Page 1 of Rough Ride

prologue

Pain seared across Eli’s senses as the sharp sting of a whip jolted him awake. He tried to swallow, but found his throat too dry. He didn’t have the energy to even open his eyes. Hell, he was amazed he had the ability to breathe. He didn’t know how long he’d been there…he didn’t give a fuck. The only thing he wanted to do was die.

“We can’t have you falling asleep, St. John,” the sultry voice whispered in his ear.

Eli shivered as her hot breath danced over his flesh. He was hot, but his flesh was slick with perspiration and he was probably fighting a fever from his wounds.

“Eli,” she said, this time her tone just a little more insistent. At one time, that same voice had been everything he had wanted. From the moment he met her, Eli had wanted to fuck her. She was beautiful, but it was the wet sex that oozed each time she spoke that had captured him. He had let it seduce him…and now he was paying for it.

He opened his eyes. Correction. He opened his right eye. The other was swollen shut. The scene before him was the same. Concrete walls, one chair, and a guard. His arms were stretched above him. His wrists were shackled. He was just high enough that his toes touched the floor but he couldn’t gain any traction.

Every cell, every muscle, every bone in his body ached.

“There is too much information I want from you...Eli.”

She walked in front of him and stopped. Gone was the black leather and coquettish smile. Now she wore utility pants, a black shirt, and had her long hair pulled back up into a long ponytail. The boots she wore were standard issue for most mercenaries. But the thing that captured his attention was the whip she held in her hands. She used it like a fucking master, as if she had been trained for it. Knowing the bitch, she had. A bullwhip, and with every flick of her wrist, she caused him more pain. Worse, he knew she was getting off on it.

Sadistic bitch.

She stepped closer so their faces were only inches apart. She slipped her hand beneath his chin to hold his face steady. There would be no looking away, even if he wanted to.

“Ah, Eli, does it hurt too much?”

He looked at her, then stared at the wall.

“You know, I thought you would be harder to get into my bed.”

He heard the snickering. It stabbed him in the gut. After five years in SASR, he should have been known better, been more prepared for a witch like her. After the last mission though, he had wanted to forget. Just lose himself in bed and forget.

And now, he was paying for that.

“No comment?” she asked.

He looked at her again and understood why he had let her get to him. She was what he liked. Dark hair, dark eyes...athletic without being too skinny. And Jesus, what an ass. But, it had all been a game to her. She wanted what was in his head.

He would die before he would give it to her.

“Tsk, tsk. I guess we need another round,” she said, sick excitement filling her voice. He knew men like her in his own unit. They got off on pain, on seeing how far they could hurt someone before they could break the person they were torturing. She stepped back and flicked her wrist. The slap of the whip sent another jolt of pain coursing through his body once more. If he had thought he was too far past gone to feel, she had proven him wrong again.

There was no fucking way he would give her the satisfaction of knowing.

After a few more slaps, she stopped. Her harsh breathing the only sound in the room.

“Hmm, I think we need another tactic. Let’s get the water.”

one

Eli jolted awake, choking on a scream. His heart smacked hard against his chest as he drew in huge gulps of air. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying his best to scrape away the cobwebs of the nightmare. It didn’t diminish the taste of bile in his mouth, or his need for a cigarette, although, he’d quit smoking five years earlier.

He opened his eyes and stared at his ceiling. The fucking nightmares were back and they were worse than before. It was always that same scene. Worse, each night it grew more vivid. He could blame it on all kinds of things, but he knew without a doubt why they’d returned.

Damn Joe for dying on him, the old bastard.

With a sigh, Eli slipped out of bed and headed to his bathroom. It was a long walk, he thought. His room was big enough for a family of five. Joe had insisted on it. Eli had said all he needed was a bed and a bathroom to use, but Joe wouldn’t hear of it. The California king bed looked small in the middle of the room. The sitting room Eli had scoffed at now had a comfortable loveseat and a table covered with books he’d been reading.

For a guy who grew up in Australia’s foster system, and who barely made it out of SARS, this was one damned wonderful way to end up. He turned on the cold water and splashed his face. The last bits of the nightmare dissolved, almost forgotten.

As he dried his face off, his mind returned to the nightmares. They’d resumed when Joe had been transferred to Queen’s Medical on Oahu a few months earlier. When Joe’s health had deteriorated, the dreams had intensified. Eli knew a psychologist would have a field day with it, but he didn’t have time for that. The Millers were arriving today, and there was a memorial service to conduct.

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