Rescuing Rayne (13 page)

F
letch kept
his binoculars trained on the building in front of him as he spoke to Ghost. “The curtains are pulled back in this room. Looks like three in the top-right room. Armed with AK-47s, probably around thirteen, mid-twenties and mid-forties.”

“Any hostages?” Ghost asked in a quiet voice.

“Not that I can see, but I’m guessing they’re there. The men are holding their weapons as if they’re guarding someone, or some people. In the rooms where there haven’t been any hostages or curtains, the weapons are slung across their backs. They’re probably sitting.”

“Any chance we can move to do a head count?”

“Doubtful. We’d have to get up pretty high to see down into that room, and there aren’t any buildings around here that’ll work for that.”

“Dammit,” Ghost swore. “It’s not good that they separated the men from the women.”

Fletch lowered the binoculars and looked over at his friend and teammate. “It’s not. But this isn’t anything new. What’s up with you, Ghost?”

Ghost sighed but remained silent.

“Does it have anything to do with that new tattoo on your leg?” Fletch pushed.

“I told you before, I’m not talking about it,” Ghost ground out between clenched teeth. Even though he was close friends with Fletch, it didn’t feel right sharing what had happened between him and Rayne all those months ago. And his tattoo was special. Sacred. Not something to be gossiped about as if they were giggling pre-teens.

Fletch sighed. “Look, I’m not an idiot. None of us are. We know that something happened on your layover in London earlier this year. Not talking about it isn’t helping you. You know better than to let shit stay bottled up inside. It festers. You’ve got a hair trigger and you seem to be letting things like this situation bother you more than you used to. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but you can’t let this get to you. And you are, much more than you ever did before.”

“It’s not festering, and I’m not fucking talking about it.”

Fletch went on as if his friend hadn’t just shut him down. “If I had to guess, I’d say this was over a woman. You met someone and had a great time…and now you regret sleeping with her, which isn’t like you, but whatever. Was she fat? Ugly? Will she not leave you alone? Is that the problem?” Fletch knew it wasn’t any of those things, but he kept pushing to see if he could get a rise out of his friend. Any reaction was better than the blank look on Ghost’s face when he refused to talk about whatever it was that went down.

“Let me guess, she was a shitty lay. No, I have it—did she give you VD? Is that the issue? Because if it is, you can go to the doctor and—”

“For fuck’s sake, Fletch, she didn’t give me VD. Christ.”

“So there
was
a woman.”

Ghost ran his hand over his face wearily. Fletch had been on him for weeks, trying to goad him into letting something slip, and it looked as though he’d finally gotten his way. But Fletch was a good friend, someone Ghost trusted. And Lord knew he needed to talk to someone about this shit. Guess they were going to gossip as if they were pre-teens after all.

“Yeah. She was…awesome.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Ghost turned to his friend. “We’re Delta.”

“And?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Fletch shook his head. “Look, I’m not saying any relationship would be easy, but you know it can work.”

“I lied to her, Fletch. Every fucking thing out of my mouth was a lie.”

“You tell her you wanted to be her boyfriend?”

“No.”

“You tell her you loved her?”

“Fuck no.”

“That you’d call her? Write? Send her gushy love letters?”

“Dammit, Fletch. No.”

“Then I don’t see the issue.”

“I liked her. She was…feisty. Sweet. Down-to-earth. Loyal.”

“Wow,” Fletch breathed. “I never thought I’d see the day that horndog Ghost fell head-over-heels for a woman.”

“I’m not head-over-fucking-heels, asshole.”

“I’d say you are. Look at you, man. You went and got a tattoo that not only blows your cover as Army—the huge fucking Army logo did that, if nothing else—but you got a fairy wand tattooed on your body as well. And not once in your description of this woman did you say anything about what she looks like.”

“So?”

“So?” Fletch shook his head. “Buddy, every time you’ve ever described one of the women you’ve slept with, you started with her tits. Or her ass, how beautiful she was, how short, how tall, how curvy…something about her body. This woman? Not one damn thing.”

Ghost stared long and hard at his friend. He was right. Oh, Rayne was beautiful, but he wasn’t about to discuss her with his friends. She was his. “Fuck, man, I didn’t even give her my real name.”

“So what?” Fletch returned immediately.

“She thinks I’m John Benbrook.”

“You didn’t give her your nick?”

“I did.”

“So she knows the real you.”

“Ghost isn’t the real me.”

“Bullshit. Ghost
is
you, and you know it. The name fits you better than any nickname I’ve ever heard of before. You’re light on your feet and can get in and out of places undetected in a way none of the rest of us can. You’re spooky how you know when we’re in deep shit and have to get the hell out. If this woman was calling you Ghost, then she knows the real you.”

