Page 17 of Their Stolen Obsession (Phantoms and Obsession Duet #2)

Her Predator

Sin

L ight coming through a small window with metal bars shone across the soil.

I was hot, almost feverish, and my head throbbed like a damn car horn going off.

Everything was blurry as my eyes stretched open and I awoke back in my worst nightmare.

Back in a war-torn country with my life hanging by a thread.

Screams echoed from somewhere and there was shouting in Arabic.

I had no idea where I was or how I’d gotten there, but my entire body ached.

I must’ve been a damn punching bag before I was tossed in here like a piece of garbage and forced to rot in a small forty-eight square foot room. Not even a room—a fucking cell.

The smell of dead bodies mixed with the stench of bad fucking body odor stung my nose. There was no toilet, only a bucket that, from the smell of it, was still ripe with someone else’s urine and shit. A goddamn filthy porta potty had nothing on this. Christ, the pail reeked.

I needed to get out of this, but there was nowhere to go. Even if I knocked out one of these motherfuckers, chains that were bolted to the brick wall bound my legs.

Even though the enemy had kept me alive, they’d torture me for information I’d never give and eventually kill me. This I was sure of as I made my way toward the bars of my prison and saw a cell block.

I was surrounded by earth, no floors, walls, or ceiling, only dirt. I couldn’t see anywhere other than the cell in front of me and right beside it. Those prisons were darker than mine and didn’t even have a fucking window.

Well, shit.

I guess I got lucky. A cell with a view. I’d have to tip somebody with a punch in the face.

No one was in the prison across from me. The cell door was wide open, but there were markings on the soil leading out of the dungeon. Traces of a struggle and the track lead down the hall.

The cell beside me was quiet. It was hard to see, but I noticed bare, dirty feet. No shoes .

“Psst,” I said, quietly enough to only get that person’s attention. “Hey.”

No answer. Not even one movement. Fuck.

Was the poor fucker sitting in there dead?

I tried again, “Hey, asshole? Anyone alive there?”

Nothing. Only stillness. Goddamn it.

Suddenly, chains clanked together and scuffles of movement came from the ground to my right. The same way the tracks on the soil had gone.

Adrenaline ran through me as I waited and the sounds grew louder. Men spoke in Arabic and a few groans with a grunt mixed in. From who? A prisoner, an enemy. Fuck if I knew.

The voices came closer and as they did, the fear inside of me came back. I didn’t want to be afraid, fuck, I was a man, and men weren’t supposed to be weak. But my chains bound and immobilized me.

My weapon was gone—I had been stripped of anything to defend my honor and dignity.

I was down to my undershirt and cargo pants.

Not even a belt held them securely as they hung loosely at my hips.

My watch was gone with any last shred that made me who I was, and damn it, I couldn’t help being scared, but I wouldn’t show my fear.

I’d hide the terror deep down inside of me and release my inner beast. I had to in order to survive, or try to, at the very least .

I watched through squinted eyes as two men with guns carried a man back who could barely walk on his own two feet.

He wore black combat boots like me with the strings untied, but his chest was bare.

His skin had tattoos and as they turned his back to me, I saw the bloodstains on his back.

Fresh welts etched into his flesh that resembled a brutal lashing to his backside.

The motherfuckers threw him into his prison and one went to lock his chains back up to the wall.

He reacted.

He threw a punch at the enemy with all the strength he had left, but the guy saw the blow coming.

He ducked. His fast reaction caused curse words and chaos to unfold as the other scumbag took a swing at his captive.

A painful grunt and a bloody nose resulted from the punch.

The man in chains fell against the brick wall and slumped until he crashed to the ground. The men kicked at him.

“Hey! Fuck! Lay off! I think he’s had enough!” I yelled.

I was so fucking angry. My fingernails dug into my skin at the mistreatment of a fellow soldier sent here like me to carry out his duty. Only to be treated as if we were shit and beaten to a pulp. Not on my watch .

The cloud of dirt thinned around him as the kicking stopped, and all attention turned toward me. Fuck. I should’ve kept my damn trap shut.

The dust dissipated and the soldier across from me peered in my direction.

