Her Covert Protector (Rogue Protectors Book 4)
Her Covert Protector: Chapter 7

The chain stringing him up was released, and John dropped to the floor with a grunt. The day’s interrogation was over, and he wondered if his ribs were broken this time.

“He didn’t give up anything useful.” His interrogator, a man who was a hulk at six-seven with a physique that matched, spoke in Russian to a skinny man half his size. “Are you sure I can’t break his legs?”

“Unfortunately, no.” The smaller man with a scar across his eyes said. “Boss said no visible injuries.”

John wasn’t surprised with that directive. The mob liked to intimidate American operatives, but history had shown that the U.S. had a taste for swift retribution when one of their own was harmed. Unlike terrorists, who would love nothing more than to get their hands on the enemy, organized crime preferred to fly under the radar of the law. Not that John was the law.

Steel toe boots appeared in his line of vision before he was kicked from his kneeling position, sending him flat on his back. Three hundred pounds leaned on the sole of a boot to express the air from his lungs.

“Just a jab to the face, boss,” the Hulk said. “I want to see him bleed.”

Normally, John would treat his captors with smartass comebacks, but self-preservation drove his silence for the past three days. Visions of leaving Nadia alone and pregnant had been giving him cold sweats and nightmares.

“Enough. Things are happening as we speak, and we don’t want a damaged or dead CIA officer to add to the complication,” Scar-Eye said.

“Are we sure this is the guy named Stryker?” Hulk asked.

“Ilya said he is.”

Son of a bitch. Not that he could blame Ilya for giving him up. The man wasn’t trained to withstand torture, but, for his transgression, the Ukrainian Brotherhood would be keeping the businessman on a tight leash. John would worry about that later.

“Take him back to his cell. We’re scheduled for a call with the boss.”

The weight on his chest eased, and John was yanked to his feet. His wrists were bound. Even so, he could probably take on Hulk and Scar-Eye, but there were other men with guns outside the torture room, and he had Bristow to consider.

He was led down the stairs back to the basement. From what he could tell, they were being kept in a house that had a staircase that led straight into a dungeon that used to be part of the Odessa catacombs. It was rumored to be used by smugglers. Real estate developers had filled up majority of the tunnels, but no one really knew how many remained. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Odessa Order found use for it as well.

Stacked stones served as retaining walls and formed their asymmetrical cell. The ceiling revealed excavated earth and rock, and John hoped there were enough foundation and support beams to hold up the ancient structure. A bulb strung in the middle of the room provided lighting and, depending on how fond their captors were of them at any given day, it would be switched on and off. He and Bristow memorized the path to the buckets at the corner of the room that served as their toilet. It would suck if they made a mess. Food and water were provided once a day. If one could call stale bread food.

Hulk found it necessary to march him down the steps. He was followed by two guards—one to make sure Bristow didn’t try anything funny, and the other was in charge of swapping the buckets.

When they were left alone, John leaned against the wall and slid slowly to the ground. Bristow didn’t budge. He was flat on his back with an arm over his eyes. He was recovering from his own interrogation earlier. At least they were lying on earth instead of a cold slab of granite.

“How did it go?” Bristow murmured without turning his head.

“Same.” He suppressed a groan when his ribs bitched as he tried to get more comfortable. They never discussed anything about their business with Ilya, given that their dungeon may be bugged.

There was no question they were in an Argonayts’ base of operations. Despite the dilapidated state of the house, both he and Bristow spied a room full of computers with operators at the helm. Their laptops were the first to be confiscated. But since they were on the trail of hackers, they didn’t bring their agency laptops, but ones that provided their cover as wine merchants. However, John doubted they bought their cover since the interrogations continued.

“But something big is happening, and it may be connected to why they detained us.”

“Think they’ll let us go after?” Bristow asked. “‘Coz it seems they were detaining us because they think we’re going to expose whatever shit they’re planning.”

“Don’t know.”

“The guy with the scar threatened to ship us off to Siberia.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He could feel the burn of Bristow’s gaze on the side of his cheek.

“You’ve been acting strange.”

“In case you missed the memo, we’re in a fucking dungeon.” John looked around. They’d done a quick assessment when they were first thrown in this hole. The only way out was up the stairs. Four guards roamed the halls. But John had seen as many as twenty soldiers congregate in the living room, especially during their first round of interrogations. He had a feeling he and Bristow were being paraded as prized catches.

