Chapter 14
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QUINN AWOKE AS SOMEONE entered the small room, and shock mixed with horror as she realized it was her kidnapper standing in the doorway, the bright light beaming behind him.
Had she slept all night?
Confusion blurred her thoughts.
He moved closer, and she winced as she tried to shift positions. Her hands were completely numb, her arms aching. Would she have nerve damage after this? Would she be able to type and work on her computers?
Shock washed over her. What was she thinking? Quinn was in the middle of the damn desert, thousands of miles from home. Maybe she’d never even touch U.S. soil again. She sniffled, fighting back the tears that wouldn’t come. She was too dehydrated to even cry.
Adam moved into the room, and she flinched back.
Which was worse—the devil you knew or the one you didn’t?
He seemed distracted, agitated about something, and grabbed a few things from outside before closing the door.
She watched in confusion as he hauled a bucket of water her way.
Shocked, she watched as he pulled a canteen of water from the bag of supplies he was carrying.
“Drink this, bitch,” he said, holding it to her lips.
Quinn greedily gulped it down as he held the canteen to her lips, not even caring at the moment that her kidnapper was standing so close.
She was dehydrated, desperate for water.
Her head throbbed, and body ached, and she’d drink every last drop if he let her.
He yanked it away before she’d had nearly enough, watching as the water dribbled down her chin, dripping onto her cleavage.
She’d managed to right her shirt, somewhat, but it was still slightly ripped from when he’d pawed at her.
His gaze grew lusty, and a sudden quake of fear coursed through her bloodstream.
Blinking in confusion, she realized he’d hauled the bucket toward her.
A bag of supplies was tossed onto the makeshift “bed.” Had he actually slept there last night?
She must’ve still been feeling the effects of the drugs, otherwise there was no way she’d have slept soundly all night. It was both a blessing and a curse.
He shifted drawing a large knife free from his bag, and she gasped.
Quinn gulped nervously as he lifted it, cutting her free from the wooden beam.
Before she could even react to having her arms lowered, he slapped her across the face.
Pain blossomed across her skin, somewhat dulling the tingling she now felt in her arms. He roughly grabbed her wrists and cut the rope binding her there, too.
“Strip.”
His order was blunt. Cruel.
Quinn balked, shying away as she rubbed at her numb arms. “What? No!”
He scowled. “Either you fucking strip, or I’ll cut every piece of clothing off of you. I won’t be gentle.”
She eyed the bucket of water and then him, trembling. Evidently, he wanted her to bathe. Shaking, she slowly kicked off her shoes, easing her pants down. She kept on her underwear, gauging his reaction.
“Shirt goes, too,” he said.
Quinn shook but dutifully complied. His gaze was eager, his cheeks ruddy again as he flushed with excitement.
Sick bastard. He’d probably never even been with a woman before—at least not one who’d willingly agreed to sleep with him.
This guy was young—maybe early to mid-twenties. He was younger than Knox.
Her eyes pooled with tears, and she blinked them away.
“Bathe!” he barked.
Scrambling, Quinn quickly used the rag he’d provided and scrubbed at her underarms and bare skin.
She left her bra and panties on, and for some reason, he allowed it.
When she was standing before him, damp and trembling, he shoved a traditional Afghan dress at her.
It was shapeless and somewhat ugly but would cover her body, a fact that she appreciated.
“We’ll have to do something about this purple hair,” he sneered, appraising her. “I would shave it all off, but I’ll like having something to grab onto when you’re sucking my dick.” He grabbed a fistful of it, tugging her closer.
Quinn flinched, nearly falling into him, and he chuckled.
“A headscarf will have to do for now,” he said. “You will shield yourself from others. Your body will be mine alone to see—to enjoy.”
Quinn tried to ignore the bile rising in the back of her throat. Everything about this situation was fucked up—FUBAR, as the men she worked with would say.
“Remove that ugly eyebrow ring,” he told her. “Earrings, too.”
Eyeing him warily, she did as he asked, dropping them all into his meaty palm. He pocketed them, and she watched as he grabbed a scarf for her to wrap around her head, covering her hair.
“You are to remain in this tent,” he said, moving toward the rope. “I’ll make sure you stay here,” he added. “Sit,” he commanded, acting as if she were a pet.
Warily, Quinn sank onto the blankets he’d pointed at.
He knelt down, tying the rope around one of her ankles and fastening it to an anchor in the ground she hadn’t noticed before.
Much to her disdain, he took the knife, not leaving it in the bag where it had come from.
“I have work to do,” he told her. “We are to be married at sunset. Allah has smiled upon me. You will be my wife to use as I see fit, and you will help us to plot further attacks on America.” He chuckled darkly as he rose, his gaze scanning over her.
“Tonight we will be legally wed, and you will forever be mine.”