“I lied about everything else too. I made up a girlfriend for my fifteen-year-old self. I made up where I was from. I lied about being held up once. Jesus, Fletch, I fucking lied to her about everything.”

“What about the sex? Were you faking it then too?”

Ghost had no idea the lines in his face smoothed out and a look of contentment stole over him as he spoke. “No. Not one thing was faked when we were in bed together.”

“When we get back, you have to find her, Ghost.” Fletch held up a hand to stop the argument he knew his friend was going to make. “If I ever meet a woman who makes me look like you do right now, you can bet I’d never let her go.”

When Ghost didn’t respond, Fletch continued. “You lied. I get it; that sucks. She’s gonna be pissed. But you’re Delta, man. Top secret. You were on the way home from a mission. There are a thousand reasons why you lied, but you didn’t lie about the most important thing, Ghost. The way you felt when you were with her. That speaks a thousand times louder than any of that other shit.”

“Jesus, I feel as if I’m on Dr. Phil or something,” Ghost griped.

Fletch smiled. “I might not be the smartest man on the block, but if I had a sweet, feisty woman waiting for me at home, who could take my cock night after night and leave me with the memories you obviously have until the next time I could get home, I’d do anything in my power to hold on to her.”

Ghost nodded. Fletch had always been the more introspective one of their group. He was closed off and secretive, and didn’t trust easily, but once you got past all that, he was steadfast in his loyalty.

A large blast sounded in the building across the square and both men immediately turned their attention back to their job. The binoculars were back in front of Fletch’s eyes and Ghost tried to ascertain where the blast came from.

“Northwest corner of the complex. Smoke,” Ghost told Fletch.

“Oh shit,” was his response.

“What? Shit what?” Ghost asked urgently, looking down at his friend and seeing he hadn’t swung his gaze to the northwest corner, but was still looking at the room they’d last discussed.

“There are definitely hostages in that room. No tangos in there with them anymore, but there’s a group of women pounding on the door with all they’ve got. Oh shit, it’s—”

His words were cut off when the entire corner of the building, right where the room full of hostages had been, disappeared from their view under a fiery blast and a column of smoke.

“
W
e can’t just sit here
and do nothing,” Sarah exclaimed, obviously at the end of her rope.

“What do you want to do? Demand to be released like that guy who got shot?” one of the other women being held with them jeered caustically.

Rayne didn’t blame Sarah for being antsy. They’d been moved around several times since they’d been separated from the men. Diana, Paula, and Tracy weren’t dealing very well with wondering if their men were all right. Rayne would’ve felt the same way if she’d been with Ghost and he’d been separated from her. Fighting amongst themselves wasn’t going to help anything.

She glanced over at the three men, actually two men and one boy, who were guarding them at the moment. The guards had been switching out, but it was obvious they were a ragtag bunch who didn’t really know what was going on day to day, they were just following orders.

At one point, the boy had come over to their group. He hadn’t said anything, and hoping to try to make him see them as humans and not as animals that should be shot, Rayne had broken the rule Chase had demanded she learn about blending in and never standing out, and smiled at him. The boy had stopped and looked her in the eye. He’d nodded at her and went back over to the two men on the other side of the room. Rayne hoped that his nod meant that he saw her as a friend and not an enemy. That she’d humanized all of them to him. Maybe he had a sister he loved. He had to have a mother…right?

Rayne tried to keep her voice clear and calm, just like she’d been taught to do in emergencies on the plane. “You’re both right, we should be thinking about what we might be able to do if we get the chance, but we also can’t demand things; that will just irritate them more.”

“What should we do?” That was Paula. Always looking to others for direction.

The thing was, Rayne had no idea. There were about fifteen of them in this room at the moment. There had been seventeen, but their captors had taken two of the women away, and they’d never returned. Rayne didn’t want to think about what might be happening with them. She glanced over at the gunmen. They were talking with each other, and only occasionally glancing over at them. Rayne supposed their group didn’t look all that threatening at the moment…they were sitting in a small circle, huddled together for comfort.

“Okay, this is a new group of gunmen, right? We haven’t seen the same men since we’ve been in here. So they’re rotating the guards out.”

“And?” It was an Australian woman named Pat who spoke up. “What good is that knowledge to us?”

“I’m not sure, but at this point, any information is better than none,” Rayne returned easily, keeping her voice carefully modulated. Even though she was irritated, she couldn’t let it show.

“Here’s what I think,” another woman, probably in her early twenties, piped up. “I think we ought to charge them. There’s fifteen of us, and only three of them.”

“But they have guns,” Paula said nervously, wringing her hands.