Catch and release. For all the times this had to happen, it had to happen when he promised Nadia he was returning Monday. Tomorrow.

Fucking Ilya. Did the businessman lure them here on purpose? Did he really have information at all regarding the brains behind the Argonayts? Their endgame. Ilya said the information was too delicate to communicate even through secure channels. They had to do it face to face.

Fucker.

“I can hear you fuming over there,” Bristow said.

John sighed. He was so fucking tired. And the SEAL’s stomach rumbling reminded him that the two big rolls of bread this morning were not enough sustenance.

“That’s called thinking,” he answered.

The SEAL levered up and sat against the wall. “While you’re at it, can you find a way to get us out of here? Or sweet talk and rustle us some more food? Man, what I wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger right now …”

His own hunger pangs gnawed at his gut, so he tuned out Bristow’s irritating yammering and fell asleep.

The clanging of the door jerked John awake, and he glanced over at his cellmate. He must have passed out while Bristow was droning on about food. Footsteps shuffled down the steps. When he saw who it was, his heart jumped to his throat.

“Nadia?”

He blinked. She was standing in front of him in a loose dress, but it couldn’t hide the bulge at her stomach. “You said you were coming home Monday,” she accused.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he roared.

He started choking. He couldn’t breathe.

“Wake up, fucker!”

John’s eyes flew open and gripped a wrist while trying to get his mouth free from the hand, ready to flip his attacker over, when he registered it was Bristow.

And the man stunk.

For that matter, John figured he did too.

He jerked his head to acknowledge he was awake and in control. Bristow removed his palm, and sat back, eyeing him warily. John scooted against the wall, his heart still pounding, his heaving lungs making his ribs ache.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Bristow whispered harshly. “You’ve been off since we left the U.S.”

He leaned closer and whispered in Bristow’s ear. “Broken condom.”

When John pulled back, the SEAL was staring at him, mouth gaping open in a comical way. “Fuuuuuck. Is it her?”

“Don’t know who you mean.”

“Stop your denial.”

“Let’s say it is … theoretically.”

“Holy cow … I still can’t …” Bristow gave a low whistle and couldn’t hide the mirth in his eyes. “Way to liven up our stay here.”

“Would you stop it?” he snapped. “They might think you’ve gone crazy.”

“Well, that’s certainly an excuse to let me go.”

“Or ship you off to Siberia.”

Bristow started laughing, then suddenly stopped and cleared his throat. “Do you need to talk to someone?”

John eyed him suspiciously. The corners of the SEAL’s mouth were twitching. “Glad I can be a source of amusement for your boring stay.”

“Seriously, man.” The other man shrugged. “I mean, there’s nothing else to do over here. I can pretend to be Dr. Phil.”

John might never live this down but the urge to unload was overpowering. He needed to figure this shit out that was completely foreign territory.

“I already broke a promise to her,” he said quietly.

Bristow moved his head closer. “Sorry for my foul breath, but spit it out, G.”

“I told her I was returning Monday.”

“Damn. That’s tomorrow. Is it serious?”

A defensiveness rose inside him. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out because I sure as hell don’t know how to do real shit like this.”

“You mean relationship shit?”

“Yeah.”

His fellow prisoner sat back. “Enjoy the feeling.”

“Oh, and you’re an expert on feelings?”

“Oh…ho…ho…” Bristow’s brows rose. “Someone is being testy. And I’m no expert. Far from it.”

The dungeon door slammed open and footsteps hurried down the steps. Hulk appeared and glowered at them. “No whispering.”

John and Bristow stared at each other. No question. They were being monitored.

Sixth day of captivity

“I’m saying, man, you can’t have it both ways,” Bristow said. “Something’s got to give. I know marketing California wine has its appeal, but the constant travel’ll get old.” Even if their captors probably knew they were not wine merchants, they decided to continue playing their roles.

“You just want my job.”

“Told you I don’t. Like this freelance shit. And you?”

“I’ve got responsibilities.”

“Well, looks like you’ll have more depending on how the wind blows.”

Anxiety pinched his gut. The idea of becoming a father was front and center in his thoughts. Maybe the lack of food was making him paranoid. He cycled between thinking he was overreacting and reacting just right. He knew Nadia was on birth control, but the pill was only as reliable as the person who took it.

“But that still can’t be the reason why you stay together. Just saying … It isn’t fair.”

To the kid. John felt the same way.

He sighed. “I think we’re jumping too far ahead.”

“Best to be prepared for all possibilities.”

