Marco is not physically intimidating, but he still worries me. Unlike Griff, there’s very little humanity in the flat stare he gives me as he forces me at gunpoint down into the extensive bunker complex beneath his home.
As part of my training as a SEAL, I attended—and survived—SERE. It’s the quintessential survival training program that is so comprehensive that it’s universally adopted by the CIA, the military, and military defense contractors. Proving challenging training in evading capture, surviving inhospitable environments, and escaping captivity, the simulated torture during the captivity portion is considered by most to be the most challenging; physically and mentally.
Torture comes with one, and only one, objective. Strip a man, or woman, down to their breaking point until they spill their secrets. SERE simulates torture, but it’s not real. We all know it will end.
Nothing simulates real fear.
As strong as I am, my imagination runs wild, conjuring all manner of things meant to cripple, maim, and kill, but that’s not what I fear. I don’t care what they do to me.
It’s a body. It’ll heal. Or, I’ll be dead.
I fear what they’ll do to Maria. She has none of my extensive training and none of the mental tricks I’ve learned to survive torture.
“Keep moving.” Marco jabs the muzzle of the gun between my shoulder blades, motivating me to put another foot forward.
And another.
Maria’s softer footsteps sound behind me. I want to comfort her. At a minimum, I want to prepare her for what’s to come. It’s going to suck major monkey balls. Fuck the monkeys. We’re talking elephant balls for this one. Already, I put the shields in place I’m going to need.
As we descend, the dampness increases, and offensive aromas clot the air. The metallic tang of copper is the most noxious.
Copper means blood.
We come to the end of the tunnel. Thus far, Mitzy’s drones have been silent, riding on my shoulders while I carry them down. In the dim light, their unusual optical camouflage makes them nearly invisible. They provide some reassurance. On the other side of those drones, my team waits.
They’re planning and they’ll be here soon.
All I have to do is buy my team the time they need to rescue us.
The tunnel evens out and ends at a massive bank vault door blocking our way.
“Open it.” Marco barks an order at Muriel, and she jumps to obey. One of the tiny drones lifts off my shoulder. No need to crack open the vault when Mitzy can watch Muriel spin the dial and get the combination.
I don’t have a good feeling about Muriel and Marco. Madness swims between them, feeding on each other. It’s an ugly, nasty beast snarling with ravenous hunger for me.
Dangerous as shit.
Marco appears to be in charge, but I have a feeling Muriel is the true threat. She hides behind her femininity. The woman craves power, but she’s mentally unstable—a sociopath, or psychopath. Not that it matters. That woman is off in the head.
At least we know why she forsake Marco in favor of his older brother. The woman is whipcord smart and a force not to be dismissed, but even she bends to the will of her family.
She’s also quite facile at opening the vault door.
This isn’t her first time down here.
47
MARIA
My mother’s signature scent, roses and lavender, something I always associated with home, is now a rank and odiferous assault on my senses. Add to that the dank mustiness of wherever we are, and my nose is ready to give up.
Speaking of … what the hell is this place? A hidden fortress beneath my uncle’s home? Has it always been here?
Liam walks beside me, a bastion of strength, while I struggle to breathe and not lose my ever-loving mind. Panic swims in my blood and surges in every breath.
They know he’s a Guardian.
How do they know?
More importantly, what are they going to do to him?
My imagination conjures brutal scenes of torture and death. My instincts tell me to make a break for it, but my rational brain says that’s the surest path to death.
Besides? Where am I going to run? And there’s no way in hell I’ll leave Liam behind.
I can’t help but hope there’s some way out of this.
For both of us.
Several times, Marco says Liam won’t be making it out alive. My mother says the same. The woman walking beside me terrifies me. My mother’s always been cold and distant, but this?
It’s madness. The kind of mental instability that goes beyond reason. I want to plead and beg her to reconsider, but the woman walking beside me is not the woman I thought I knew.
She’s a monster.
How can Liam walk like he doesn’t have a care in the world? I’m dying over here, jumping at every sound, startling at every stray breeze. He looks like he’s on a Sunday stroll while I have ants in my pants.
My mother opens the massive bank vault door and we’re ushered through at gunpoint. The moment we’re inside, a whirring disturbs the air beside my ear and the slightest breeze lifts my hair.
Is that …? But it can’t be?
I want to cheer and shout.
If the drones are here, we’re not alone.
Hope surges within me. Rescue will come, but will it be in time?
Marco waves his gun, forcing us deeper underground. I consider pleading for Liam’s life, but decide silence is my best weapon right now.
Two men join us on the other side of the door. I thought we were headed to a basement, but we’ve entered a massive underground structure.
The poured concrete walls leach the heat out of my body. I shiver uncontrollably, but the chill in the air doesn’t seem to affect my mother. She’s a cold-blooded creature, comfortable in sleeveless gowns and cocktail dresses, when I’m grabbing for a wrap.
Marco forces Liam forward. The two brutes bracket him in from either side. My mother walks beside me, mouth pinched and regal shoulders proudly rolled back. She looks like a queen entering her kingdom.
But that can’t be right.
Marco’s the one in charge.
We enter a room meant for one purpose: torture.
I flinch at an assault of noxious stimuli. The concrete walls have chunks taken out of them. Either something was ripped out of the walls, or slammed into them, shattering them. Blood, and other bodily fluids stain the walls, the ceiling, and spread across the floors.
In front of me, the concrete floor angles down to a dirty drain. Several dark stains flow toward it; blood from previous victims. A single, crudely made chair sits in the center of the room, away from the drain. I assume that’s so the hapless victim can watch their blood as it disappears down the drain.
“Sit.” Marco orders Liam to sit on the single chair filling the room. When he doesn’t move, the men to either side of him grab his arms and drag him forward. They spin him around and force him onto the chair with a sucker punch to the gut that doubles him over.
Liam’s face twists with the pain as he falls back and lands with a hard thud on the chair. It wobbles beneath him, far too rickety to hold his weight.
But it does. It holds up just fine.
Liam adjusts himself and glares at Marco. He scoots forward, perching on the edge, unable to sit back due to his hands tied behind his back.
I want to comfort him, but I’m afraid to say anything. Our gazes connect across the distance. He doesn’t blink. His expression is completely flat and lifeless, but our connection spans the space between us.