Against the Rules (24 page)

Her bladder, though bursting, refused to work.

“At higher settings, the skin will sizzle and burn. Do you like the smell of burning flesh, Chantel?”

She shook her head as he literally scared the pee out of her.

“It must be an acquired aroma. I rather like it. Stand up and spread your legs.”

This time she knew it was fear that set her legs quaking. Through sheer determination, she forced them to work. She would do anything to keep from setting him off. In her mind she chanted,
Please, God, don’t let that thing touch me
.

A wide grin drew his eye sockets deeper. His cheeks hollowed out, giving him a look of pure evil. How had they missed it all these years?

She watched in utter terror as he tossed the paddle into his other hand and picked up the toilet tissue. He broke off a swath and handed it to her. “Use it.”

Obviously, humiliating her was part of his plan. And it was working. He afforded her no privacy. When she was done, he led her back to the cage. She would have been mortified if horror hadn’t filled every cell of her body, leaving no room for such a mundane emotion.

“I had wanted your homecoming to be an enjoyable experience for you, Chantel.” Once the cage was locked, he powered off the paddle and laid it near a footlocker at the end of the cot. Using a key, he unlocked the clasp and opened it. From Chantel’s position, she couldn’t see inside. “I never wanted to punish you. You forced me to do this.”

Once he stood up, she saw another set of manacles in his hand. “Give me your right hand,” he ordered, as he once again opened the metal bars.

It made her sick, but she did as he had said. Her stomach revolted as the thick metal band was fastened around her wrist. The lighting was low, but she thought she saw dried blood staining the inside. A whimper heralded in her ears before she could stop it.

Ed grinned again and rubbed his cock through his work pants. Quickly the smile faded and rage took its place. “Don’t try and entice me, bitch. I know all about your whoring ways. You must wait until you’ve been washed in the blood.” He stared at her with contempt. “I’ve been too lenient with you. Your punishment has been too light. Give me your left hand.”

“Ed,” she started to reason with him.

The back of his hand split her lip open. “Never speak to me, you whore.”

His fury scared her into silence.

Another image of a woman with her eyes glued open and her mouth sewn shut came to mind. Dear God, had he done that while she had been alive? Did he intend to do that to her if she didn’t obey?

Ed began to hum “
Pop! Goes the Weasel
” as he attached a small chain to the cuffs. Using the chain and pulley, he lifted her arms above her head.

She heard a clicking and felt her arms pulled tight forcing her to stand on her toes. Her wrists burned. To ease the pain, she grasped the chains, using her hands to partially hold her weight.

He ran his finger around her lips then forcefully opened her clenched jaw. Blood from her split lip dribbled down her chin. He caught several drops and rubbed them between his thumb and index finger.

“You may try to sew and sew

And never make something regal.

So roll it up, and let it go.

Pop! goes the weasel!”

“Don’t force me to do that, Chantel. You wouldn’t like it. Now be a good girl and face the camera. Eyes open.” He slammed the cage shut and locked it.

Chantel heard him moving about. She was desperate to track his movements, to know what was coming next, but she was afraid to turn away from the camera. How long could someone go without sleep? If she fell asleep would she be punished for that? She didn’t know and didn’t ever want to find out.

* * * *

Teague knew of at least three men in the room directly above him. If he went in guns blazing, he’d never make it across the open compound alive. Sweat was running down his face, obscuring his vision. Nausea was a problem as well. Fear had his stomach in knots. He wasn’t worried about himself. If he screwed up, he’d be dead a heartbeat later. No, the nearly immobilizing fear was for Channy.

He’d always had a sixth sense concerning danger, especially involving a loved one, and he was ready to admit that he loved her. She had him thinking romantic drivel, but he couldn’t argue the truth of it. He needed Channy just to breathe. Her smile thawed his ice-encased heart and brought the long thought dead organ back to life. This crazy scheme had been the only thing he could think of to allow them a life together. Now if his gut was right, she’d stepped from the pot into the frying pan. In the hours since they’d parted, the gnawing concern had blossomed into terror. He knew, without a doubt, that she was in the shit.

