Page 30 of Saving Their Forever

I twist around, ball my hand into a fist, and slam it into Jalal’s balls. He goes down with a high-pitched shriek. I take off down the passageway as quickly as I can—which isn’t very fast given my size and how badly I have to pee. But two more turns, and I see daylight. I want to cry when I burst out of the tiny space. To my left, bunker after bunker after bunker. All with heavy metal doors. To my right, a massive concrete theater at least two hundred feet across. The only way out looks to be a rusty ladder at the far end. I have to try.

But before I make it more than ten steps, another contraction, this one so much more painful than any of the others, sends me to my knees with a wail.

Jalal grabs my arm and yanks me up, rage in his brown eyes. “Did you think you could get away?” he snaps. “There is nowhere to go.” He twists my arm behind my back, and I cry out. “I did not wish to hurt you, but you left me no choice.”

Panic holds my chest in a vise. I start to hyperventilate as he forces me into the bunker. It’s cold in here. A long metal conduit with two lights runs across the space, but only one of them works.

Liquid drips down my legs and soaks into my socks. Oh, God. My water just broke. Darkness creeps along the fringes of my vision.

“Help…me,” I wheeze.

“No.” He releases my arm, and seconds later, slams the door and locks me in.

I sink down to my hands and knees, rocking back and forth and sobbing. I’m alone. In active labor. With no way out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ripper

I don’t know what’s real anymore. Stale air wafts over my cheeks. I can’t feel my hands. A concrete floor swims in and out of focus. Along with my bare feet.

Water sloshes between my toes. Where are my shoes? Fuck. I’m tied to a chair with a plastic tub under my feet. My t-shirt is ripped down the middle, exposing my torso. That can only mean one thing.

“Fuck. You!” Dax shouts from my left. His long, low scream is followed quickly by the smell of burnt flesh. My stomach roils, and I barely manage to turn my head before I lose the little I ate this morning.

The battery cables sizzle as a tall, dark-haired man snaps the leads against one another. Dax is bound much like I am. Blood drips from his split lip. His white dress shirt is spattered with it. He’s still twitching from the shock, and a burned patch of skin darkens his side.

“We have two hours,” the man growls and advances on him again. “Ramin says we can make you suffer.”

“Stop,” I groan. “We didn’t set off that bomb.”

“Rip…shut up.” Dax spits at the guy as he heads for me. “That’s a goddamn order.”

Another man with a short length of pipe steps out of the shadows. The hit to my gut doesn’t surprise me. I’ve taken enough of them. But the pain flares bright hot, and tears spring to my eyes.

“Tell us why you targeted our families,” the first guy growls.

“Are you deaf, asswipe?” I glare up at the guy holding the cables. “We didn’t.”

The leads crackle, and I steel myself for the shock. But you can’t prepare yourself for electrocution. Fists. Knives. Even fire. Those, I can survive. But this…

Every muscle seizes. The zip ties dig into my wrists and ankles as my body flails helplessly.

“Leave him alone,” Dax grunts. “He doesn’t know a damn thing about the mission. That was my job.”

Whatever they gave me—us—is still making my head spin. I can’t focus worth shit. Can’t catch my breath either.

Dax continues to taunt them, drawing their focus away from me.

I can’t let myself fall apart. When they took us, I shut down. All I could think about was Faruk. Losing myself to the drugs. The scorpions. The beatings.

But I’m not back there. I’m still in the United States. No more than a couple of hours from Seattle. Cara and Evianna…they’re not here. I hope to all that’s holy these assholes weren’t lying when they said the women would be okay.

“Tickles,” Dax says with a lopsided smile after another round with the cables. “You can do…better.”

A punch catches him in the temple. His eyes roll back, and his head lolls onto his chest. Fuck. He’s out. Too many hits. Traumatic brain injuries. All three of us. Dax has migraines. I get dizzy for no reason. Ry…he doesn’t admit to anything, but I know he’s in pain. Every day.

“If you want to save your friend another round, you will tell us why you set off that bomb,” the guy with the pipe says.

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