A View to a Thrill (Masters and Mercenaries Book 7) (49 page)

“Has it been terribly boring for you?” Al asked.

Boring? It had been the best months of her life. Nothing was boring with Simon. The man could turn afternoon tea into the sexiest twenty minutes of her day. Everything about the man called to her. She just wished she’d heeded the call from the beginning because even a few wasted months were too much.

She wanted every minute she could have with him.

“So boring.” She had to keep her tone bland. “They watched me every damn minute of the day. The only times I was allowed on the net was when the big guy needed help. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Maybe now I do.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a place, sweetheart. Like I said, I’ve always wanted you. Do you understand how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you while we were here?”

“Why did you?”

“Like I said, I didn’t want to scare you away. You were more comfortable with me because you thought I was gay. And also, your sister is a little intimidating. She was a roadblock between us. I thought about taking her out, but you seem to care about her and no one else.”

She fought hard not to shudder at the thought. “Well, she’s moved on.”

“Yes, I can see that. And so have you. When did you decide to give sex a try?”

“I thought it was time.” It had been time the minute she’d met Simon.

“And he was the right guy?” His eyes trailed toward where Simon stood in between his thugs.

“He was there and he was single. Don’t try to make it more than it was. He’s attractive and I was curious.” God, please let him understand.

“So he’s meaningless to you?”

“To me, yes, but he means the world to Ian Taggart. Big Tag doesn’t leave his men behind. You should let him live and then Tag probably won’t come after you.”

“I doubt that.” His voice went low and seductive. “But then I also doubt that he’s meaningless to you. You forget, dear, that I had a man watching you at the Malone Ranch. Gentlemen?”

The bigger of the two men reared back a fist and planted it firmly in Simon’s stomach. There was a dull thud and then Simon was sucking in air.

“Don’t hurt him!” She couldn’t stop the shout that came from her mouth.

The smaller of the two took a swipe at Simon’s jaw, the sound cracking through the room. Simon’s body crumpled and they started to kick him hard.

“Please!” She turned to Al, utterly unable to watch her big handsome Brit get his ass kicked.

He gripped her arms. “Yes, I rather thought you were lying to me about your feelings for that idiot.”

Simon’s head came up, his eyes laser focusing on Al and the place where his hands were on her body. “I swear I’m going to kill you for touching her.”

Al hauled her close. “I’ll do more than touch her.” He put his arm around her throat, the other hand sliding possessively over her belly. He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “If you want him to live, you’re going to do everything I tell you.”

Slowly, her eyes on Simon, she nodded.

She shivered as Al spoke into her ear, softly, like a lover would. “I knew you would say yes to me. Why don’t you sit down and we can get started. I bet you can get into that system before they can kill your boyfriend.”

Her hands shaking, she took a seat at the desk.

She let her fingers start to fly as she began to test the system for weaknesses. As Al began to talk to his men, she found his weakness.

He wasn’t watching her. As quickly as she could, she slipped onto the web and pinged a certain site. It wasn’t much, but a smart man would see that little tiny open door and push his way through.

She prayed Adam Miles was as smart as she thought he was.

Simon’s life depended on it.

* * * *

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed endless. Pain was a constant companion, but he couldn’t let it stop him.

No more than an hour, he estimated. An hour of being brutalized. Sixty minutes of pure hell. Three thousand six hundred seconds of holding on to life and breath because he knew all he had to do was keep going. All he had to do was wait until they turned around because he had an ace up his sleeve.

In his hand, really.

They’d made a mistake when they’d hauled him out. A mistake that might save him and Chelsea, but he had to wait to take advantage.

While they’d hit and kicked him the first time in the parlor, the key to the cuffs had fallen out of the big thug’s pocket. He’d failed to reattach it to his larger ring and the tiny silver thing hit the carpet. Simon had quickly turned, almost certain that he’d be discovered, but they were far too busy kicking him in the gut and then the back. He was sure the move looked like he was trying to protect himself when all he was doing was getting to that key.