For the last couple of minutes, it had been quiet up above. The shuffling of feet and conversation had faded out of earshot. He’d caught a small break, in that they’d left the doorway open and thus the stairs had remained in place. Carefully, he secured his grip, praying that his arms had the strength to hold him. He pushed off with his feet, swinging free, as he tried to gather the momentum he needed to bring his body up and slide through the ladder supports. His fingers, numb from holding him in place for so long, screamed in pain as he brought his hips up. When his feet hit the step, the wood structure creaked like the
Titanic
breaking in half. Intellectually, he knew it couldn’t possibly have been as loud as it seemed, but, shit, he had to get control of his movements or he was a dead man.

Once he had crawled around the side of the ladder, he was able to draw his weapon. He breathed a little easier. Spreading his weight out as far as possible to diminish the creaks and moans of the old wood, he crept up the stairs. As he neared the opening, he leaned back as far as possible, peering into the room. The real danger was from behind him. Using quick, furtive movements, he glanced around the room, confirming that it was safe. He froze at the sound of voices and realized that they were headed in his direction. Time was not his friend.

He shot from the ladder to the side wall, mentally becoming a part of it. From behind and to the left he heard, “Through here.” Nearly jumping out of his skin, he automatically tracked his pistol to the owner of the whispered voice.

Teague was staring down the barrel of a large handgun. Wherever this son of a bitch had come from, there was no escaping him now. It was a stand-off, but this tall do-rag-wearing, mean SOB had reinforcements coming and Teague was on his own. If he was going to die, he planned to take as many of them out as possible.

“Don’t get trigger happy, four-six-two, I’m on your side,” he whispered.

Teague stared at him. Was this some kind of set-up? Why bother? He was up to his ass in enemy territory. What would be the sense in playing games?

“I’m blowing my cover for you. Four years and I’m walking away with nothing. You’d better not shoot my ass,” Do-Rag announced, before he lowered his weapon and turned his back on Teague to slink out of a pocket door.

Could Teague be so lucky? Other than Channy, he’d never had anything but bad luck his entire life. Why should now be any different?

“If you don’t move your ass, we’re gonna have a firefight all the way outta here,” Do-Rag warned.

As the voices grew steadily louder, Teague took a chance and dashed through the open doorway.

“Donley alerted me you might have been compromised. Where’s Chantel? Boss man is shitting bricks about his daughter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, as they made their way through room after room heading for some unknown destination. Teague might have been willing to risk his life, but he wasn’t giving up any information about Channy.

“Hey, man, if you’ve put Chantel in danger, I’ll shoot you myself. I’ve never heard the old man so stressed out.”

They bobbed and wove their way through several hallways with Teague refusing to utter a word about Channy.

“She’s been missing for days. If you’ve got her stashed somewhere, you’d better let Donley in on it. She told her father she was with you. It’s the only reason I’m blowing my cover. Donley wants her back at any cost.”

Do-Rag was also confirming his worst fears. Channy was still off the radar. She should have long ago been safe at home. His warning system had never steered him wrong. Damn it.

So far he had to give Do-Rag credit—he had Teague feeling like a total piece of shit. It didn’t matter. Only harm could come from acknowledging that he knew Channy. If Do-Rag wasn’t on the up and up and the cartel had somehow gotten intel that he was familiar with the daughter of the Chief of Staff in charge of their investigation, it wouldn’t go well for either of them. On the other hand, if Do-Rag was an undercover agent, the information Teague had was days old and would do them no good.

He had accomplished what he’d set out to do. G. and Sammy were no longer a threat. The rest of the cartel would scatter like cockroaches.

All he had to do now was get the hell out of the compound and find Channy. And there had better not be so much as a mussed hair on her head or someone was going to die.

If he had his bearings correct, they were moving steadily northeast away from the entrance the goon squad had used to bring him into the compound.

Teague believed that Do-Rag was legit. He had the perfect amount of righteous indignation about helping him. Teague would have been pissed off too if it had been the other way around. Four years was a long time and no agent wanted to walk away from something like that empty-handed. “Does Donley know what’s going down? Can you get a message to him?”

