Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (22 page)

Via the rearview mirror, a half dozen men came into Jewels’ sight. Emerging from the dust cloud and still running on foot, they frantically hollered and wildly waved their arms gesturing her to stop.

Right
. Like she was going to stop for them. Erupting onto the crushed rock road, she fishtailed for a moment, recovered, and continued to gain speed toward the woods.

Then without warning the front end of the Humvee plummeted from view. Jewels’ body was thrown back into the seat, momentarily ripping the steering wheel out of her hands. Bracing herself for impact, she stiffened her elbows pushing against the steering wheel and pressed her back deep into the seat while standing on the brakes with both feet and screaming in panic

A split second later the hood of the Hummer crashed at a forty-five degree angle into a deep pit. The air bag exploded, but because she wasn’t wearing a seat belt, Jewels’ head plowed into the windshield violently bending her body in half over the steering wheel, as if spooning it.

Specifically designed to stifle the armored personnel vehicles of the feared MTAF—Militia Threat Assessment Force—from advancing should they ever attack SPOF headquarters, Jewels had unwittingly triggered the elaborate vehicle pit trap. The back wheels of the stalled Humvee were still on the road above, while the front end was buried in the earthen floor of the enormous rectangular hole.

After the initial impact, though dazed, she realized the once distant shouting of the militiamen racing after her moments earlier were rapidly sounding louder. And closer.

Raising her head from the dash, she rubbed her paining forehead which felt like it had been squeezed in a vise. A sticky substance coated her fingers. “I’m bleeding,” she groaned in misery, noticing the life fluid on her fingertips before wiping them on her shirt.

Pushing her hands against the dash to peel her torso off the steering wheel, her ribs felt like a crow bar was prying them apart. Tears swam over her eyes. Biting her lip, she thrust herself backward onto the angled driver seat, which instantly sent her body gliding toward the floor as if on a slide. Like sitting on a hack squat machine, Jewels propped herself up, leaning her back and head against the angled seat.

The frenzied throng running toward her and shouting indistinguishable words motivated her into action. Still a bit foggy-minded and while holding the hack squat position, she reached toward the console. “Weapons, Jewels. Get your weapons,” she advised herself. Wheezing in pain she rotated her upper body to retrieve her improvised self-defense tools.

“Gotta get out of here,” she whispered, carefully grasping the scalpel and scissors next to her heart like a Catholic cross. Had to run. But to where? The lake? Cabin? Except she was getting ahead of herself. Had to escape her stranded vehicle first.

Surrounded by a deep sepia tone of light, Jewels surveyed her surroundings. Shuddered. Felt like a grave. Daylight was heavily filtered by rocks, soil, and timber that had settled between the exterior of the doors and the sheer earthen walls.
Coffin fill dirt.
The hood and most of the windshield were also buried by the materials used in the construction of the road trap.

Peeking in her rearview mirror, minimal daylight penetrated the tinted rear window.

“Shit! What a fuckin’ mess! It’s gonna take us forever to rebuild this,” a man complained, breathing heavily. Pressing his nose against the rear window, he cupped his hands around his face for a better look inside.

Jewels immediately closed her eyes. Played unconscious. Allowed her body to relax while maintaining a soft hack squat position to keep from sliding onto the floor. Not knowing what, if anything, the peeping Tom could see, she didn’t want to risk him seeing her conscious. Acting conked out was crucial to the successful relaunch of DEFCON One. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, the element of surprise would be on her side. Her enemies wouldn’t know what hit them until she was long gone and out of sight ... at least that’s what she told herself.

The random murmur of footsteps snapping twigs and crunching leaves, peppered with manly grunts and muffled deep voices, pulsated throughout the inside of the Hummer like a premium home theater sound system. Then another vehicle arrived. Doors opened, slammed shut. More foot traffic. Voices.

“Has anyone done an assessment? Is she injured? Bleeding? Unconscious?”

It was Doc Callahan.

The group mumbled a negative response.

“That’s the priority,” Doc said. “I need a volunteer to crawl in there and check her vitals.”