He’d been able to palm the key in his fist, but then they’d dragged him through the house, their hands so close to the place where he was hiding his prize that he’d been certain he would lose it.

They’d carried him up a flight of stairs, tied him to a chair, and then shoved a filthy rag in his mouth. He would have explained that he wouldn’t scream, would deeply prefer to not come down with whatever new form of syphilis was obviously on the gag. He had a perfectly nice gag in his kit and he knew it was clean, but they didn’t give him that option. His jaw ached because the rag was improperly placed and forced his muscles into positions they shouldn’t be in. He had to concentrate to get enough oxygen.

But all his focus was on that little piece of metal in his left hand. He forced himself to squeeze so he could feel it, know it was real and there. If he didn’t, he sometimes thought he’d made the whole thing up. A dream to help him get through the nightmare.

Pain exploded along his chest as he was hit again. He could feel his skin open, blood beginning to flow.

“Don’t kill him. The boss wants him alive so he can kill him,” a voice said. It was hard to see at this point. “I guess this shows you what happens when you fuck the boss’s girl.”

His girl. Chelsea was his. Only his. She’d never been anyone else’s, and if he died here, she would still be his. Al had no idea who he was dealing with if he thought taking Chelsea Dennis would make her his. Chelsea couldn’t be taken. She had to be earned.

“I’m just playing. I won’t kill him. Brits are sturdier than you think.” One of the two had brass knuckles on his punching hand. He was the taller one. Gio. He didn’t remember the smaller one’s name. Probably because Gio was attempting to knock him into next week.

He had one thought in his head. Holding on to that key.

He would get his chance. He had to stay alive long enough to use it.

There was the dull thud of a fist hitting his gut and then he felt it. It had gotten bad, he acknowledged. It took his brain longer to process the pain.

It was taking all he had to remain upright. The ropes didn’t help all that much. He had to waste some of his concentration on those, too. When they’d started to tie him to the chair, he’d puffed up, making himself as big and wide as possible so when he needed to, the ropes would be loose. All he needed to do was release his breath, pull his arms in, make himself smaller so he had wiggle room.

“Partner, are you still there? Give me a cough if you’re conscious.” Jesse’s voice had grounded him. The whole time, the entire beating, he’d had Jesse talking in his ear. He’d given him updates. They’d lost him in the canals, but they were trying their hardest to figure out who Al Krum really was. After they’d worked over his face in a particularly brutal fashion, Jesse had come up with a name.

Now they were looking for property owned by Albert Nieland or any of Nieland Affiliates subsidiaries.

It was just a matter of time. His team would be here.

And Chelsea would be working her hardest to make sure she bought them some time. At least he hoped that was true. She hadn’t quite managed to be the crazy, cold-hearted bitch she’d used to be. No.

Another hard punch and he had to keep his fist closed. It was hard, but he thought about how her whole face had changed when she’d realized he was in danger.

She wasn’t a good field operative. She was horrible because she couldn’t hide her caring for him.

Her love.

Damn it all. She loved him. She couldn’t hide it. She’d looked like her whole world was falling apart. It wasn’t something she could fake.

He was a believer. He’d been stupid to think she would lie. He could find a way to deal with her need to work. He would do anything to stay by her side.

Including stay alive.

Another blow. The sound. The pain. Fire licking along his flesh. His vision started to fade, but he held strong. He couldn’t lose that key.

If they would just stop, just take a break, he could handle the situation. Didn’t torturers take long lunches in Europe?

“Simon? I need a cough to know you’re still there.”

Damn it. He’d forgotten. He coughed, the very act making his body ache. His bones rattled in his body as though they weren’t attached to his muscles, as though they were floating around under his skin, battering against one another.

He forced himself to cough.

“Good. Stay with me. Say something only you would say so I know it’s you. If you could only say one word, what would it be, man?”

Only one word mattered at this point. Only one thing in the world could keep him holding on when it would be so much nicer to let go. “Chelsea.”

“All right. It’s you.” A sigh came over the line.

Gio stared down at him. “You won’t see her again, you fool. Do you really think you’re going to survive?”

