Page 70 of Fast Vengeance

More gunfire.

She stood on tiptoe, managed to catch a glimpse of the screen between the moving bodies in front of her. The inside of a house. Bright. Men in tactical uniforms rushing around, weapons up. Then whoever wore the camera turned and headed away from the others. Into darkness.

“You can’t be here,” a man said next to her.

Victoria glanced over to see one of the Mexican officials who had taken her to the hotel earlier. The one that insisted she be kept out of headquarters during sensitive operations.

She pulled her arm away when he reached for her. “No. I’m staying.”

His expression hardened. “No, you’re not.” Without pause he gripped both her upper arms, spun her around and began marching her away, back to the office they’d put her in.

“I need to see,” she cried, twisting away. She needed to see if they found Brock. Whether he was still alive or not.

“Stop,” he commanded, giving her a shake that shocked her into going still. “You can’t help anyone now. You have to stay out of the way.” He towed her away from the others.

Victoria relented and went with him, casting a desperate glance over her shoulder at the screen. She could barely see it now.

The team was moving through the darkness now. She couldn’t make anything else out.

Her last glimpse of the screen showed more of the same. And no sign whatsoever of Brock.

****

Brock struggled toward consciousness as another shudder wracked him. It didn’t seem as cold anymore. He kept fading in and out. Not a good sign.

He was hypothermic, his thoughts sluggish, even the pain signals slow to reach his brain. He was alone. The bastard beating him was gone, maybe because he’d decided it wasn’t much fun to beat on an unconscious man.

He was still hanging by his wrists, locked in complete darkness. The shudders and shivers were getting fewer and farther between, his muscles too exhausted to expend the energy to try and warm him.

His breathing rate increased, a surge of adrenaline flooding him. Survival instinct kicking in.

Instinctively he knew his body was shutting down from the prolonged exposure to the cold. And that if he went under again, he would die.

He fought the pull of it, the lure of painlessness and oblivion, tried to use the pain to center him. Keep him awake. But it was getting harder and harder to think. His eyelids were weighted down with concrete. Or maybe they were swollen shut. It was peaceful when he went under. No more fear. No more suffering.

Stay awake.

He shook his head, gritted his teeth that were hardly even chattering now. Now he was completely numb except for the pain in his wrists and shoulders, though they weren’t as sharp as they had been. It was so much easier to close his eyes and let go. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Tori’s face appeared in his mind. Her dark eyes were worried, her expression full of desperation as she knelt in front of him and took his face in her hands. “Brock. Brock, don’t close your eyes.”

He forced his eyes open to look at her. But she wasn’t real. She was only in his mind. He closed his eyes again, struggled to hold onto her image. You have to stay awake.

She gave him an encouraging smile, her eyes begging him to keep trying. “That’s right. Hold on.”

Can’t.

“Please. Fight it.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, choked back a sob. It hurt so bad. He couldn’t take anymore. Need you. Need you to help me through this. Please.

“I’m right here, and I will. Now fight it. For me.”

Trying. Help me…

A muted thud broke through his trance. His head jerked up. He struggled to open his eyes to the black ceiling above him, ears straining to hear something else.

Another thud. Louder this time.

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