“I can get her out,” one of the men eagerly spoke up.

“Don’t move her until we know the extent of her injuries. Pulling her out of that crippled vehicle could cause more damage, maybe even kill her.”

“So what do you want, Doc?” the eager volunteer asked, his tone edged with annoyance.

“Just basics. Is she conscious? If not, is she breathing and does she have a pulse? Are there any visible signs of bleeding or broken bones?”

“Gotchya, Doc.” The man’s boots made a crunching sound against the forest floor as he stomped toward the Hummer. The rear door whined as he opened it.

Jewels remained inanimate.

Moments later the air filled with the sound of multiple vehicles converging on the site then skidding on the chunky gravel to a stop. “Get the chains,” a man called out.

Jewels didn’t recognize his voice.

“No worries, Doc. We’ll have this peach out in a jiffy,” the same man announced.

“Not until I get an update on Julia,” Doc firmly returned.

“Yes, Sir, we’ll just hook ‘em up and git ‘er ready to tow out.”

“Is she conscious?” Callahan impatiently called to the man who had just barely climbed into the slouching H1.

“Not to her yet. Give me another second,” the man responded with a huff.

Tuning out the clashing and rattling sounds of metal against metal of her Hummer being shackled for extraction from the pit, she mentally prepared to be touched.
Don’t jump, Jewels. Gotta give an Academy Award performance
.

The man grunted, awkwardly maneuvering down the nearly two foot wide console spanning the back and front seating area. Twisting to face Jewels, he crammed his body between the front bucket seats on the console to lie on his side, his legs stretched out into the backseat.

Then it happened. The man brushed her hair aside, embedding two fingers against the left side of her neck. Jewels remained perfectly still. Except for a steady pulse, she played a convincing stiff.

“She’s unconscious, but got a strong pulse,” the man hollered out to Doc who was pacing at the side of the vehicle.

Snaking his hand down the side of Jewels’ neck and onto her chest, his fingers slithered inside the cup of her bra. His touch was ovenlike. Skin rough like coarse grit sandpaper.
Don’t give yourself away.
Jewels demanded of herself.
Don’t move. Stay relaxed.

With fingers expanded wide, his palm encircled her breast and clamped down, tightening his grip like a flesh and bone version of the torturous medieval breast ripper. “Mmmm,” he gratifyingly mumbled to himself.

Male chauvinist pig!
Jewels wanted to yell and bust him in the chops, but forced herself to continue to play dead.

“Is she bleeding anywhere?” Doc quizzed.

“Some on her head.”

“How’s she’s positioned?”

“Kind of slumped down behind the wheel, like she partied a little too much,” the man assessing Jewels answered with a laugh.

“Start the engine,” a man called to the guy mauling Jewels’ breast.

“Wait a minute,” Doc hollered. “I don’t want her moved. She could have spinal damage.”

“How about if I just nudge her body a little toward the door?”

Doc grunted. “Absolutely not.”

“No worries, Buckshot, we got three trucks here, we can tow ‘er out,” the man who had been chaining up the Hummer yelled. “Just put ‘er in neutral, then come on out.”

“Right away,” he responded, continuing to cop a feel a moment longer. After removing his hand from Jewels’ breast, he labored to contort his body into a position to reach his right arm down between her splayed legs, stretching to engage the clutch with his hand, while sliding the gear into neutral with his left. “It’s ready,” he reported, then wormed his body around to crawl out the back of the Humvee headfirst.

The Hummer lurched backward as the chains jerked taut. The monster vehicle was violently knocked around like a can in a paint shaker. Debris from the caved-in trap clawed the sides and top of the Alpha Wagon like talons from hell. The careless bastards were beating the shit out of her dream machine.

Suppressing the urge to cover her ears and latch onto the steering wheel, she stiffened her legs and pressed her hands into the sides of the seat to reduce jostling while continuing to act unconscious.

Masculine cheers, whistles, and applause exploded like metal sparks in a microwave as the Hummer leveled out on flat ground.

