo Team, but she didn’t have their strength.
She pulled again, the roughness of the rope biting into her wrists.
Quinn eyed the beam above her, wondering how to free herself.
Fresh horror washed over her.
She couldn’t escape.
She couldn’t move more than a few feet in any direction. And if someone came inside while her kidnapper was gone, she couldn’t get away from anyone else who wanted to harm her.