“Shit!” I rush back to the bathroom; the helmet’s rolled onto its side and the flow of the tap is splashing off its surface, going everywhere. All over the mirror above the sink, all over the tiled floor. I turn off the tap and grab a towel from one of the racks by the toilet, throwing it on the ground and mopping madly with my foot. I’ve always been a little accident prone, but this is ridiculous. I’m trashing the place. Not that I should care—I’ve been bundled up and stolen, drugged and taken here against my will—but I’m not an idiot. I don’t want to make the situation worse for myself by breaking or throwing up on everything I touch.
“Hello?”
I stop scrubbing at the floor with my foot, every part of me going still.
“Hello? I brought you some breakfast.” My heart’s hammering in my chest. Someone’s in the other room. I hear the door close, and then heavy boots scuffing on the wooden floorboards. I peek cautiously around the bathroom door, hoping to see who it is without being seen myself. No such luck, though. Cade’s staring straight at me, a plate stacked high with pancakes in his right hand. He has some sort of dust in his hair. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “Rebel’s going to be back in an hour or so. Thought you might like to get some breakfast into you and some clothes on before he steamrolls in here, wanting to talk to you.”
I slide my body through the barely open bathroom doorway and pull it closed behind me. “This is his place?” I ask.
Cade nods, setting the plate of food down on the narrow desk next to the coffee machine. “Yeah. Built it himself. He’s not like the other guys. He prefers the peace and quiet.”
“What other guys?” I need to figure out what my situation is right now. How many people are here, wherever we are? Who are they? How far to the next town? What are my chances of breaking out of this cabin and making it to civilization on foot? Cade just smiles at me, wiping his hands down the front of his already grease-stained jeans. He’s a good looking guy—dark brown hair, cropped close, warm brown eyes, always with a half-entertained look on his face—but I don’t see any of that. I just see a brick wall of stacked muscle standing between me and my freedom.
“No one you need worry yourself about, sweetheart,” he says. “You won’t be bothered over here.”
“When can I go home?” I’ve somehow managed to keep my cool since waking up, but it feels like the walls are closing in now. I have to get out of here. I have to get back to Seattle.
“I told you, as soon as you’ve done what Rebel needs you to do, you’ll be able to go.”
“And when will that be? How long with that take? Hours? Days? Weeks?” My chest feels tight, gripped by the concept that I might be trapped here for so long. And even then, Cade could be lying. They could have no intention of letting me go, ever.
Cade purses his lips, shoving his right hand into his pocket. “Look. Wait for Rebel to get back. He’ll answer all your questions.”
“He said I should direct all my questions to you in his absence.”
Cade laughs, glancing back out of the door. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Turning back to look at me, he smiles. “You know why he said that?”
“No.”
“Because it entertains him to screw with people every once in a while. I don’t have any answers. Only he knows when all this will be over. For you. For me. For him.”
“Sounds like a great guy.” I lean back against the bathroom door, my head thumping dully against the wood. I want to cry. I really want to breakdown and sob my heart out, but I’m proud. Before I ran into Raphael in the street, it had been years and years since I’d allowed myself to look weak like that. I cried in front of Ramona, too. I do not want to cry in front of Cade.
“He may be a total asshole sometimes and he does like to fuck with people, but he’s not who you think he is, sweetheart. You’ll realize that soon enough. Now, you gonna tell me your name or what?”
“No.” I won’t do it. Giving them a name to call me by, any name, real or false, seems like I’m giving them power over me.
Cade blows out a deep breath, giving me a look my father used to give me when I was being stubborn as a kid. “Have it your way, then. I’ll make sure I come back when Rebel gets here.”
I just stare at the ground, feeling hollow inside. I don’t know if I want Cade to come back or not. He hasn’t exactly been helpful. Not really. The advice he gave me back in that alleyway in Seattle did save me from Raphael’s unwelcome attentions, but they also landed me in the situation I find myself in now. Only time will tell if this is better or worse.
I don’t look up as Cade leaves. I slowly slide down the bathroom door, covering my face with my hands, and I dare myself not to cry. I manage it, even as I hear the door to the cabin lock behind him.
A bizarre sensation washes over me—a true how is this real? moment. I want Matt. I want to curl up in his arms and feel like everything is okay again. I look around this unfamiliar room, nothing making sense, and I’m sure I must be imagining it all. Things like this don’t happen. This is the stuff of nightmares and movies, and horror stories young women are told by their elders to keep them safe. It was sure as hell never supposed to happen to me.
REBEL
FIVE YEARS AGO
“Are you fucking crazy? Get that thing outta here,” Cade hollers. The boys have found a vat of oil from somewhere, and the lid is off. I spin on them, not sure I can trust what I’m seeing with my own two eyes. We’re smack bang in the middle of fucking Kabul, perched on the roof of a barely standing building, and my men are screwing around with flammable liquids.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing with that, assholes?”
Thompson stops laughing, the smile freezing on his face when he sees the look on mine. Both he and Ramon quit attempting to drag the huge, rusted barrel toward the edge of the roof; they stand up straight, Ramon wiping the sweat out of his eyes.
“Well. We was thinking that, instead of wasting ammo on these fuckheads, we could get medieval on their asses. They used to do this in England, y’know? Back when people holed up in castles and shit. They’d pour fuel over the sides of the castles and set it on fire. Very effective.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”
“So you’re telling me you want to wait for the enemy to pass by underneath us? And then you want to take this barrel here,” I kick the barrel, “and you want to pour it contents over the side on top of the enemy. And you want it to be on fire at the time?”
Ramon and Thompson look at each other warily, obviously unsure what the correct answer is. “Yeeees?” Thompson says.
“And you don’t think that’s slightly fucked up. That you want to burn people alive, Thompson?”
“It’s no worse than they’d do to us, Duke.”
“But that’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it? That’s the whole reason why we’re here. These people do shit we would never do. Because we’re marines, not fucking medieval English castle owners, you fucking moron.”
The rest of the squad—Baggs, Paulie, Saunders and Cade—all burst into laughter. I throw my arms over Thompson and Ramon’s shoulders, pulling them in close. “Get rid of that fucking thing now, before we set you on fire and throw you over the side of the roof, huh?” I’m grinning as I say this, but I know how dangerous this place is. I know all too well what it can do to a man’s morals. What it could do to my morals if I’m not careful.