A silent gratitude rang out as I stared at his puffy face.

He had a bloody cut on his lip and one eye was swollen shut, but the other was as blue as could be.

It was Sullivan. The other soldier who had made it out alive with me.

As those bastards left his cage, he gathered all his strength and pulled himself up from the ground to salute me. Pride stood tall against all odds as my enemies came for me next, unlocking my cell, and I returned a salute back to Mr. Sullivan.

But as the motherfuckers unchained me and pulled me away, I was stunned to see the damage on my fellow soldier. There was a wound that cut deep, I bet it would leave a nasty scar. It was the shape of a thunderbolt carved from brutal slash marks.

A shudder ran through me as I lost sight of the man saluting me, and my eyes caught sight of someone else. The man alive in the cell beside Sullivan’s. He wasn’t dead at all, only a dick.

“Run your mouth and you’re as good as dead,” he said as I fought against the hold on me, but my struggle got me nowhere.

No shit, asshole. Expert advice .

The enemy pulled on my chains, and I lost my footing.

I fell flat on my face. Black stars danced along the dirty ground, and grit got stuck in my mouth.

I tasted blood, spit, and pushed with my arms to get back up.

Only to be kicked by someone’s boot in the gut and pain rippled through my body.

They pulled on the chains and dragged me to the ground when I tried to stand again.

Finally, their laughter stopped and the bigger man of the two pulled me to my feet. Roughly, the larger man shoved me forward to either meet my untimely death or face torture. Which? I couldn’t be damn sure. But I’d take the advice from that asshole beside Sullivan and keep my mouth shut.

I’d talk. Hell, I’d yap these motherfuckers’ ears off, but I wouldn’t give up anything about my country. I’d rather die.

The enemy brought me to a room with no windows.

There was no ventilation, and it was hot as hell in there.

Beads of sweat fell from my forehead as the enemy sat me down in a metal chair and tied my hands behind the back of it.

They forced my legs apart and secured chains to the floor, fastening them in place.

“Shit. Could someone get me a glass of water?” I asked .

The guy in front of me groaned at my question and threw a punch at my left cheek. Okay. I’d take that as a no.

Fuck. That stung.

“You’re in no place to be making demands, American,” a voice answered from behind me.

Finally! Someone who spoke English. About damn time.

“Not a demand. A simple favor. I’m fucking parched.” I smacked my dry lips together, and there was a salty, metallic taste. “It’s hot as fuck in here.”

Low laughter followed.

“We’ll quench your thirst soon. Promise. But first”—a thin wire pulled tight around my neck from behind me and cut off my airway—“we want answers.”

He strangled me, and the wire cut into my skin. I couldn’t experience the pain, not yet, at least because I couldn’t breathe. I panicked. My arms thrashed out, a natural reaction to save myself, but I couldn’t. My tied hands prevented me from doing so.

Cowards. Not man enough to fight—only torture to get what they wanted.

Finally, he let up. My lungs screamed for oxygen, and I got a few breaths in. Then the asshole did it again. Choked me out until I’m sure I was blue in the face, and my fucking eyes bulged right out of my head .

“Ready to talk?” he hissed in my ear.

His noose loosened.

“Yeah,” I choked out, turning into a coughing fit after he released me.

“Good,” he said as he ambled in front of me so I could see him. “Now, tell me where you’re from?”

Shit. This guy was huge with brawny arms and armpit sweat soaking through his shirt. He was fit as fuck. He must work out every day to keep that physique up, but he had shit for brains because his head was small.

Poor asshole.

“A farm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere,” I replied.

It wasn’t a lie. I grew up on a farm and hated it. I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen and never turned back. Cow shit, milking udders, early mornings, and killing animals wasn’t for me.

“Wrong answer,” he sighed with annoyance.

He picked up a chain from the ground, and I was sure he was going to choke me out again with it. Instead, he lifted the links, displaying a large ball attached to the end. He swung the metal piece around once, twice, and I grew dizzy watching the fucking thing .

“What the hell is that—” my confusion ended when he whacked the metal piece the size of a baseball right into my groin.