Captured in Croatia (11 page)

The belt
lands again.

And again
.

On and on
, the blows rain down and my sweating chest pushes against the weighted bag. I’m hoping, praying, that I can somehow move away from his brutal strikes. Begging will get me nowhere. I know this like I know the name of the hospital where I was born.

He wants details
and unfortunately for me, I can’t give them up. I’ve been trained. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that as soon as he has what he needs from me I’m as good as dead.
I must endure.

Around blow twelve
, he shouts through my panicked sobs, “Talk to me. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll end the pain. Just give up, stop trying to be tough.” There is an edge of desperation in his voice that is perplexing, considering the punishment he is meting out on my burning ass.

Dancing on my toes
, I grip the chain tighter and swallow a whimper. “Go to hell!”

Tough? I’ll show him the meaning
!

There is n
o reply, with the exception of a bombardment of more hard strikes. My ass and upper thighs are in a torrent of fiery pain that I could never comprehended to be possible before this moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if I already have welts. I struggle for inner strength.

Sc
rew him. I’m not begging this monster for anything!

Just
as I’m finding it difficult to breathe through my choking sobs, it all stops. The belt hits the padded floor with a
thwack
. Then he’s gone, moving rapidly up the stairs to the door. His footfalls are heavy, and as soon as he’s gone, I cry out in relief and would have crumpled to the floor if I wasn’t chained upright. I’m shaking and wet with a mixture of both tears and sweat from my face down to my stomach. My ass must be in awful shape because it’s pulsing wildly in pain.

I hear movement upstairs.

The door at the top of the steps re-opens and I hear him coming back down.

No! Already?
I’m not certain how much more I can take. I hope he wasn’t just warming up!

I
slowly lift my forehead off the bag in sweaty exhaustion. He stands on the other side, facing me with only the leather cylinder between us. His face is blank, cold.

“Talk to me. Tell me who you are and I’ll let you down. I don
’t like harming you.”

H
e’s holding a white bag. Additional instruments to make me open up and talk? I’m doomed.

Meeting his eyes
, I try to speak clearly, honestly. “I can’t.” It comes out as a soft, odd croak.

His
gray eyes narrow before he responds, “Okay,
princeza
. I’m going to leave you to think on it.”

He
places the bag on the floor and pulls out a proper air cast, of all things. My eyes fill with tears of relief. He’s not going to harm me any more … for now. As he touches my injured wrist, I jerk back slightly. I can’t help it.

“Calm yourself.”

“Easy for you to say.” I pin him with a wary stare.

He shakes his head in disbelief as he gently unwraps the Tiger Paw brace
, leaving my other arm tied to the chain. My exposed wrist is throbbing, the Advil has long since worn off, and I would give my last dime for an entire bottle right now. Not only for my wrist, but also for my throbbing ass.

He slips
on the air cast and secures it before he gently releases my arms.

“Look at me
,
princeza
.”

I
shoot him an enraged look before huffing out, “Stop calling me that. It’s not my name and I hardly think that terms of endearment are appropriate in this wacked out scenario.”

He
surprises me by barking out a short laugh. “I like you,
princeza
. You’ve got heart. Tell me your name, then, if you want it used. Your real one, not the one you gave Juric.”

How about I give you my favorite p
hrase instead, big man? Hmm … let’s see.
“Screw you!” I scream in his face, exhausting my last ounce of energy. He stays calm but he has a tell: his neck muscles and wide shoulders visibly tense up.

Oh God, i
s that a knife wound slashing across the top of his shoulder?

Taking a wide step back
, he says in a low, angry voice, “You take your time and think on it. We’ll keep this game up until you’re ready to talk. I’m a man of infinite patience, as you will soon learn.”

I turn away in disgust, nuzzling
a flaming, wet cheek against the side of the leather, away from his prying stare. Without another word, he disappears up the stairs and closes the door quietly behind him.

I cry out in
open relief that he’s decided to leave me alone. I’ve heard plenty of stories about interrogations that could easily double as urban legends. He could have been far harsher with me. He drew no blood, left no permanent damage.
Would he really kill me if I told him the truth?
Now I’m no longer so sure.

Pins and needles. First in my fingers and then lower, down through my stretched right arm. Being suspended like this is agony. Every time I try to push up higher on my toes to take the tension off my arm, my toes start to cramp up.

How much
of this does he think I can take? At this point I’d be willing to tell him my name. The sacrifice would be worth it, if only for a little relief. I wish I would pass out, anything to stop this horrid, gnawing pain.

At least he left the light on
 ….

I
press my sweaty back up against the basement door. Stupid, headstrong girl! Why won’t she just tell me what I need to know? I stopped when she’d had enough. I didn’t like whipping her but it was a necessary evil. She was unwise enough to fuck with my employer, and I need to know why. If she wasn’t so arrogant and stubborn, this would be much easier for her.

Does
she think I’ll take her out once she gives up the information? Most likely. That must be the reason that she’s on lockdown. Regardless, she’s going to talk to me tonight.

