Page 57 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

Hadad was in the lead. He was ordering the others to move things around. Men rushed about, relocating the tripod, shifting the existing lights to different locations.

She resisted the urge to shrink away when one of them stalked toward her. Her right hand slid to her hip, ready to grab her weapon.

Her pitiful, probably useless weapon.

But the man didn’t try to enter her cell. Instead he took out a hammer and began prying at something on the right side of it. The plywood or whatever the wall was made of gave way at the corner. He peeled it back, exposing the iron bars and tossed it aside where it hit the ground with a clatter and he moved around to the left side.

After removing that one he did the same to the back. And once he peeled that board away, she finally understood that she wasn’t in a cell at all.

She was in a cage.

A sickening wave of dread slammed into her. They’d caged her like an animal in this prop carefully designed for the video shoot and were planning to kill her in her steel prison.

Pausing by the front of the cage, the man stopped to look down at her. He stepped to the side, allowing the blinding beam of light to hit her in the face. She got to her knees, ready to defend herself, turned her face away from the glaring light just as he spat at her and walked away.

Gritting her teeth, she bit back the urge to scream at him as he retreated. Anger replaced the fear, burning deep inside her, fueled by the helplessness, the sense of being confined. These assholes were going to kill her while penned up like an animal? They were weak and gutless, afraid to let her out and fight back.

A sharp beeping noise startled her out of her thoughts. Her head jerked toward the clock on the front of her cage, heart thundering. Another loud beeping came from over near the stage area.

The clocks. They were almost at zero. Less than two minutes left.

No. Oh my God, no…

She tore her gaze away from the clocks in time to see Hadad step out of the glare in the center of the building. She knew it was him, from his build and the swagger in his gait.

He was walking toward her. Carrying something in one hand. Something square-shaped, about the size of—

“Ah, you’re awake,” he called out to her. “Good.”

Every second that passed was its own separate torture, each of his footsteps seeming to echo off the sides of the building. Behind him she could see his men moving around, readying the camera. She could just make out the shape of two other cages on either side of the far end.

Jim and Mark.

Her gaze jerked back to Hadad. He advanced on her at a leisurely pace. What was in his hand?

She was on her feet without even realizing she’d moved. There was no thought, just instinct. Her knees felt weak as she stood there, every cell in her body screaming at her to run, run.

But there was nowhere to go, no way out.

Hadad stopped about ten yards from her cage and set whatever was in his hand on the ground. Straightening, he stood there, his silhouette blocking most of the light. She couldn’t make out his expression but she could hear the smugness in his voice as he spoke.

“I’ve decided to save you for last. That way you’ll get to see the whole show first.”

So she’d have even more time to be terrified of what was coming.

Rage built, obliterating everything. Without thinking she lunged for the front of the cage, teeth bared, and curled her hands around the iron bars. If he’d have been within range she would have clawed his face off.

“Fuck you,” she spat, her chest heaving as the fury rolled through her. It felt so much better than the blank terror that had eclipsed her a minute ago.

His low, evil chuckle sent a chill skittering over her skin. “Your time’s up, Summer Blackwell. May your God have mercy on your soul.”

Without another word he turned and walked away, moving out of the light so that it blinded her. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes, too late.

“Get the camera started,” he called out to his men.

Shaking all over, she gripped the bars and dropped her gaze to the object he’d left on the ground. When she saw what it was, a cry ripped from her chest. Her skin shriveled in horrified revulsion.

A can of gasoline.

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