“All hell broke loose when Tico announced G. and Sammy were dead. They’re monitoring all frequencies, expecting you to call for help. We’re on our own until we get outta here. Donley knew he had a rogue agent, but he couldn’t figure out who. I think for a time he suspected me of playing both sides.”

Teague noticed a sardonic grin cross Do-Rag’s face as they paused near a doorway, listening. Donley played things closer to the vest than Teague had believed. He’d known for some time that a rogue was selling him out, but Donley had never acknowledged that that was the case. He felt slightly better about his future father-in-law. Maybe, just maybe he was only incompetent and not dirty.

They had stopped, backs against the wall, just to the left of a closed door. “Here’s where it gets interesting. Once they discovered G. and Sammy, this place went on lockdown. It was a smart idea opening the portal to the tunnel. These dumbasses believe you’re halfway to Mexico, but they’re following procedure. G. was an evil SOB. They’re afraid his ghost will seek vengeance against them if you’re not caught.”

“I didn’t realize drug dealers were a superstitious lot.”

“It helps if they’re strung out on their own product.”

Teague was too sick with worry for Channy to give a shit about anything or anyone else. “I assume you have a plan?”

“About forty yards to the north of here is the motor pool. Once there, we can secure a vehicle, create a diversion and hightail it out of here.”

“I’m guessing, from what I saw when they dragged my ass in here, those forty yards are through open desert with no cover?”

“And snipers on both roofs, with random patrols moving between the buildings,” he added, smiling as if the challenge were nothing more than a video game where a reset button could give you another chance instead of real life and death.

Teague should have had his mind on his dire situation, but instead all he could think about was Channy. What the hell had happened to her? He’d lost all sense of time down in the basement. How long had she been missing? “When was the last time you checked in with Donley?”

Do-Rag lost his cocky grin. “Right after you were brought in. The cavalry ain’t riding to our rescue, if that’s what you’re thinking. So far we’ve been lucky. Stay focused and let’s get the hell outta here.” He shook his head, irritation showing for the first time. “Once we open this door, alarms are going to sound all over the compound. The control room will know immediately which door we exited from. Within seconds, every moron in this place will be on our ass and, while most of them are dumber than a box of rocks, they can shoot straight.”

“Can’t we bypass the alarm?”

“Not without causing an explosion.”

“Bullshit.” Teague began examining the alarm system. It was surprisingly well done, but given a few minutes and a set of basic electronic equipment he could outsmart it.

Teague rattled off a list of what he would need and to Do-Rag’s credit, he never second guessed him. Seconds ticked by while he waited for Do-Rag to return. Teague’s cynical side expected him to return with company and he took appropriate measures to protect himself. No matter what persona he embraced, Cautious was always his middle name. It had kept him alive through more assassination attempts than he cared to remember.

From a close distance away, he heard Do-Rag speaking to someone. The exchange was short, punctuated by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Not long after, Do-Rag emerged through the doorway dragging a grease ball with one hand and carrying the equipment Teague had asked for in the other.

Do-Rag dumped the unconscious goon just inside the room. “Do your stuff, four-six-two, the natives are getting restless. I’ll just stand over here, away from the direct blast, and make sure we aren’t disturbed.” He chuckled, a little nervously.

“Hey, man, odds are the blast would take out the entire compound before I even knew I did something wrong.” Teague decided to mess with him a little bit.

“Great, you’re a fucking comedian now,” Do-Rag quipped back.

Teague shot him a shit-eating grin. He tried not to think about the explosives. They were often unstable. After he’d had his car blown to smithereens, he’d called in a few favors and gone through ordinance training. Frankly, he appreciated Do-Rag staying out of the way and, for the most part, keeping his mouth shut. Concentration was key. His nerves were shot. He kept picturing Channy injured by the side of the road. He refused to contemplate the Weasel getting his hands on her. If his mind went there, he’d be unable to function. By the time he had snipped the last wire, sweat was streaming down his face. On a whim, he pocketed the explosives.