Fuck!
I nearly came in my cargos when I first touched that silky pussy of hers. She is perfection personified. While I had her beneath me on the massage table, it took every ounce of my control not to wrench open my fly and shove my cock into her like an animal.

I
’ll have her. It’s just a matter of time. I want her willing and eager, though. The thought of raping a woman leaves an awful taste in my mouth. I’ve seen groups of soldiers on both sides of the war do that, albeit from a distance and through a rifle scope. No, I wouldn’t put a female through that humiliation. Either I’ll have her willingly or not at all.

And s
he was drenched with need for me tonight.

So fucking sweet
….

I
look down at my bare stomach cast in shadows in the hallway. Unable to resist, I swipe my index finger across the area where her spread pussy rested not long ago. Placing the finger between my lips, I suck and swirl my tongue against the moisture. My eyes close and a groan escapes me as her taste washes through me like the rush of a potent drug. Like peaches, so delicate and laced with honey. I
must
have her … soon.

I
’ll go out of my skull if I don’t.

With a sigh
, I push away from the door and head into the dining room. Black and white framed photographs of my relatives hang on the four walls, dating back as far as the dawn of photography. They are all there. This is the one room in my home that has remained unaltered. The one with the strongest memories.

Laughter around the
twelve-foot-long walnut dining table. Playing hide and seek with my brother underneath. Our mother’s mouthwatering meals.
God, what I wouldn’t give for just one more of her Purgerica turkeys that she labored over lovingly each and every Christmas. Fuck, I can still remember that last Christmas here, when we were so happy. That was two months before they were all slaughtered.

This room
is full of emotional memories. I hate the sorrow but crave it all the same. It’s all I have left of them.

Turning to leave
, I rest my eyes on the one photo that tears into my soul. My mother and father. It’s a candid shot taken at their wedding reception. Her youthful face glows with happiness, her hair upswept with a trailing veil of fine lace. She’s dancing with my father, who looks tall and handsome in his black suit. Why did that evil have to happen to them? Fucking senseless.

I wince, thinking of the pain
the girl must be feeling downstairs, and hope she gives up soon. Once I have what I need to know, I’ll let her down. Better me than Juric. Juric would have simply raped and killed her. I can’t stand the thought of that.

I
go to the long sofa and spread out as my mind flits back to images of my family. Will the pain ever go away? It’s been twenty years, so perhaps not.

After s
lipping my mobile from one of the pockets near my knee, I see a missed text from B: “’Fess up, bastard. Where did you find the hot American? She obviously finds you repulsive, dude, (joking) so what’s going on? —B”

I
shake my head at my brother’s light-hearted taunts. You can’t help but love the guy. Everyone does. Why can’t I just let shit roll off me like B does? We rarely speak to each other about what happened that night. What good would it do?

What I wouldn’t give to not have this black cloud constantly hovering over me.
Or a rewind button. That, or ten more years of experience behind me. Yeah, I could’ve stopped them then. Could have done something more than hide ….

Shaking it off
, I head back downstairs. I glance down at my watch, a black Luminox that was a gift from B a few years back. It’s been twenty minutes. Time to see if my sweet
princeza
has something to tell me.

As I walk down
stairs, I half expect to hear the sound of tears or curses, but neither one greets me. She hangs quietly from my boxing bag, exactly where I left her. The pain must be explosive by now, but nothing that won’t go away after I release her. Slowly, I round the bag and rest my forehead against the cool leather, just a few inches away from hers.

“Give me something
,
princeza
.” My voice bounces off the mirrors in a soft hush.

At first
, I think I must be hearing things, her words are so faint. Then she repeats them.

“Carew. M
-my name is Carew,” she whispers softly, as if confessing a secret.

It must be hard
for her to give up even that small amount of information. It means she realizes she isn’t in control here. She isn’t lying. When she whispered the word I felt a shiver through my body. That is definitely her name. Unique and delicate, like her. I wonder for a moment what ‘Carew’ means.

I
stand up straight and walk behind her. She’s completely depleted, can’t even lift her head.

As I r
each up to undo the black cotton that holds her fast, I whisper to her, “Okay, Carew. You’re all right. Let me get you down now.”

My
right arm binds firmly around her midsection as I unravel the last few segments of cloth. If I don’t support her, the moment she is free she’ll hit the floor like a lead weight. The sweaty cotton falls to the floor as I swing her up into my arms.

She leans into
me, half asleep. She’s chilled. I really should put her into a hot shower but decide instead to put her to bed.
My bed
, the only one in the house. She’s obviously exhausted and I’m completely wiped out as well.

Her bare skin is so smooth and soft
against mine that I have to fight internally to not crush her against me. I’ve been hard ever since I walked into the house this evening.

Fuck
. It’s going to be a long night.

We
reach the top step to the bedroom, and it hits me that no woman has ever been up here before today. I’ve never fucked in this bed. Always in hotels back in Zagreb.

As I l
ower her down carefully onto the moonlight-streaked mattress, I can tell that she’s about to pass out. I glance at the fire and see that it’s burning steadily. Good, I’ll add a few more logs to keep it toasty up here. I walk over and tend to the fire, stoking it with the poker before tossing two big logs on the glowing heap.

