Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(3)

“Your father called my friend from the FBI—Agent Powers—then Powers called me. I’ve been working down here in Tampa for the past few weeks catching bad guys. Vlad Simpkov was on the list. I’m a bounty hunter now that I’m out of the Navy, and I track down bad guys like Vlad. Me and Lucy also help rescue people too. We’ve been all over the world together.”

I’m quiet for a minute while I think, then say, “I want to believe you’re not one of those bad guys.”

“It’s okay, Ryder. Me and Lucy have nothing else to do today but hang out here and talk with you until you feel safe,” he tells me. Somehow I’m comforted that he’ll stay.

He continues, “Your dad was real smart to have a tracker in his phone. It helped us find Vlad and his group. Then Lucy found you.”

He said my dad was smart. Not is.

“Bet you’re hungry. Betty, my wife, always packs me too much to eat. But I have enough to share. Do you like ham and cheese on rye? Oh, and she also wrapped up some of her famous homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

My belly grumbles, but I’m still not ready to come out.

“I’m going to toss them into the shaft for you.” The food makes a deep thunking sound against the thin metal.

I’m going to have to crawl back towards the opening to get it.

Carefully, I wiggle towards the sound, and Chief keeps talking about the adventures he and Lucy have had—saving people that got caught in earthquakes, a kid who fell into an old well, even victims who’d been kidnapped.

Finally, I can see some light. I take a deep breath. I wasn’t sure which way I’d come in.

The food. I see the brown, rolled up paper bag.

Then my heart sinks. “My mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”

“Bet she does, Ryder, bet she does.”

“I know they killed her. I heard it.”

“She was brave. She saved you.”

“Yeah.” I sniff and wipe the tumbling tears with my sleeve. “I don’t think I’m as hungry as I thought I was.”

“I can understand that.”

“If I come out, would you make me safe?”

“Yes, son, I’ll make you safe.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”





Chapter One



Rachel





The throbbing ache inside of my head is proof I’m still alive.

But truth is, I might be better off dead.

Stifling my initial knee-jerk reaction to startle and scream, I instead hold myself as still as death. I’m terrified beyond belief to discover what’s become of me.

I feel the cloth band of fabric tight around my head, covering my eyes. Don’t panic, I try persuading myself when I can’t open them.

They didn’t kill me, for some outrageous reason I can’t even fathom.

They could be in the room, watching me right now. They could have men guarding me, waiting until I gain consciousness. Then what would happen?

Interrogation?

Torture?

I steady my breathing, sucking in deep breaths through my nose, and listen.

No one is talking. I can’t detect any physical movement—no shoes scuffling along the floor, no one sniffing or coughing or taking a drink. No pages of a book turning or quiet breathing . . .

No sharpening of a razoresque blade to cut me apart.

There is nothing to hear except the constant repetitive plink of water escaping and connecting, one drop at a time, with the surface that halts its course. It’s not the same as a leaky faucet—contained and protected by a sink—there’s another dimension that accompanies the sound—an echo that occurs when it strikes.

What’s it hitting? Cement? Stone?

I take assessment of my body. I don’t feel injured. I’m not in any real pain, except that my muscles are sore, like I’ve been in the same position for too long and need to stretch.

Involuntarily, my body shifts to remedy the insult, but the movement is cut short. I’m bound by cuffs constricting my wrists behind my back!

Anxiety electrocutes me. Jesus!

Fuck!

I can’t help it, I immediately lurch forward, trying to free myself. My feet and legs are loose, but I can’t stand! I roll up to my knees.

Full of panic, my breathing becomes erratic as I cry out, “Nonononono . . .” and pull and yank at the chain that holds me captive, willing it to let me loose.

The links protest and grind. I’m going nowhere.

Oh my God! There is nothing as frightening as this—no comparisons, nothing my mind can process as a connection—nothing but terror.

Quickly, I move what I can, anything I’m still free to control. I create small twitches in my toes and then my calves. Almost microscopically, I clench the muscles in my belly, my glutes, my arms. I twitch my biceps and elbows, adding my fingers and neck, jaw and tongue. Tiny movements that remind me I can still move of my own accord.

It’s really just a mind game. A trick to relax—I know that—but it still seems to help. I won’t get out of this if I panic. I have to be smart.

When I get closer to normal breathing, I realize that no one’s said anything. No one is touching me. A temporary sensation—not quite relief—allows me to regain some composure.