Page 14 of Wick
"I'm okay." I try bringing myself to my knees by tucking my legs under me and uprighting my body.
"Preacher." Cowboy calls out.
"I'm here," he answers, his voice coming from behind me as I rock back, resting my ass on my heels.
"Thor. You still with us?"
"I'm with you, brother," he tells Cowboy.
Suddenly I feel a pair of hands grabbing at the bag over my head, carefully trying to untie the string pulled tight around my neck keeping it in place. "Stay as you are. I've almost got the knot loosened enough to slip it over your head," Cowboy says as he continues to work the knot, then finally pulls the bag off.
The moment I can see, I take in my surroundings. The first person I see is Thor, standing directly in front of me. I look around. We've been thrown into a twenty by twenty concrete cell. No windows; the only light coming from an outside source through the rusted-out holes in the tin ceiling above us. "Let's get those sacks off your heads." Getting to my feet, I take a few steps in Cowboy's direction. "Down on your knees, soldier."
"I feel like you've been waiting a long time to tell me those words." I can hear the grin in his tone, and under the circumstances, I can't help the corners of my mouth turning up in a small smile of my own. Leave it to Cowboy to make light of a situation like this. Once on his knees, I position myself behind him, turn my back, and begin to loosen the knot on the pull string. With my hands still secured behind my back, it's difficult but eventually I manage to undo it and free him from the bag.
Wiping the sweat from his face with his shoulder, Cowboy gets to his feet and faces me. "Shit." He takes a good look at me, and I realize he's referring to my cheek which hasn't stopped throbbing since the prick clocked me earlier.
I shrug. "Take care of Preacher and I'll take Thor." I switch his focus from me to the rest of the team.
Instructing the other two men, Cowboy and I make quick work at freeing them from the bags over their heads as well. "Preacher, how's the leg?" I ask him as he positions himself against the wall behind him, using it to help himself off his knees and onto his ass, stretching his legs out in front of him.
He grimaces as he tries to make himself comfortable. "I'll be alright. It looks like the blood flow has slowed. The butterfly bandage is doing its job—for now." He assesses his injury the best he can just by looking down on it. Preacher is also a field medic. His medical knowledge is vital to the team. "At this point, the one thing I need to be concerned with is an infection," he says.
Cowboy walks the perimeter of the room, searching and inspecting every nook and cranny. Craning his head back, he peers up at the tin roof. "Fuck."
Beads of sweat roll down my face, and the front of my black tank is soaked from sweating so much it clings to my skin. With no windows, the building they have thrown us in is like a brick oven.
Cowboy straightens his back and rolls his shoulders. "Not going to lie, we've gotten ourselves between a rock and a hard place here. We all know what we need to do, so I'm not going to stand here and lecture you. Staying alive, and keeping our mouths shut is our objective right now." Hearing several men talking from a distance just outside the building, the four of us gather together. Shifting his legs beneath him, Thor brings himself to his feet.
Waiting, we stand rooted in place. "I'm going to go ahead and say it. No matter what they do to me, don't give in." Facing forward, I keep my eyes trained on the metal door. Behind me, Thor takes a sharp breath as if he's about to protest, so I cut him off. "Don't. My life is not more important than any of yours. We are soldiers. I am a soldier." The loud clang of chains sliding against the metal door has us shifting our bodies closer together, preparing for what's to come.
"Stay strong." Cowboy encourages us before the door opens.
The door flings open, and light floods the room. The same man I saw earlier during our capture steps into the doorway. "I see you have removed your blindfolds." His accent is thick, but his English is flawless. "It doesn't matter anymore." Jerking his head, he steps to the side, allowing his men, still hiding their faces to enter the room. Rifles drawn, they flank our side, herding us out of the building. Though it's sweltering outside, the temperature is a good fifteen degrees lower than it was inside the brick building now behind us. The bald guy walks up, stopping in front of me. His eyes roam my sweat-soaked chest. Defiant, I lift my chin and stare him down. "Ah." He pulls a piece of cloth, tucked in his utility belt, and swipes it across my forehead, dragging it down the side of my face, and along my neck, only stopping when he reaches the valley between my breasts.
"You have spirit." His stare finally connects with mine. He doesn't say another word. He doesn't have to—his intent is written on his face. And, as strong as I am, my instincts are screaming at me; telling me the man standing in front of me wants to break me. "Take them to bunker C." His hand drops away from my body, but not without letting his fingertips graze my breast along the way before turning and walking away. Turning my head, I swallow hard taking in a deep breath as I try to center my thoughts and control my nerves. Preacher, Cowboy, and Thor are focused on me when I seek them out. All three wearing the same murderous mask. I give them a reassuring look just before the ends of the rifles are shoved into our sides as we are led across the yard and into an underground bunker.
A cold blast of air hits my damp skin the moment I take the final step and enter the room. I take a good look around. It is significantly larger than where we were located before. Big enough to house many men, yet the space is void of anything but a few pieces of office furniture. To my left, in the corner, I find the source of air coming from a portable air conditioning unit. Forced further inside by the armed men, they direct us to sit on wooden benches that line the wall in the furthest corner of the room. Taking in what is around us, I notice the shackles, several sets of them located on the opposite side of the room, anchored into the concrete.
Without warning, one of the masked men snatches me by my hair, then slams my body against the cold concrete wall, the force hard enough to knock the wind out of me. With my chest against the wall, another unties the rope around my wrists. I cooperate until the bastard runs his disgusting hands over my ass. Throwing my head back, my skull connects with the person standing behind me. A crunching sound followed by explicit Spanish lets me know I broke his nose. My satisfaction is short-lived. My binds fall free, as I'm spun around and punched in the stomach by the one I injured. My body recoils from the pain, and I double over. Just as fast, the two men slam my back against the wall, grab both my wrists, lift them above my head, and clasp the iron cuffs around my already raw skin. Lifting my head, I notice blood dripping from the mask covering the man's face as he stands directly in front of me. Over his shoulder, I take in my comrades as other men hold them at gunpoint.
"I will have you before I watch you dieputa," he spews.
"Not before I cut your little dick off and shove it straight up your ass." I spit in his face knowing the outcome will not be in my favor. His nostrils flare with rage just before he lands one final blow to my stomach before walking away. Tears sting my eyes from the sharp pain radiating toward the back of my spine.
One by one the rest of the masked men shackles Cowboy, Thor, and Preacher to the same wall. As soon as the men exit the bunker, leaving us alone, Cowboy speaks. "Vayda."
I sigh. Cowboy using my first name lets me know I already fucked up. But, hell, there are some things I can’t bring myself to ignore. And being groped is one of them.
"Sugar…" he gives a short pause, "I'm sorry." His voice cracks a bit, and I understand why. I close my eyes waiting for him to say more; maybe tell me we will be okay, or that he won't let anything else happen to me, but he doesn’t. He doesn't because we are all in the same predicament. Not one of them can help me as well as I can't help either of them.
Plenty of time goes by before footsteps descend the concrete stairs. Our heads shift to watch a well-dressed man enter the room with an entourage following him. I recognize his face immediately.
Arturo Cortez.
His expensive dress shoes slap against the concrete floor as he approaches us. Stopping a few feet in front of Preacher, he walks the line, appraising, until he reaches me. He looks me over longer than the others. Grabbing my chin, he rotates my face from side to side, running his thumb across my swollen jawline. "Benito."
"Sir," the bald man steps forward. My eyes shift to him as I put the name to his face.