“True, but I’m thinking a couple of us can distract them, while the rest tackle them.”

Rayne barely resisted rolling her eyes. It was the worst plan in the history of plans. It was as if she was in the middle of a bad B-movie. At any moment, the chick would tear off her clothes and parade herself around and the good guys would burst in and save the day. It just wasn’t going to happen.

The door to their room was suddenly flung open hard enough that it banged against the wall and made every single one of the women jump in fright.

There were two men who entered, armed of course. One held a box as well as a rifle and the other one immediately started talking to the captors in the room in a language they couldn’t understand.

The women all stood up and huddled together against the wall, sensing something was about to happen, but not knowing what.

The boy, who Rayne had smiled at not long before, pointed over at her when the newcomer barked a question at him. Rayne held her breath, wondering what the men were doing.

Rayne really didn’t like being singled out. Shit. Chase had warned her. When this had happened to the other two women, they’d been taken out of the room and hadn’t returned.

The man with the box placed it on the ground near the other two captors and came toward her. Rayne backed away as much as she could, which wasn’t far considering there was a wall behind her.

The man grabbed hold of her arm and wrenched her toward him roughly. Rayne heard Sarah whimper, but not one of the women said anything. They’d learned from the last time to keep quiet, otherwise they’d get hit.

Rayne gasped as her other arm was grabbed in a rough grip by another captor. She was dragged out of the room between the two men, with the boy following close behind. She glanced back one more time and caught the agonized look of grief on Sarah’s face before the door shut firmly behind them.

“Where are we going?” Rayne asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Boys become men,” the tall, bearded man next to her said in a rumbly guttural voice.

“What?” Rayne hadn’t expected an answer, so she hadn’t been concentrating on understanding his thick accent.

“Boys become men,” he repeated, not at all seeming to be put out at having to say it again.

“I don’t understand.”

“Typical. Americans stupid. Never understand.”

Rayne wanted to protest, but kept her mouth shut. She changed tactics and tried to memorize where they were walking. If there was any chance she could get away, she had to know which way to go. The last thing she wanted to do was run right into a nest of terrorists when she was running for her life.

They walked, half-dragging her along several corridors. The building was huge. Rayne was afraid she’d be lost in the maze of hallways for the rest of her life.

A large explosion sounded somewhere behind her, and the men stopped and waited for something. The ground shook under their feet and Rayne shuddered.

“That was your friends,” one of the men holding her said, a bit too happily for Rayne’s peace of mind.

“What?”

“We just blew up the room they were in. Teach lesson to the world.”

“Oh God,” Rayne moaned, as she was once again hauled roughly down the hall. They’d blown up the room with Paula, Sarah, Tracy, and sweet Diana? Could they have survived? Why was she spared? She had so many questions, and absolutely no answers.

The boy behind them said something in a whiny voice that grated on Rayne’s nerves. The man to her left barked at him in a pissed-off tone that would’ve had Rayne cowering if she wasn’t already. The boy mumbled something and they were on their way again.

They came to a door at the end of a long hallway and the boy hurried around to open it. Rayne was propelled inside by the two men. The room was dark and smelled horrendous…like sweat and body odor, and a coppery stench that could only be blood. It was taking a while for her eyes to adjust to the dim light so she didn’t fight the hold of the two men as they dragged her to the corner of the room. It wasn’t until she felt a cold band wrap around her ankle, so tightly it pinched her skin, that she realized she was in big trouble—and she began to try to wiggle out of the tight hold of her captors.

There was laughter around her, and Rayne glanced down at a man kneeling at her feet. The one who’d just wrapped an iron cuff around her ankle. It was attached to a long chain, which was bolted to the wall. Behind her was a rusty bed frame with a thin mattress on it, which had several dark spots.

The man at her feet said something and again, everyone around them laughed.

“He said you have fat ankles,” a modulated, accented voice said from across the room.

Rayne would’ve been offended—she did
not
have fat ankles—if she wasn’t so scared. They were perfectly normal, thank you very much, but she was too frightened to open her mouth to rebuff the claim. She’d always thought if she was ever in a situation where her life was threatened that she’d be brave and could smart-mouth her way out of anything, but that had been a pipe dream. She was absolutely terrified at what was going to happen to her in this horrible room and couldn’t say a thing to try to defend herself.

There had been six men waiting for them as they’d entered, all wearing gray robes that covered them from their shoulders down to their feet. None were wearing any sort of head covering or mask. They were sitting on a platform of sorts…three men on the bottom row and three on the top row. They all had long beards and were watching her with lecherous intent. It looked like some kind of pagan ritual or something.

