15. Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Remington
My brain is foggy, and I’m slow putting the sounds together, but when I cock my head and listen, I think I hear the door next to mine creak open.
They’re back.
My pulse rockets higher. I begin to tremble. My lungs struggle, trying to keep up with my erratic gasps. I slide my right arm behind my back, my grip on the rock tightening.
Then I hear someone outside, followed by the telltale complaining squeal of unoiled hinges and rusty metal, and I know someone is opening the door to my cell. My body seizes in anticipation. I pull my knees up and curl in on myself.
This is it.
“We’ve only located one hostage,” I hear a man say.
That’s an odd thing to say, and it’s strange that he said it so conversationally.
Between my own breath and the blood rushing in my ears, sounds are distorted under the hood, but I don’t detect a hint of an accent. The voice isn’t one of my captors, at least not one I’ve heard before. But there’s no shortage of bad guys, so it’s been hard to keep track of all of them.
I can hear popping in the distance. Gunfire or firecrackers, maybe. Then, someone is close to me. I jump, startled by their sudden presence. Terror and pain shoot through my body in equal measure from the unexpected jolt and how close he is.
I start to panic, hyperventilating.
With the hood, I can’t see him, but the urge to bash him over the head with the rock is powerful. I manage to curb the impulse. I know I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m on my feet and out of this cell.
Fear has me trying to flee on instinct, but with the wall behind me and him in front, I have nowhere to go.
“It’s alright. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m United States military. I’m going to get you out of here.”
His voice is calm. Soothing. Almost comforting.
When his words penetrate my brain, my whole body shudders. Can it be true? Am I being rescued? Or is this a new sadistic trick my captors and the man in the suit have come up with?
I had resigned myself to dying here. Even knowing this could be a ruse, the relief that he might be American military and intends to get me out of this hellhole is nothing short of monumental.
“You got her, Pony?” another male voice without an accent asks, and my head turns toward the sound of it.
“Yeah, I’ve got her.”
“We need to go,” the other voice says with a hint of urgency.
If the man is American military, the other is likely a teammate.
The man next to me picks me up bridal style. Not expecting it, I make a noise of surprise that transforms into a moan of pain.
“I need you to be quiet, can you do that?”
I’m still gagged under the hood, so I can’t make much noise anyway, but I answer him with a nod of agreement.
“As soon as we get clear, I’ll get that hood off you. Just hang in there a little longer.”
That promise eases my fear, if only for a moment. But I’m still not convinced this isn’t a new, devious tactic to get me to divulge information. If it is, I have to concede it’s a good one.
I hear more popping sounds in the distance. I’m sure now it’s gunfire. There’s a lot of it, and it sounds like it’s getting closer.
“Incoming,” the other voice says.
The man holding me releases my legs and gently sets me on my feet, guiding me backward until I bump against the wall. I sway and try not to scream when he touches my left arm. Something like a moaning sob comes out instead.
“I need you to stand right here. Don’t move, okay?” His tone is firm and commanding.
I nod.
At this point, I’m nothing but frayed nerves. My body is tense, stressed, and pounding like a gong. I keep a tight hold on my rock. I’m not letting it go until I’m sure he is who he claims to be.
Since the night of my abduction, when my captors aren’t torturing me, I’ve kept my broken arm tucked tight against my side, my hand held across my body.
It’s the only position that doesn’t make me want to scream from the pain.
With him picking me up and gripping my arms, my left arm hurts and throbs like a mother.
If this is real, I’ll gratefully endure it—it’s better than the way I envisioned things ending. But if not, I still need to be ready to execute my plan to clobber this guy over the head with my rock.
The gunfire’s so close now, I assume it’s coming from the two men who left me here.
This time the sound is familiar. I recognize it from my time in war zones.
It’s the distinctive snick of rifles with suppressors.
I also hear explosions. I jump with each one, a little whining sound bursting from me with every explosive bang and pop, pop, pop.
My heart thunders in my chest. My lungs are screaming for air. With the gag and the way I’m hyperventilating, I can’t pull in enough oxygen. My legs are weak and shaking, and I’m worried they won’t continue to hold me up.
It’s bad enough being left alone, but not being able to see the danger while a gunfight rages around me is terrifying.
My fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in, and I have the strongest compulsion to run.
Which would not go well because I can’t see, and there’s an excellent chance I’ll end up running into the line of fire, or willy-nilly face-first into a wall, knocking myself unconscious.
The American, if that’s who he really is, told me not to move. As much as my instincts scream to flee, I stand as still as I can on my unsteady legs.
I’m so consumed with my panicked thoughts I don’t notice the gunfire has quieted until something touches me. I jump a mile, not expecting it, and a muffled shriek escapes me.
“Fuck, I’m an asshole,” his now-familiar voice says. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve warned you. Let’s get this thing off you.”
I nod frantically.
God, yes. Better to see if I have to strike.
My rescuer makes short work of untying the knot and tugging the hood off my head.
The sudden surge of cool, fresh air on my sweaty face and in my lungs feels incredible.
I pull in the deepest breath I can through my nose.
I’ve been in the dark for a long time. My left eye is so swollen it barely opens, and I can’t open the other without being blinded by the light, so I keep it closed.
I think I hear the man growl when the hood comes off. I’m sure my battered face is a shock to him. If I could see it, I bet it would shock me as well.
“I didn’t know you were gagged. I’m sorry about that,” he tells me as he carefully starts removing it from my mouth. “This might hurt. Your hair is caught in the tape.”
