“It is very courteous of you to learn our language,” he said, still in English, “but I happen to know you are Americans, come to spy on us.”
When they didn’t respond, the men behind them punched each of them in the kidneys. Raoul had been expecting it but it still hurt like fuck. He sucked in a sharp breath but refused to give the guy the satisfaction of falling to his knees. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at him, committing his face to memory. When the time came, this guy would get his.
It went on for an hour, with Raoul and Zeke refusing to speak, and being thumped each time they failed to. Raoul had long since stopped worrying about letting the blows floor him, enjoying the respite by staying down a little longer each time. The guy doing the thumping appeared proud to have gotten the better of Raoul. Raoul refrained from telling him it wasn’t over yet.
“The woman,” the head guy said nonchalantly. “She will be remaining here and working for us.”
Raoul and Zeke, bloodied and battered, continued to stare straight ahead, neither of them showing the slightest reaction. Somehow. But on the inside, Raoul was gripped by a murderous rage. He chanced a swift sideways glance at Zeke and knew his thoughts must be similarly engaged.
“She is very beautiful and will be suitably married in due course. Why she thought she could interfere with men’s work is beyond me, but she has already learned the error of her ways. She will remain at home and produce good, strong Palestinian sons to fight for the cause.”
Raoul swallowed, aware that would never happen. The moment they relaxed their guard on Cantara, she would find a way to escape. But the thought of some bastard pawing her until that time came ate away at his gut like a virulent disease.
They were thrown, half-conscious, back into the same cell. They both knew they were being kept together in the hope that they would talk, but really there was nothing they could say that their captors didn’t already know. Except they didn’t appear to know Raoul and Cantara were legally married. Only Zeke, Pool, Hassan, and Fisher, their colonel back at Fort Campbell, were privy to that knowledge, plus a very few of the support staff. Raoul would stake his life on Fisher being loyal—they had been in too many tight spots together over the years for it to be otherwise. So either Pool or Hassan, or one of the guys under their command, had gotten careless. Raoul’s money was on that asshole Pool.
Raoul passed the time by steadfastly not thinking about Cantara. If he allowed sentiment to cloud his mind, they really would be fucked. They were giving swill to drink, a cup of water each, and left alone. Both men drank the disgusting, thin stew. They’d had worse in their time and knew to take whatever sustenance they could get. They would need it because tomorrow things would get worse for them.
And so it proved to be the case. They were routinely beaten, or hosed down with frigid water, just to keep the guards amused. Their bodies were used to extinguish cigarettes. They were deprived of sleep, subjected to ear-splitting levels of noise and even had electrodes attached to the genitals. They endured it by detaching their minds from what was happening to their bodies, because that’s what they had been trained to do, all the while wondering if Cantara was still in the building. While that possibility existed, they were not prepared to even think about escape.
The question was answered for them two long days later when they were again dragged before the leader.
“Not quite so sure of yourselves anymore, I see,” he said cheerfully, casting an amused glance over their bloodied and bruised bodies. “However, the resolution is in your own hands. As you are well aware, you only need to admit you are American spies, tell us what you came here to find out, and it will all end.”
Yeah, Raoul thought, permanently. They would be paraded in front of the cameras and given a public execution on prime time television.
“However, that is not what I wanted to talk to you about.” The man casually lifted a tiny cup of thick, black coffee to his lips and inhaled. The rich aroma caused Raoul to salivate, but he kept his expression impassive. “I called you here to inform you of some sad tidings. Unfortunately, the young lady proved to be more stubborn than we anticipated. She refused to join us, or to marry the man we chose for her.” He shook his head. “So unreasonable. We have no use for unpatriotic females.”
He turned a laptop toward them. Both men called upon their training not to gasp when they saw a gaunt, battered Cantara tied to a chair, defiance in her eyes. A man struck her, she spat at him, and so he struck her again with considerable force. The chair toppled over and Cantara’s head hit the ground. Blood pooled beneath it. In the next shot, she was laid on a clean bed, beautiful green eyes wide and staring, but no longer full of sparkle, defiance or any other emotion.
The woman they loved was dead, which changed everything.
Back in their cell, the two men huddled together, grieving and seething. They were also getting weaker by the day, thanks to the physical abuse they had endured, and lack of food. They had to get out of here soon, or they never would.
“Tonight,” Raoul whispered, knowing there were only ever two guards on at night and that they had become lazy because they thought Raoul and Zeke were too weak to put up any resistance.
Zeke nodded. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his face was as battered as Raoul’s, as was the rest of his body. But they were fighting mad, vengeance the only emotion they allowed themselves to feel. They had no weapons other than their bare hands. That was more than enough, even in their weakened condition.