I
cross back to the bed and sit down next to her bare, lithe body. As I reach for the comforter, intending to cover her with it, my arm brushes against hers. What she does next surprises the shit out of me. With a small whimper, she pulls my arm close to her chest.

I
move her over very slowly and lay down beside her, allowing the warmth from my bare chest to radiate into her skin. She nestles in closer. She must be asleep because there is no fucking way she would have done any of this if she was lucid. She’s far too proud.

I’m completely drained and hope that I can make some
sort of progress with her tomorrow. On that final thought I allow my eyes to slide shut.

***

“Get into the basement.”

“Papa, no. We can help.
We’re both good marksmen.”

Never in
my sixteen years on earth has the word ‘no’ crossed my lips. Not while speaking to my father, at least.

“Zoran, there
’s no time. Go to the hiding place downstairs and guard your brother with your life. We love you both, now go.”

That
is the exact moment I know they will die. There is only room in the niche for two of us. My father has never once told us he loved us—not in so many words. This is his goodbye and I know it.

Time to be a man.
I reach down and pry my clinging thirteen-year-old brother away from our sobbing mother.

“
Be strong,” I say to him, although the words are more for myself than for him.

Big
, beaming lights begin to filter into our house through the darkness. Rifle butts pound against the front door with brutal force, demanding acknowledgment. The dogs—thank fucking God for our dogs—scented them coming and went wild. A loud sputtering of shots ring out in succession, followed by silence and then shouting. They got them. The dogs were shot for trying to defend their family. The civil war is ripping our beautiful country into so many pieces that soon there will be nothing left but blood and scorched earth.

Once
I have an arm secured around my brother’s shoulder, our mother tilts up her tear-streaked face and touches my cheek.

The look in her eyes is one of abject, gut
-wrenching sorrow. “Zoran, you’re the man now. Guard Balthazar with your life, son.”

I
can only nod once. A choked sob wells up in my throat. Our father rushes us to the basement door. As we head down he remains on the top step. I turn to meet his serious gaze just before the door shuts tightly.

Beneath the padded
workout mats covering the floor lies a small metal ring. When lifted up, it reveals a room that used to be a small root cellar barely big enough for two people.

“
Save them!” My mother had begged my father only minutes before.

I
shake with the need to go above and help them, but I made a promise to protect B. As we lower ourselves down into the cramped space, I check my holster for the Sig Sauer pistol that my father gave me on my previous birthday.

It takes
me a minute to maneuver the mat above the trap door. It needs to lie perfectly flat or we will be found.

In the blackness
my brother sobs, heartbroken.

He’s got to stop crying
.

I
take a deep breath and reluctantly clamp my hand across Balthazar’s mouth. He can’t see me, but he turns and buries his face in my t-shirt. It is soon saturated with his tears.

We hear l
oud banging and the unmistakable sputtering of a machine gun. And then the endless scream that is permanently tattooed onto my soul. Our mother’s gut-wrenching shriek. They’ve killed our father. That is the only reason she would howl in such extreme, animalistic agony. I lower my head in shame as her screaming abruptly stops.

I
can’t breathe
….

***

A quick, barking shout like that of a wounded animal caught in a snare makes me spring upright in an instant. The only light in the room is the soft glow from the embers in the fireplace and a few streaks of moonlight. I feel him beside me on my left; his heat radiates against my body. My eyes adjust quickly. He’s pushed upright on his toned arms and he’s struggling to take in air.

“Are you
 … I mean, is everything all right?” I struggle to shake off the deep sleep, wondering if he has post-traumatic stress. Then I realize where I am, that we are lying in bed together, and try to contain my disbelief. I’m torn between compassion and fear.

He
turns completely away from me, as if ashamed. Finally he answers in a rumbling tone, “Yeah, nightmare.”

Oh, shit
. I can’t simply ignore that. I know how vivid they can be. An idea begins to form in my mind, that I can turn this to my advantage. Perhaps I should try harder to be pleasant to him? Maybe at some point he will even let his guard down.

“T
hey’re the worst, right? I mean, you can’t prep for them or anything.”

My voice tr
ails off at the end. This is quickly becoming uncomfortable. I mean, who chats about bad dreams with their abductor, right? That’s just … wrong on so many levels, and I’m not manipulative enough to take advantage of his vulnerability. Not when I know how vivid nightmares can be. I’ll have to find another way.

He swings his legs
over the side of the high bed, props his elbows on his thighs, and lowers his head into his hands. He scrubs his palms back and forth across his short hair.

Rather than press him,
I take my glass from earlier over to the basin sink. I fill it and down the cold water before refilling it and walking back to the bed.

He’s still leaning forward
, so I gently but hesitantly touch his hot back. “Here. Drink this. Always makes me feel better.”

Zoran reaches out for the glass and drinks
deeply before placing it on the low table next to the bed. I take a step back, now fully awake after this perplexing encounter. I’m alert and once again wary of him.