Page 39 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

Beautiful, innocent and God-fearing people, obliterated in the blink of an eye. Blown into so many pieces that there was no way of identifying the remains except for DNA testing, which there hadn’t been any time for.

The bits of flesh and bone Tarek and the other rescue members had been able to find in the smoldering rubble had been hastily buried in a pit on the outskirts of the village. His entire world had been leveled that night. His home, his family, the woman he loved, all taken from him. And the Americans had the nerve to say the ATB were the evil ones?

He narrowed his eyes at the woman, his breathing speeding up as the anger took hold.

It wasn’t right that this American bitch, with ties to the very same intelligence agency that helped plan air attacks like the one that had taken everything from him, should live.

“Your country took everything from me,” he told her, his voice shaking at the horrors he’d seen that night. He would never forget the smell of burning flesh, the acrid stench of the buildings as they smoldered around him. He’d never get it out of his nose, out of his mind. Vindication made his heart race. “And so I’m going to take everything from you.”

A shadow of fear flickered in her eyes, and a rush of triumph roared through him, so powerful it made him dizzy. She probably feared he or the others would rape her.

He wouldn’t tell her it was unfounded. That neither he nor any of his men would lower themselves and risk tainting themselves with her infidel flesh.

He stopped and sucked in a deep breath, reminding himself that vengeance was only hours away. “Get her out of my sight,” he commanded one of his men.

Tarek didn’t look at her as she was yanked to her feet and shoved through the door, on her way back to her cell. His jaw flexed, the urge to throw something almost getting the better of him. Until this war he’d never known that he could hate so completely. That he would be able to take a human life without a single pang from his conscience.

But this rage was all-consuming. It fueled him, kept him going even when all seemed lost. And combined with Allah’s will, it gave him the strength to do what must be done.

Summer Blackwell and the others were already living on borrowed time. Tomorrow he would make the video. After that, she would have only hours to live.

He couldn’t wait to hear her screams.

Chapter Thirteen

It was two in the morning by the time Nate finally made it up to his hotel room. He’d been looking forward to spending time alone with Taya all day but they’d been working late again. They’d just come back from a recon op at a village up north, but again, no dice.

Everyone was frustrated and Blackwell, quiet and stoic as he was, had to be close to the breaking point. Anyone in his position would be. Hell, Nate remembered too well the sickening horror he’d felt when Taya had been taken at gunpoint when she’d showed up to testify at the Qureshi trial. And that had only lasted for a matter of hours, not days.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, expecting Taya to be fast asleep.

Stepping inside, he was surprised to find a lamp on low in the corner of the room. Both queen size beds were empty.

His gaze flew over to the window and found Taya curled up in the armchair there. She had a book on her lap and coloring books and pencils scattered on the floor around her. Apparently she’d been keeping herself busy after her long day of meetings with Director Foster.

She looked up, gave him a relieved but tired smile. “Hey,” she murmured.

He shut the door and crossed the room to her, smiling in turn. “What are you doing up? You’ve gotta be exhausted from the jet-lag and all.” Not to mention the nature of the meetings today. It had to have been hard on her emotionally.

“Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were okay.” She shook her head as she put the book aside and stood. “Wanted to wait up for you.”

Nate drew her into his arms and exhaled a deep sigh. He was so lucky to have her here, to be able to hold her like this. She pressed tight to him, wrapped her arms around his ribs and rested her head on his chest, the familiar scent of her shampoo teasing him.

His gaze slid to the book she’d been holding, and he realized it was her journal. He knew what it contained, understood what her working on it signified.

Hell.

Being here had obviously triggered a lot of shit for her. Shit he wished he could erase from her memory forever, but he couldn’t. And God knew, he still had the remainder of his own baggage to deal with. Since they’d gotten together he was handling it a thousand percent better than he had been, but it was still there. This trip had made it worse for her.

He hugged her harder, hating that she was hurting inside, that she’d been dragged into this. “Rough day, huh?”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his shirt. “Any luck with you guys?”

“No.” This whole situation had triggered the specters from his past as well.

He was lucky that they’d been in briefings and on recon missions most of the day, because it gave him something to focus on. The less time he had to be in his own head, the better. Having Taya here soothed him on the deepest level. She had a way of silencing the constant chatter in his head that he couldn’t explain.

She made a sympathetic sound, rubbed a hand over his back as though he was the one in need of comforting. “How’s Adam?”

---