Chaz doesn’t ask what happened to us. The answer we were captured was obvious. His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “How long?”
“Six months,” I say calmly, trying to hide the sheer and utter hell of twenty-six weeks of being held captive. Hope of a rescue receded fast as days all rolled together in a never-ending cycle of torture and misery, replaced by the despair that there was only one way this could end—death—and the wish that that would come sooner rather than later.
Chaz turns and goes back behind his desk. His hands disappear from sight, then reappear holding a bottle and two shot glasses. He pours out two generous portions of amber liquid.
I take the one he slides toward me. Sniffing it, I know it’s probably top-dollar scotch. Not my favourite spirit, but right now, I wouldn’t turn down anything alcoholic. Remembering the crash is bad enough, but that’s the point my nightmare started.
“They blame you for the crash?” he asks, after downing his own shot. “About the delay? Could you have rescued them if you’d taken off on time?” He pauses, then offers, “Do you think it’s one of the SEALs who’s after you because of their capture?”
If only it was that simple. He needs to give me time to compose myself if he wants to hear more. This is the part that’s hardest to speak about.
When I don’t answer, he takes it as confirmation of what he’s just suggested and gives a quick shake of his head. “I don’t get it. How could you be blamed? Firstly, you could have taken off on time and lost the helicopter due to the storm and never arrived at the pickup point. Secondly, I don’t know much about flying, but I doubt even the most experienced pilot would have been able to survive a missile strike like the one that affected your craft. Who the fuck could blame you in any of that? And why would it be so important that they are now threatening your life?” He pauses, then continues, “It doesn’t add up, sweetheart.”
It doesn’t. My mouth works but I don’t know how to tell him the rest. But he’s waiting for something, so I give him the basics. “Only two men apart from me survived. All of us were in a bad state. One, in particular, had been worked over pretty badly and was a mess when he returned to the States.”
“What had happened to the others?”
“Tortured and beheaded.” I shudder as I say the words and again raise the glass of whisky to my mouth.
“You were tortured?” Chaz asks, his face contorting with rage.
How can I reply? My eyes meet his, allowing him to see something of the truth in them.
I wasn’t beaten or threatened with the loss of my life. They didn’t see the point, believing a woman couldn’t have knowledge worth extracting. My captors had very different ideas what to do with an enemy female.
I’d rather have died.
CHAPTER TEN
CHAZ
Christ. Her story has cut right through to my cold heart of stone. I’ve heard sad stories before, almost all of my brothers has one of their own, and I’ve listened to them without much empathy. Helo? Fuck. She’s not had it easy from the day she was born, but not one word she’s uttered has been one of complaint.
How did I dare have thoughts about taming her? She’s far too good for me. I’d only taint her. But even though I’ve now more reasons for staying away, something still draws me to her. Something that makes me want to see the Queenie she’s hidden under that hard-as-steel exterior.
I’d sent my VP away, in some ways to test whether she’d open up to just one person, speak to me, let me know what’s going on inside her. Then again, I’m selfish. I want everything about her to be mine, including her secrets.
She’s staring past me now, her eyes unfocused, her jaw tight and her lips narrowed. It’s not hard to see it was that stupid question that came out of my mouth that affected her. Of course she was fucking abused and tortured, and from the sound of it, she’s lucky that she’s alive. First, she survived the helicopter crash, then for some reason, her captors kept her breathing. Therationale behind that, I don’t like to think about, though I can read the truth of it in her eyes. I’d suspected she’d been abused, but I could never have dreamt how bad it was.
She got out of there, but definitely not unscathed. I’m sure she’s suffering from PTSD and that’s what makes her have the episodes, which means she can’t be in charge of anything mechanical in case she passes out. Though she’s now safe on US soil, someone is trying to kill her. What the fuck’s up with that? Who could it be? The SEALs who survived, or maybe the family of one of those who had died? But why? Why blame her? It doesn’t make sense though I’ve lived long enough to realise not everything in life has a reason, or all action grounded in logic. That she can’t tell me more details of where, when or who suggests she was involved in some kind of black op.
I’m so full of admiration for her. I can imagine how fucking hard it is for a man to become a Night Stalker, let alone a woman. I doubt many reach the grade, and wasn’t it only just recently, they started allowing females in? She must be a trailblazer, and would have to be the best of the best. I’m actually in awe sitting opposite her. Though it’s obvious the Helo sitting in front of me is not the one who owned the air. Instead of the warrior I envision her to be, I’m faced with a woman haunted by demons. I find myself wishing I could put a smile back on her face.
Having that kind of job ripped away from her probably equates to me losing my club. She’s strong just because she keeps moving forward, even though she’s got a nemesis trying to hold her back.
Unusually for me, I’m at a loss for words. I know I’m insanely attracted to her but feel the tables have turned. She’s a true hero while I’m just a pretend one. I feel like a fish out of water, and when my phone vibrates with a message, I grab hold of it like alifeline. Seeing the message is from Legend, I tap with my finger to open it.
Legend: There’s a two-million-dollar bounty out on Queenie ‘Helo’ May.
Not knowing how the hell I manage it, I keep my face completely impassive while my brain whirls.What the fuck?Apart from that injury to her shoulder, anyone could be forgiven to have doubts there was anything other than demons in her head chasing her. This is proof she’s told me nothing but the truth, and ups the ante considerably. She had mentioned a bounty, but I had no idea how much.
This isn’t just one person searching for her. There’s no knowing who’s taken up the challenge. That’s some serious change, which means whoever’s after her isn’t fucking around. With a sum like that I can just imagine how many assholes will start crawling out of the ground trying to find her. Does she know the size of the price on her head?
Under my eyelashes, I consider her carefully. Would she have told me as much as she had if she knew how much betraying her was worth? How can she know who to trust? Or is she just tired, and would welcome the opportunity to stop running, paying only a token tribute to keeping herself hidden. For some reason, I hope to hell she hasn’t given up.
But two million dollars is enough for me to contemplate momentarily just what an amount that high would be worth to the club… it would be a new ride for everyone for a start. New clubhouse too, perhaps. The temptations are endless.
She’s a bitch to whom we owe nothing. The opposite, she owes us for fucking with the club. To my brothers, I owe everything.