Swiftly rotating her body to the side, she tucked her knees high to her chest with her feet positioned toward the door. Flattened her back against the seat cushion. Grasping the scalpel in her fist in the classic ice pick hold with the blade facing outward, and scissors in her left hand primed to stab, she prepared for another battle. Maintaining a fake comatose state, she visualized the unleashing of DEFCON One:
Door opens. Kick the closest man. Leap to a standing position. Slice and stab at the pillars of flesh. Sprint into the woods. Follow the forest road but run on the shoulder in case there are more concealed holes....

The front driver side door swung open. A brutish man stood primed to nab her.

Show time!
Jewels’ eyes flew open. Catapulting herself into an upright position, she thrust her flexed feet with all her might into the man’s groin.

“Awwwwww,” the man howled in agony, crumbling in half, hands hugging his crotch.

Like an F5 tornado, Jewels flew out of the vehicle, storming the handful of men huddled near the Hummer’s open door. Fiercely sawing the edge of the scalpel back and forth in front of her, she purposely hacked at the barricade of brawn with the edge of the razor-sharp surgical tool. Jabs from the needle-sharp tip of the scissors in her left fist inflicted puncture wounds.

Just as she had imagined, her potent flurry of slashes and punches connected with body tissue. Parted the wall of muscle as the men growled in pain and quickly retreated from the flesh damaging whirlwind. But armed with a razor-sharp scalpel and scissors or not, Jewels was simply no match for six men, let alone six hand-to-hand combat trained fighting machines.

After the momentary shock of her aggressiveness, it only required two men to take her down fast and hard. One booted a powerful leg sweep toward the front of her thigh, hitting just below her left knee, violently tripping her.

Screaming, her legs and arms frantically churned midair to recover balance from a maneuver that was unrecoverable, even for the most skilled of martial arts competitors. In the chaos, she lost grip of her edged weapons, sending them flying into the tall grass ten feet in front of her. Milliseconds later she briefly skidded across the side of the gravel road on her stomach. Dirt, tiny rocks and twigs poked and scratched her bare arms, stabbing through her giant-sized camo shirt. The impact compressed her lungs, momentarily stealing her breath.

Almost instantly after sliding to a halt, the thick knee of a second man stabbed the middle of her back. Holding her down, he seized her right forearm, promptly wrenched it against her back, and bent her wrist to brutally force her hand upward toward her neck. The tactic was a pain compliance hold commonly used by law enforcement to coerce submission from unruly subjects. And it certainly worked on Jewels as she lay miserable and powerless in the prone position.

A flurry of laced-up black combat boots rushed around her, halting in a circle by her head and kicking dust in her face. Pinching her eyes shut, she coughed in response to the powdered dirt enveloping her head and felt the bitterness in the criticizing eyes of her latest captors. A shiver riveted her body.

“Tank wasn’t kidding when he said she was a she-grizzly,” one of the men spoke up, prompting his cohorts to erupt in laughter.

Tank?
Jewels’ mind scrambled. Was that her kidnapper’s name? Surely not his real name, but appropriately described his gorilla size nonetheless. However, the torment of her position, doubled by the throbbing of her aching ribs, overshadowed thoughts about Tank. “Please ... you’re hurting me,” Jewels pitifully whined.

In agony, her mind bounced to the near future and her fate. After slashing her kidnapper and now some of his crew, she dared not imagine the horror of their retaliation ... even if they were not supposed to hurt her. They probably wouldn’t carve her like a Thanksgiving turkey or skin her alive, but water boarding may not be out of the question. Quivering in misery and fear, she gasped for air and wiggled for even a molecule of relief from the pain.

Like her kidnapper—
Tank
—her latest captor ignored her pleas for relief. “Hurry up with that, Doc,” demanded the man with his knee drilled in her back.

Callahan kneeled next to her in the weeds, bent over and cocked his head sideways to look Jewels in the eyes. Regret and disappointment smothered his features as he negatively shook his head. “You should have listened. I
told
you not to try to escape.” Tearing open the top of a small foil packet, he removed an alcohol pad and swabbed a wide area of her triceps on the arm brutally cranked behind her.