Page 21

Chapter twenty-one

Hopeless

Kylie

T hree days.

I had survived three days of torture with no end in sight. It wasn’t just the champagne Luka spiked with drugs. He had them put it in the food too. It was done to make me a more malleable captive.

He didn’t understand the fight had already left my body. Any hope I had at being rescued, at potentially escaping Luka’s clutches, had died. I wouldn’t run. What was the point? Where would I run to that Luka wouldn’t find me?

I just wanted it over. I was ready for the pain to end. I couldn’t keep fighting. I just didn’t have it in me any longer. Any hope I had for the future died with Axel, Gideon, Chase, and Mateo.

They were gone. No one was coming to save me. And while I could try to hire new bodyguards, I doubted I would trust they weren’t on Luka’s payroll or if they could be bought by him. Money greased a lot of wheels.

Every part of me hurt. Last night I talked back. And I earned myself a split lip and black eye. No amount of makeup hid the bruises. And none of his men would do a damn thing to help me. I’d tried appealing to one man who watched me with something bordering on a crush.

Luka shot him in cold blood right in front of me.

He still hadn’t touched me in a sexual manner—yet. It was one little mercy I was grateful for the past few days. But it was simply a matter of time. And that time was almost up. When he told me this morning that we would reach the island where my husband hid the key to the safe deposit box by midday, I’d witnessed the lewd gleam in his eyes.

That was another reason he drugged me, so I wouldn’t fight him when we boarded his private jet in Prince Rupert, British Columbia. His private jet flew to his compound in Mexico to refuel. We spent a night there. And looking at the number of men he had at his disposal left me despondent. Then we flew to Nassau from Mexico in the middle of the night and arrived there early this morning, where we boarded another one of his yachts. Apparently, he had multiple stationed around the world. And we sailed from Nassau this morning to the island my husband owned. It was technically my island now. Not that I gave a damn. Because the island signaled my time was up and Luka would take me likely the moment we returned to the yacht.

How many times would I be forced to endure his attentions before he gave me to his men? Men who watched me with lust in their eyes and evil in their hearts.

I gave myself a day maybe more once Luka finished with me. At least my suffering would be over swiftly then. It was making it through the horrors Luka planned to enact that terrified me. I was strong because I had to be. But everyone breaks.

How many indignities would I be forced to endure at his hands?

I didn’t know what was worse, being awake and cognizant during the violation or in a drug induced state where I could disassociate.

I stared at my bound hands. They were connected by a chain to a thick leather collar he affixed around my neck. Attached to the collar was a metal chain that served as a leash. After my mad dash toward the side of the boat that first night, Luka kept me bound and imprisoned in his room. I had been allowed up on deck one hour a day for some fresh air and sunshine, led around by him on a leash.

“Come,” Luka ordered and tugged at the leash gripped in his hand. I didn’t have it in me to fight.

It seemed to be my lot in life to suffer. And I was done. I couldn’t even be sad about it but was relieved that soon all the pain I’d endured would be done.

And perhaps if heaven or an afterlife did exist my guys would be waiting on the other side. I missed having them sleep beside me. I missed their laughter and the way they protected me.

I wished that instead of running I had listened. So what if they were undercover CIA agents? At least we would have been together when Luka’s forces attacked. We might have made it out alive. If I knew my husband, there would have been a panic room in the basement. And that sucker had been buried below ground and built to withstand fire.

I followed along behind Luka as we emerged on deck. The sunlight blinded me. I blinked while my eyes adjusted without any sunglasses. At least it was blissfully warm. Sparkling azure waters surrounded a lush, deserted, tropical island. There was a pristine, white sandy beach. It was an uninhabited paradise.

When did my husband purchase this place? And why hadn’t he wanted me to know about it? What other secrets had he kept from me?

Knowing him, likely many, most of which I wouldn’t want to know. Sometimes ignorance was bliss.

We boarded a smaller, motorized rubber landing boat. From what I’d overheard with Luka’s discussion with the yacht captain, the bay was too shallow and the coral reefs too high for the yacht to get closer to the shore.

I didn’t know how far inland the building was or how long it would take to reach it. All I knew was when we returned to the yacht, Luka would rape me, willing or no.

***

Axel

I laid in wait atop the highest outcropping of rock forty feet above the beach. The trick was staying out of sight of Santos’s super yacht. Chase’s buddy turned out to be a Navy Commander of a destroyer, serving in the Gulf of Mexico. He sent a Navy plane to pick us up in Sitka.