The man who had fastened the cuff around her ankle picked up a huge knife from the floor. It was rusty and had serrations on the blade. Before Rayne could move, her biceps were pulled behind her back, wrenching her arms at an awkward angle and holding her immobile. She frantically wriggled and squirmed, futilely trying to get out of the hold.

“If you struggle, there’s a greater chance of being cut,” the accented voice said.

“Why are you doing this? What’s going on?” Rayne desperately needed answers.

The man at her feet took his time. He brought the knife up to her pant leg and oh so slowly began to slice upwards. Rayne could feel the tip of the blade against her leg, but couldn’t tell if it was actually cutting her or not. Her legs felt numb—hell, everything felt numb.

“In our culture, a boy becomes a man when he first takes a woman.”

“Oh shit.” Rayne was beginning to understand.

“I see you understand. You should feel honored. Moshe chose you to be his first.”

Rayne finally found her spunk and her tongue. “That’s not your culture. Egypt is a beautiful country filled with wonderful people, and that’s not the way of its culture. It might be
your
way, assholes, trying to pretend it’s normal and right, but it’s not. You’re brainwashing your children to be killers and rapists.”

Her head was flung backwards with the force of the smack one of the other men delivered.

“It’s also the way of our culture to make sure women know their place. And their place is to be quiet and to speak only when spoken to.”

“Fuck that,” Rayne muttered, only to cry out in pain when she was hit again, this time not with an open palm, but a closed fist. It hurt, but she knew that whatever these psychos had in store for her would hurt a whole lot more. Her breaths came out faster and faster as her destroyed jeans fell to the floor. There was more laughing from the men as she stood before them in her black lace underwear. She’d felt sexy when she’d put it on, however many days ago it had been. Now she felt defiled and dirty.

There was a conversation between the men and the boy that Rayne didn’t understand, but the man gleefully translated for her. “Moshe’s father praises his son and tells him he chose well. You have spunk, and your thighs are thick and full and will cushion him as they should. Your hips are wide and can bear many sons.”

“Oh God, please, don’t do this. Let me go.”

The man with the accented English continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The ritual is to take you seven times. Seven is a lucky number in our country. Once he fills you seven times, he will be a man.”

Rayne couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. Seven times? She was going to be raped by this man-boy seven times?

“It is our job to critique him, to tell him the best ways to master a woman, to make her compliant under him. He knows you will fight him at first, it is expected, but by the time his ritual is done, you will be broken and will do whatever he tells you and will take whatever he wants to give to you. You might as well accept your fate now, American whore. The two before you fought valiantly, but in the end took our new men with no struggle, as proper women should.”

Rayne closed her eyes and prayed. Not for rescue, but for a quick death. If she could get ahold of the knife the man was using to cut off her shirt now, she would plunge it into her own heart.

The words in the room sounded as if they were coming from a long way off and Rayne felt disconnected from her body. It was as if someone else was being held, having their shirt cut off, being laughed at…not her.

She thought about her brother, Chase, about how he’d feel learning what had happened to her…if he ever learned. And her sister, Sam. Sam was happy as a clam in Los Angeles chasing her dream of becoming an actress. And Ghost…

Oh God, Ghost. What she wouldn’t give to be able to see him one more time. If she lived through this, she swore right then and there to not let these animals take away the beautiful memories she had of Ghost making love to her, of their night together.

What was about to happen to her had
nothing
to do with the lovemaking they’d shared.

Rayne was jerked backwards and would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for the man behind her holding on to her so tightly. He dragged her to the filthy mattress and flung her down on it. The chain around her ankle clanged loudly in the room. She kicked and struggled against the men, but their hold on her was too tight. As her other leg was chained to the bedframe, and her arms were wrenched over her head, the damn voice kept on describing what was about to happen.

“First, Moshe will take you on your back, so he can look at your face. This is step one, and will most likely be quick. Most boys are quick to release their first time they get inside a woman. The second and third times will be from behind, so you can understand he has all the power, and you are like a dog. Worthless, good for only taking what he gives you. The fourth time he will release inside your dark hole. This is the transition time. If he cannot hold out for one hundred strokes, he will be seen as less than a man in the eyes of his father, uncles, and holy men who are here to witness his transition to manhood.”

Rayne whimpered, thinking about how badly a hundred thrusts into her untried back hole would hurt.

“Then you will take him down your throat for the fifth time. The sixth will be against the wall, and the seventh will be again with you on your back. By the time the seventh time comes, you will be slick with his release and your blood, and will be ready for him and will take him easily and without fight. The goal is for him to make you find your womanly release that last time. If he can hold on and not release until you do, he will have succeeded and will be a man. If he cannot make you release, he will have failed. And will have to start again on another day.”