Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 70628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Water is much more abundant.
It doesn’t always taste the best, but I can at least stay hydrated without being ambushed. At least it’s clean. They don’t want us getting some disgusting parasite. A shitting and vomiting woman isn’t worthy prey.
I’ve learned, since I’ve been here, to listen.
My ears are better than they’ve ever been. Same for my eyes. Sometimes they hunt us in the dark, and we must be able to adjust.
In a way, I’ve become nothing more than an animal—except I’m an animal who has to keep her body free of hair. Because of course, that’s what the hunters like. Completely shaven armpits, legs, pubic hair.
Nothing to protect us from the elements, not that human hair could even do that.
My long brown hair is tied back in a braid.
I don’t particularly like it because it makes me vulnerable. Something they can grab onto. But having it hanging down, whipping me in the face, making me hotter than hell as I run—that would be worse.
We all have long hair here on the island—because the men like it that way, of course, and there’s nothing around to cut it with, anyway—and I swear to God, if I ever get the hell out of here, I will never wear long hair again.
As quietly as possible, I make it to the first water source. I hydrate as best I can, but then I jerk.
Something rustles.
I’m not alone here.
I’m never alone here.
5
BUCK
Naked.
Naked and vulnerable.
They always take our clothes, make us stand naked to shame us.
These aren’t Afghan military. They aren’t Taliban. They’re a small group of insurgents that don’t even exist as far as news outlets are concerned. No SEAL has ever been captured, and that will remain the party line.
I’m shackled at my wrists and hanging. Except I’m not hanging. My feet are flat on the ground. But I’m stretched just taut enough to accommodate my height with my arms raised.
Which means, if I dare to relax my body—to succumb to the sleep that I crave—my body will go slack, and my shoulders will be pulled out of their sockets.
I’ve been there before, and the pain is unbearable.
Yet I’ve borne it. More than once, but this time?
I’m not going down.
Absolutely not going down.
And it pisses my captors off. Wolf and Phoenix are nowhere to be found. They were with me when we were raided, but they’re not in this cell.
I’m sure they’re somewhere else, in the same situation I’m in. Or—God help them—worse.
“You’re going to talk now, asshole.”
I jerk. I didn’t even hear the man come in.
He speaks with an accent, but his English is good.
I say nothing.
“What’s your mission?”
“Moreno, Antonio.” My name, rank, and serial number come out of my mouth in a hoarse robotic tone.
“Yeah, we have that already. What’s your mission?”
I repeat myself.
“All right then. Things are going to get messy, Moreno.”
What will it be this time? They may dump water on me, electrocute me.
Been there. Done that.
They can whip me. Cut me.
Been there. Done that.
I’ve even had a knife held against my balls.
I winced like hell, but thank God I was rescued in the nick of time.
They could go for my balls again. A man can live without his balls. I don’t particularly want to, but which do I value more? My balls or my life?
Never thought I’d have to make that choice, but I’ll take life.
The only thing he holds, though, is a broom.
Great. He came to sweep the damned place?
Whatever.
But when he slides the broom between my ass cheeks, I know what I’m in for.
I wince as fear lances through me.
Fight the fear. Fight the fear. Fight the fear.
It exists only to hinder you. To fuck with your mind.
Adrenaline. I fucking need adrenaline. But when you’re hanging by your wrists and trying to keep your feet flat on the ground… When you’re thirsty and hungry and so damned tired you can hardly keep your eyes open… Adrenaline is pretty hard to come by.
But when you’re facing violation by a fucking broom handle?
Adrenaline surges.
Will I be able to keep quiet this time?
How badly will it hurt?
In another thirty seconds, I find out.
I jerk awake. Where the hell am I?
Damn, the pain.
The bloodied violation, and the torturous, agonizing, humiliating pain.
I’m in a bed, but even now I feel it.
The tearing of my flesh, the blood trickling over my balls, my thighs, my calves…
“No!” I roar.
“Buck? Buck? Are you all right?”
A beautiful face hovers above me.
I face I recognize. A face I love.
“Aspen. Baby.”
“You were screaming. You must’ve been having a dream.”
“More like a nightmare.”
“I should thank you,” she says. “I was having a hellish nightmare myself, and your scream woke me up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please. Don’t be. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
Do I want to talk about it? To the woman I love?
Hell, no.
I’m not the guy whose manhood is threatened by something he had no control over. Still, to admit what happened to me to the woman I love? Who’s probably been through worse?