Given the scope of our mission, we engaged their assistance in bringing Santos to justice. The commander wasn’t going to help us further at first until he learned that Santos had taken an American woman hostage and was the leader of a major human trafficking ring.

As the father of two young girls, the commander decided he would rather face a potential Court Marshall than allow a sick son of a bitch to harm defenseless women.

We reached the island yesterday and mapped out our plan of attack. It was risky, but even the commander agreed that Gideon’s plan was solid. Now it was up to us to implement it. We received word from our contact that Luka Santos’s jet had landed in Nassau this morning.

We were all in position. Gideon notified our CIA director that we survived and were in route to pick up Santos. We didn’t provide our location or the plan, just that we were alive. And we would see if that flushed the CIA mole out.

Santos’s yacht had anchored out past the small bay about an hour ago. Through my binoculars, I watched for movement. They had three black boats they had lowered into the water. We were waiting for them to land on the beach.

There was movement on deck. From this distance I spied Kylie’s hair billowing in the breeze as she was forced into one of the black boats. I sent up a prayer of thanks.

Through my walkie, I murmured to the group, “They’re boarding three boats. Will notify once they make landfall and are on the beach. Over.”

“Copy that,” Gideon replied.

It seemed to take forever for them to reach the beach. But it likely only took fifteen minutes at most. But in these types of situations, time seemed to slow to a crawl. It was the calm before the storm.

Once they dragged the boats further up the beach and began debarking, I radioed into Gideon. “Their landing party is on shore now.”

“Copy that. We’re on the move. Once they’re out of the boats, start picking those assholes off one at a time.”

“With pleasure.” I lifted my rifle, searching the beach for my first target.

“Chase, you in position?” Gideon asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m coming in hot. Hooyah!” Chase cackled.

“Mateo will radio us once he and the Frogman are on board the yacht,” Gideon stated.

The plan was in motion.

Looking down the gun scope, I located my Angel. Even from this distance I spotted the bruises on her face and the collar around her neck. I snarled, “That motherfucker’s gonna die. He put her in fucking chains.”

Chase and Gideon swore. I lined up the first walking dead man in my sight. I was patient with taking the first shot. Once I began, all hell would break loose. And I wanted to ensure they were halfway between the boats and the jungle.

I channeled my rage. It wouldn’t do my Angel any good if I missed my shots. Once I picked my target, I slid my finger over the trigger. Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, I made a last-minute adjustment to my aim and released my breath. Then I took the shot. The target’s head jerked back in a spray of blood and his body collapsed in the sand. I picked off the guy next to him before they regrouped. I shouted into my walkie as the men began to scatter and search for the threat. “Go now.”

Then I didn’t pay attention to anything but the chaos erupting on the beach and my Angel. I couldn’t risk accidentally hitting her. Not when that bastard started using her body for cover.

“He’s using her as a shield. I repeat, that fucker is using her as a goddamn shield.”

***

Gideon

At my signal, the two platoons of Navy seamen followed me. We had been hidden behind the same outcropping of rocks Axel was using to pick Santos’s men off one at a time. His men were returning fire.

And then Axel’s voice came through the walkie. That sick fuck was using Kylie as a fucking shield.

Motherfucker. Killing was too good for him.

Fury drove me forward up the beach. But I controlled it. I had already fucked up this case enough. If I lost my head Kylie was as good as dead. I refused to allow that son of a bitch to take another person I loved. That fucker would be dead before sunset.

The Navy Commander wanted us to bring him in alive and send him to prison for the rest of his life. The boys and I agreed he was a walking dead man for taking Kylie. I didn’t care which one of us unalived him. Though deep down, I wanted it to be me: for Kylie and for Grant. Killing him wouldn’t bring my brother back.

But I wanted his blood on my hands even more than I did before.

We had the high ground and used it to our advantage. The Navy guys started picking off Santos’s men one by one.

Chase was on his way. He had a little further route to go than the rest of us. But he wouldn’t let us down. And I prayed that Mateo was all right. He and a small team of Navy Seals were taking out his men on the yacht. Santos would leave this island in a body bag.

I surveyed the scene. Santos dragged Kylie toward the jungle. I spied the collar and leash. Once he got her past the tree line, I feared for her safety. He wasn’t a man to be trusted. He would kill her, cut off her hand to breach the security barrier at the building about five miles inland in the center of the island.

It was now or never. “Cover me.”

“Sir, you sure about that?” the Navy guy asked. Seaman Jessup was twenty and from Delaware, and a damn fine shot.

