Page 53 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

Akram paused a moment before answering. “There’s something about the look in her eyes. Other female captives we’ve taken, their spirits are broken after a while. Not her. She’s far from broken. And whenever she looks at me I can tell she’s thinking about killing me. Just like the ones who fight with the Peshmerga.”

Tarek made a scoffing sound. “That’s ridiculous. She’s an analyst, not a soldier.” She probably had next to no weapons or hand-to-hand combat training at all.

“It’s not just me,” Akram protested. “The others feel the same, that if she could get her hands on a gun, she’d kill as many of us as she could before we took her out.” He mock shuddered. “None of us want to be killed by a woman, it would be the ultimate shame for warriors like us. And you know it would also mean we wouldn’t get into heaven.”

Tarek knew of the superstition circulating through the ranks, but usually it was the uneducated guys who bought into that crap. Though he personally dismissed the idea as ridiculous, he couldn’t deny that a tiny part of him wasn’t willing to ignore it entirely and risk taking that chance. Just in case it happened to be true.

“Well she’s not getting a weapon, so don’t worry. And she might have been strong up until now but everyone has a breaking point, believe me. She’s going to reach hers in the morning.” Part of him almost felt bad for her in a way, for the suffering she was going to endure.

Almost.

Akram nodded, his worried expression clearing slightly. “What else do you need me to do?”

“Take the suits to the other prisoners. I’ll deliver the female’s myself.”

Taking the neatly folded garment from the table, he left the room and walked across the open space of the old, abandoned building. The woman’s cell was at the very back of the building, deep in the shadows.

But the moment he stepped out of the room he could see the glowing red numbers of the digital clock attached to the bars. A little under eight hours remained in the countdown.

He flipped on a floodlight. The beam lit up the cell, showing her slumped in the corner. It was bright as daylight now but she didn’t awaken, exhaustion finally having caught up with her.

She’d actually held up surprisingly well under the harsh conditions thus far. With barely any sleep, little food or water and their execution imminent, he’d seen plenty of so-called tough men crack and beg for their lives.

But not this woman. That annoyed him even as he had to grudgingly respect it.

“Wake up,” he snapped out.

Her head came up, her eyes opening a fraction. She flinched at the brightness, threw up a hand to shield her eyes. He stepped into the high-powered beam, cutting off the worst of the blinding effect, and strode over to the cell door.

Then he paused and waited for her to look at him.

It didn’t take long. She shifted, moving stiffly, and swiveled around to look up at him. Her expression was neutral, giving nothing away, but there was an unmistakable mixture of hatred and resentment in those light green eyes.

Feelings he returned tenfold for her and all her countrymen, but especially for the people involved in and behind the scenes of this war.

Staring down at her, he thought of the picture he carried in his pocket. He kept it with him always. Of Lely and him, a week before she’d been killed.

They’d just gotten engaged. His father had taken the picture after they’d made the announcement following a family dinner. He’d met her at the university, when she was in her first year and he’d been about to graduate as a teacher. Before that day he hadn’t believed in love at first sight, but after meeting her, he’d become a convert.

Lely had been such a sweet, caring person. A devoted sister, daughter and friend and he’d loved her so much. He’d have done anything to protect her, make her happy, and had been so looking forward to spending the rest of his life with her.

Then her life had been cut short. Far too short. And that dream, his heart and his world had been blown apart in a matter of seconds.

She’d been just twenty-three years old when she died. For a while afterward he’d wished he’d been with her that night, that he’d been killed alongside her. It hadn’t been until weeks later that he’d come to see the reason he’d survived. Out of the smoldering ruins of that dream, a harder, cynical Tarek had been born.

That night had changed him forever. But he knew this was what God wanted for him.

It ate at his soul like acid that this enemy female infidel was alive and healthy before him now, sent here to wage war against him and his brothers by her government when his beloved had been killed by one of their bombs.

“Less than eight hours left,” he told her, taking great pleasure in the sudden tension in her posture. “It’s too late for anyone to find you now. No one’s coming for you.”

“When my government finds and kills you, I hope you burn in hell,” she fired back.

Her choice of words amused him. “Long after you,” he assured her. But Akram was right. This one had more spirit than most. And there was definitely something in her eyes that sent a tiny frisson of unease down his backbone, even if he’d never admit it aloud.

“Tarek!”

He turned at Akram’s voice. His friend was rushing toward him, all out of breath. Tarek frowned. “What is it?”

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