Tenth day of captivity

John was close to losing his damned mind, and he couldn’t blame the lack of food or water. Earlier that morning they were each treated to a big bowl of oatmeal and a bag of jerky. He and Bristow scarfed those down, hoping they were finally going to be cut loose.

But, five hours later. Nothing.

“Hmm … I wonder if that was our last supper?” Bristow asked.

He glared at the SEAL. “I can make it yours.”

Instead of a smartass comeback, Bristow looked apologetic. “Sorry, man.”

In the past few days, he was riding a razor edge of anxiety. Though they hadn’t been interrogated again, John felt a pall that had fallen on the mobsters. Yesterday, he and Bristow were hosed down. Scar-Eye probably didn’t want them dying of a flesh-wasting disease, so even when his balls shriveled up in the stream of ice-cold water, he welcomed getting the layer of grime off his skin. From what he’d gleaned from the men talking, their boss’s op didn’t go exactly as planned, and there was going to be an attempt to salvage their objective.

There appeared to be a reduction in guards at the house, and there were fewer people in the computer room unlike the first few days that John and Bristow were here. Were they getting ready to move? What about him and Bristow? Were they fattening them up to be shipped off to Siberia?

The nightmares around Nadia were constant. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her in his mind. Her belly round with his baby, and even one time, she was holding hands with a little girl.

Fuck. He had to get back to her. He wasn’t giving up. John was getting out of this hellhole. The longer she believed he brushed her off, the harder it would be to set his plan into play. She was the only woman in his long life as a CIA officer who made him hunger for a home.

“We need to get out of here.”

Bristow’s face brightened. “Finally. Have you snapped out of your melancholy?”

He glanced at the SEAL. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Just saying. So, what’s the plan?”

Fourteenth day of captivity

John dropped to the ground after getting pistol-whipped on the back of the head.

Their great escape failed.

He and Bristow would have been successful, too, if Scar-Eye had not returned with more men after three days of absence. Hulk was left in charge and thought John and Bristow were his docile pets. The man found out that attack dogs should never be pets.

Scar-Eye loomed over John, pointing the barrel of his Kalashnikov between his eyes. “This just proves you’re a spy. Only a man with your training could take my biggest man down.”

John and Bristow executed their escape plan after one of their hose-downs. The aftermath of their botched exit left Hulk with two holes, bleeding and yelling like a stuck pig. Two guards lay dead on the ground.

“Maybe I like watching action movies,” John responded, and then, “You okay, B?”

“I’m good,” Bristow grunted. His partner in crime was also flat on his back with a gun pointed to his head. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Scar-Eye’s gaze trailed down the length of Garrison’s drenched t-shirt, athletic shorts that had seen better days, and to his bare feet. “Maybe I should let you walk on broken glass.” His mouth curled cruelly. “Let me see you act all die hard, huh?”

John hid his frustration with their attempted escape with a crooked smile. “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”

“Can we just kill them?!” Hulk roared from his position against the wall and being tended to by his comrades.

The smaller man’s fingers tightened on the trigger. “At this point, it would give us less trouble.”

“Just tell Maxim they tried to grab the guard’s guns,” Hulk shouted. “That they shot themselves.”

Despite his dire situation, Garrison’s ears perked at Hulk’s slip, naming the mastermind behind their abduction.

“Now I take issue with that,” Bristow grumbled from his dicey position on the floor. “That’s a false narrative.”

John chuckled darkly. Defiant until the end.

And as he stared down the barrel of a gun, his chest contracted painfully at the loss of a life he could have found with Nadia.

And if he had a kid?

His lungs compressed into a heavy weight.

Fuck. He wasn’t okay with this.

“Any last words?”

He wasn’t going down without a fight. No matter how futile this seemed.

A blast rocked the house, throwing Scar-Eye off his feet. Flash-bang grenades erupted and filled the room with smoke.

Simultaneous gunshots exploded and an exchange of artillery fire followed but was short-lived.

John kept his position on the ground as he tried to see through the fumes, alert to react.

Two figures materialized from the haze.

Roarke and Spear.

A whoosh of relief escaped his lungs.

Off to the side, Levi and another guy John didn’t recognize tended to Bristow.

John was grinning so wide, his jaw hurt. “It was about time you motherfuckers got here.”

Kade loomed above him. “Do I need to carry you?”

“Hell no.”

The other man extended an arm to give him a hand up. “Then we got here at just the right time.”

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