“Yep. If I die, I need one of you to make sure that woman gets off this island alive. You hear me? Don’t let him take her off this island?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir. Will do. We won’t let you down.”

“I know.” I checked my gun clip. Empty. I switched it for a full one and chambered a round.

Then with a whispered prayer, I dashed from behind the rocks, picking off Santos’s men one at a time. And that’s when I heard the helicopter approach.

Thank fuck! Chase was on his way with aerial support. Take that you motherfuckers.

I raced across the sand. My focus was on Santos and Kylie. She was bruised but more beautiful than ever. I hated the fear splashed across her face.

The chopper was coming in hot. His men were being picked off like pesky flies. He was outgunned and outmaneuvered. Fucking finally.

“Santos stop. Let her go. This is between you and me,” I yelled when I was twenty-five yards away.

Santos dragged her back against his body and dug the barrel of a Glock against her head. Kylie whimpered.

“Close your eyes, love. It will be all right.” I would see to it. Santos had an unholy light in his eyes. I wouldn’t put it past him to pull the trigger and blow her brains out. I kept inching forward, monitoring the surrounding fight in case one of his men tried to pull a fast one and take me out.

Santos snarled, pressing the gun more forcefully against her temple. Kylie whimpered in pain. But then Santos grinned when the helicopter landed fifty yards away. “Uh oh, someone’s about to get a spanking.”

What the hell was he talking about? And why the fuck was Chase landing without taking out the boats on the beach. The Grim Reaper walked across my soul. It was a balmy ninety degrees out, but suddenly I felt chilled to the bone.

“Agent, lower your weapon.” My heart sank when I recognized the voice. There was a mole on Luka Santos’s payroll. I spoke to him this morning. It was the director of the CIA.

“You’re the fucking mole. You’re working with this asshole, sir? You’re the reason my brother is fucking dead?” It spun me for a loop. I had looked up to this man since my career with the agency began. I yanked my spare gun from my waistband, holding them both at gunpoint. We stood in a standoff, waiting for someone to make a move.

“I’m sorry but you and he got too close. You’re damn good at your job. I’m sorry it has to end this way, but I can’t let you leave the island,” he explained like we were discussing the weather and not the fact he planned to murder me in cold blood to hide his crimes.

“Gideon,” Kylie said. Tears slipped down her cheeks. And I gave myself a split second to look at her. In her eyes, I spied her love and the message she wanted me to see. She was saying goodbye.

“Babe, the thing these fuckers don’t understand is,” I said holding a gun trained on each one, “you should never second guess a Marine.”

That’s when they heard it. But it was too late for them to move into a better position. A second helicopter swooped in, guns blazing and shot the tail off the other chopper. It went up in flames with the pilot jumping out. Then Chase took out each landing boat, blowing them sky high. The Navy guys cheered.

“I love you, Kylie.” And then I shouted, “duck.”

The director screwed up his face. Kylie moved her head just enough for me to take the shot. I pulled the triggers, praying their aims were true.

Santos rocked back on his feet. His hands went slack and dropped the gun into the sand. With sightless eyes and a hole in his forehead, he toppled over backwards, dead before he hit the ground. Kylie stumbled to her knees. I couldn’t think about her just yet.

The director gripped his shoulder, the gun dangling from his injured arm. And then I held both guns on him. “Surrender. Toss your weapon down.”

“Fuck you, White. You should have died in Alaska,” he sneered and reached for the gun with his uninjured hand.

“And you, sir, are a disgrace to the office you hold.” I pulled the triggers before he could take aim.

One bullet went through the director’s skull, the other through his neck in a spray of blood, and a third hit his chest. The director stumbled and fell face in the sand. Through the walkie, Axel shouted, “Take that you treasonous motherfucker. How’s our girl?”

It was done. We won. I glanced at Kylie huddled on the sand. Then raced to her side. I grabbed her face. “Babe, are you okay?”

Tears streamed from her eyes. The bruises and cut lip would heal. She collapsed into my arms on a sob. I sighed, gathered her into my arms. “Hush, love, I’ve got you.”

“What about Chase and Mateo and Axel?”

“We’re all here and so fucking proud of you for surviving.”

In minutes the beach flooded with Navy seamen. The destroyer sat out beyond the harbor. It had been stationed on the other side of the island, to bring support if we needed it.

There would be plenty of paperwork, most likely a congressional hearing and scandal over the CIA director being in on this, but our girl was safe.

And Luka Santos would never harm another person ever again.