Page 16 of Lose Me In The Shadows

It looked like a cell—just a black, concrete box. No window, no door that she could spot—although there had to be one, right? No bed, even, just a dirty cement floor. If she could, she’d stand up and investigate further. Unfortunately, tied wrists weren’t conducive to standing unless you were a yoga expert, which Kara wasn’t.

She could really use some sexy, strong, infuriating former Navy SEALs right now—unless they were the ones who’d done this to her. At least she’d gotten her sense of humor back.

But how had she gotten here, and who had taken her? Once again, she’d been forcibly relocated somewhere, and this time it wasn’t the mountain cabin of her dreams.

But why? And by whom? She wasn’t worth anything to anyone…

You know that’s not true.

An image of Luke, Conor, and Micah came to her. They were in the kitchen, Micah feeding her, Luke fucking her, Conor kissing her. Another image replaced that one: being held at night in their arms. She might hate the men, she might have needed to escape, they might have played her…but they would care what happened to her.

I’m sorry for ever making you feel less than what you are, Micah had said.

And what am I?

Everything.

They did care. She was more than a set of holes to them. The truth of it smacked her in the face. But before she could come to terms with the realization, she heard the thud of footsteps and a key turning in a lock. Turned out there was a door, because it swung open.

Three large men in masks and black ops style uniforms filled the doorway, and for a moment Kara’s heart lifted with relief and something more.

But their bodies were all wrong. And so were their smells. Even with the overpowering smell of mold and dank wetness, she could smell something like Axe body spray and testosterone—and not the good, sexy kind that made her a panting, obsessed, willing slut. Because as much as she wanted them to be, these men weren’t hers.

Mine?

She’d leave that for later. Because as they entered the small cell and closed the door, one of these strangers spoke.

“Tell us what you know about Conor O’Connell, Luke James, and Micah Feldman.”

“Those are their last names?” she mused, proud of how calm she sounded. Because while she didn’t know what these three planned on doing to her, it couldn’t be good. And she had a hunch why she’d been kidnapped—motherfucking again. She was no one important, and she didn’t evenknowthese men, there was no reason for them to take her, unless they thought she could lead them to Conor, Luke, and Micah. She was nothing more than collateral, a hostage being held so that the real prizes could be captured. Was that ironic? That she’d been kidnapped again, only so that her original kidnappers could become the captives?

“What do you know about them?” the masked operative asked again, voice harsh and unamused.

“What do I get if I tell you?”

“For one thing, you don’t get tortured.”

“And you can live safely and securely knowing you helped us put filthy criminals behind bars,” another one said.

Filthy they were. Criminals, too. But from where she was standing, the three men staring at her were no better than Luke, Micah, and Conor…and, very likely, they were worse. She’d only been tortured with orgasms, after all.

Amazing, how when you were staring your potential death in the face, the things you thought were horrible weren’t all that awful. Maybe her former captors were not the villains she’d believed them to be.

“When you say torture, what do you mean?”

“What do you think we mean?” One crossed his thick, burly arms.

“Enough with this,” the first one snapped. It was hard to keep track of who was who—they were all uniformly large and uniformly bland looking, so she named them Tweedle Dumb, Tweedle Dumber, and Tweedle Dumbest. “We need to know what your relationship is to the fugitives, where you saw them last, what you know about what they’ve been doing, and what their agenda is. If you don’t tell us, not only will we torture you—”

“You can’t torture me. Geneva Convention.”

“We’re not on US soil,” Tweedle Dumber said, proving his name was accurate. “You’re on a Black Ops site in the middle of nowhere. No one knows where you are. You could disappear without a trace, and your family and friends would never know what happened to you. Is that what you want, Kara Blum?”

“Stop talking to her,” Tweedle Dumb barked.

So she didn’t know where she was, but she knew where she wasn’t.

US soil.

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