Ignoring the pain of the tape pulling my hair, my bruised skin, and reopening my busted lip, I suck gulping breaths of fresh air into my lungs as it pulls free.
I can feel him close to me, hear his steady breathing, but he isn’t saying anything.
Long, silent seconds pass. I startle when his hands rest on the sides of my head. Then he shocks the hell out of me.
His voice is soft and questioning as he utters my name, “Remington?”
I cock my head and open my eyes, but the light blinds me, and I have to close them again without getting a good look at him. How does he know my name? Did Danny’s editor somehow send a rescue team? He sounds as surprised as I am that he knows my name. Like he wasn’t expecting to find me here.
“Yes.” I say with a nod. My throat’s still bone dry, making my voice hoarse and croaky. Other than screaming in pain and words of denial, I haven’t spoken much since I got here.
“It’s me, Colton.”
Colton? The man I had a one-night stand with? The one I couldn’t stop thinking about? That Colton? The rock slips from my hand and clatters to the ground. I’m now certain this isn’t a trick. It’s Colton. I really am being rescued.
My voice is shaky and clogged with emotion, “Colton? How is it you? How are you here?” Without thought, my body involuntarily sags forward until I’m pressed against him. His sturdy arms wrap around me as I let my tears fall, consumed by overwhelming relief.
“You’re okay,” he tells me, stroking his hand up and down my back. “I’ve got you.”
I try to ignore the pain because it feels good to be comforted and to feel safe in his strong arms, even if I can’t hug him back. It’s a heady feeling.
“How are you here?” I repeat.
“I’m a SEAL. My team was sent here on a mission. I had no idea you were here.”
“You’re a SEAL?” My hoarse voice is barely recognizable.
“Either that or I’m wearing someone else’s clothes.”
I suspect he’s teasing in an attempt to keep me from completely losing my shit.
“Other than these cuts and having the crap beaten out of you, are you hurt anywhere else?” He sounds angry.
“I can’t see, my left arm is broken, and my ribs hurt.”
I feel his knuckles run softly along my cheek. “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do about that right now.”
I’m emotional. Vulnerable and exposed because his touch is gentle, and it feels like it’s been a long, long time since someone has touched me with tenderness instead of violence.
“It’s okay. I understand,” I tell him in a shaky voice.
“Can you walk on your own?”
I nod. “I’m wobbly, but yes, I can walk.”
“I’m going to touch your hand, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
He takes my right hand, guiding it to his belt at his back and curling my fingers around it. His hand lingers against mine, then drifts away.
“Time to go!” The man with him barks.
Colton doesn’t panic at his partner’s clipped tone.
“I need to be able to use my rifle,” he explains. “I want you to hold on and try to move with me. Can you do that?”
I don’t know whether I can or I can’t, but I still agree in my ragged, scratchy voice, “Yes.”
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
When he begins to move, I bumble along behind him. For the first few steps, my bare toes bump painfully against the back of his heavy boots.
“We need to go up a flight of stairs. Think you can make it on your own? If you can’t, I’ll carry you. I need you to be honest with me, Remi.”
I don’t want him to have to carry me. It would compromise his ability to defend himself, his teammate, and me. “I can do it.”
I hear his partner sprint up the metal stairs. “We need to move.”
I trip a few times but manage to stay upright, reaching the top unscathed.
When we turn right, the sound of unsuppressed gunfire starts. Colton takes a quick step to the side and freezes. I can feel a wall against my right shoulder.
“They’re trying to flank us,” his teammate announces once we’re at the top of the stairs and back on flat ground. “I’ve got left.”
“I’ve got right,” Colton responds.
I make myself small behind him and try to keep breathing as the two engage in a gun fight that’s over almost as fast as it starts. Then I’m pulled forward as we start moving again.
Colton’s steps are quicker now, and even though I can’t see, I try to mimic his stride the best I can. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me on my feet and moving. I maintain a white-knuckled grip on his belt with my good hand. The last thing I want is to risk being separated from him.
When he spins left or right, I stumble but manage not to fall. After a few minutes, I catch his rhythm, picking up his physical cues, and I’m able to follow him without feeling like I’m slowing him down. At least I hope so.
Colton and his teammate don’t speak much, I assume because they don’t want to be overheard by the enemy. When they do talk, it’s with a shorthand that gives me the impression these two men have worked together a long time.
As we weave through the building, Colton checks on me in between firing his rifle. “You okay, Remi?”
Even though I’m scared shitless and struggling to keep up, I respond that I am.
Each time he stops, I try not to crowd him, keeping my cheek pressed softly against the pack on his back. I can feel his body vibrate every time he fires his gun, and then we’re on the move again.
I’m terrified. We’re being shot at. I’m protected behind his big body, but I can’t help my pessimistic thoughts. What happens if he gets shot and falls? Or if someone sneaks up behind us?
I’m still waiting for my vision to clear, so the entire time I’m following him, I keep opening my eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the light again.
I can keep them open for several seconds now, but the light is still painful and blinding.
All I see is bright, blinding white light, like after staring into a camera flash.
“We don’t have much farther to go.”
That’s music to my ears, but his comment doesn’t seem to require a response, so I keep quiet.
It isn’t long until I hear other voices.
I’m afraid it’s the men who have been holding me hostage.
Terrified I came so close to freedom only to be captured again.
I tense up, and even though I don’t let go of him, I jerk backward.
Luckily, Colton’s big and solid, and my reaction doesn’t pull him off balance.
Colton is quick to reassure me, “It’s okay. It’s the rest of my team. They’re the good guys.”
My relief is immeasurable. Despite the odds, I’ve been rescued.
I survived.