It was a good opening to let Jesse know how he was doing. “No. I think I just felt my left kidney go. The situation is actually quite dire. I can barely see anymore.” His left eye had completely swollen shut. His right was getting there. His lungs ached. He was fairly certain he would lose consciousness soon. “I don’t think I’ll last much longer. Don’t you need me alive in order to keep Chelsea working? She will ask to make certain I’m still alive rather soon. She won’t just take Nieland’s word for it.”

“Adam thinks he’s on to something.” The words were quiet in his ear, solid. “Chelsea’s working the system. She pinged the McKay-Taggart site, and Adam thinks he can follow it back. He’s almost there. Please hang on. We’ll get to you.”

The line went quiet.

Close, but no cigar. He was still on his own.

There was a chiming sound and Gio stepped back. Simon could hear him talking softly in Italian. He forced his head to turn so he could see where the other one was. He’d turned, pouring himself a drink. It looked like he was on tormentor break time.

How long did he have?

Could he make it work?

His hands were in his lap. They hadn’t switched them behind his back as they should have. He rather thought they’d been afraid to. They would regret it.

He slipped the key forward and twisted his hands so he could see the lock. The key was right there. He twisted again so he could fit the bottom of the key into the lock. He struggled with it. It didn’t want to go in.

Frustration cracked through him, but he held firm. He nearly lost the key twice, his fingers fumbling when they should have been graceful. He touched the key to the lock and it finally slid in.

“The girl is taking her time,” Gio said in his thick accent as he rolled a smoke in his hand. He strode to the window and opened it. “You’re right. He can’t handle much more. I thought he would last longer. That Russian certainly did.”

The American joined him. “I suppose the Russian was used to getting his ass kicked. Brits and Americans have gone soft. Too much good living. Not that I’ll be immigrating any time soon. I think he’s out. We’ll have to wake him up for the coup de grace.”

Simon kept his head down. Best if they thought he really was unconscious. He could see the little key in the lock, but his fingers were numb. He had to make them work the way he wanted.

He lifted his head to see where they were. The American was smoking, too. Their backs were toward him as they looked out the window.

“Do you think he’ll kill the girl or give her to us?” Gio asked.

The American stared out the window. “Don’t know. Don’t care. All I care about is that she does her job. If she can figure out a way to take the do-gooder judge out of the picture, then I say give her a quick and painless death. She won’t get that from you.”

Breathe in. Move.
Just his index finger at first and then his thumb. In position.
Breathe out. Slow. Patient.

As the Italian laughed—an ugly sound—he forced his fingers to turn the key. “No, she won’t get a quick death from me. You know I like to make it last.”

There was more laughter, which was good because it covered his tiny groan as the cuff eased and blood flow started back into his hand.

Bloody fucking hell that hurt.

“Simon, how many people are in the room with you?”

Two quick coughs.

Gio sighed. “See, he’s still alive. Maybe I should get the Taser. See if his balls can fry. That should pass the time.”

Jesse’s voice again. “Upstairs?”

He kept his hands in his lap. They were still across the room. They shouldn’t be able to see one side had come undone. “Yes. My balls can fry, I’m sure. Go get Al. I’m ready to talk.”

The American laughed. “You don’t have any information we need.”

“Of course I do. I worked for British Intelligence for years. I work for McKay-Taggart now. Trust me, I have valuable intel. I can help. Just go and get your boss. He won’t be happy you killed me without giving me a chance to talk.” If he could get rid of one of them, his job would be easier. Already he was prepping. He took a long breath that made his chest ache, preparing to let it out, to loosen the ropes.

Gio took a puff off his cigarette and slapped his friend on the arm. “Go. Tell Nieland. I’m sure he’ll find it amusing.”

The American sighed and started for the door. “Don’t kill him while I’m gone.”

Someone was going to die. It just wasn’t going to be him.

“Now, let’s have some real fun,” Gio said, tossing his cigarette out the window and walking to the closet. He opened it, likely to get out that little Taser that would most definitely fry his balls if Simon had any intention of allowing it close to his body.