Page 12 of Fighting for Valor
The rope ladder lands on the top of my head, and pain bursts from my skull down my neck. Zaman mutters something to another of Faruk’s men, and the burly guy—I think his name is Musa—climbs down the ladder with a large flashlight, waving it around, sending another scorpion hauling ass back through one of the cracks in the wall. He grabs my chin, forces my head up, and pours water down my throat.
I choke, coughing up as much of it as I can, but I’m so desperate, so thirsty, I can’t help swallowing more than I want.
And that’s when the world starts to go soft and fuzzy. “No…” I moan, but Musa stops my protests by wedging the bottle between my teeth, tipping my head back, and pinching my nose. I down the entire bottle, and then…nothing matters anymore.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Musa comes down the ladder sometimes to give me water or force me to eat a banana or some bland, flavorless mush. I’m too out of it to care or fight back. The heat, the drugs, the scorpions—though I’ve killed most of them, I think. Still, every once in a while, I feel the searing pain followed by the blessed numbness from their venom.
I deserve it. I failed. Couldn’t kill Faruk, couldn’t hide Mateen, Lisette, and the American for more than a day. He probably has them again, and it’s all my fault.
My entire world is darkness and pain. All the time, except when they come for me. Musa calls me Isaad, but even though I can feel my mind slipping, urging me to give in, I don’t. Whenever he leaves, I repeat my name. Jackson Richards. Ripper. American. Special Forces.
Every time, it’s a little harder. I don’t want to lose myself again. I’d rather die. I’m trying to die. But I can’t fight. I’m too weak. Too tired. Too addled from whatever hallucinogens they’re giving me. I see my dead team mates, hear my mama’s voice as I prepared for my first deployment, feel the pain as Kahlid orders me whipped for the very first time.
The rope ladder hits my thigh, and I barely flinch.
Not again. Please. I’m not ready.
The drugs haven’t worn off yet, and I’m so dizzy. Voices all around me, both in my head and echoing off the walls, tell me to give up. Give in. I won’t last much longer. Either I’ll die or I’ll turn back into Isaad, and that would be so much worse. My vision fades in and out as Musa hauls me over his shoulder and carries me up the ladder, across the courtyard, and into the house.
Cool air wafts over me, and the smooth tile floor rushes up to meet my face.
“Ow.”
“Isaad. You do not look well,” Faruk says, his voice soft and gentle, almost caring.
“Y’think?” I slur. The kick to my ribs steals my breath, and I cough, fighting for air. Someone grabs me and sits me up, and then a glass presses to my chapped lips. “Nnnooo.” I try to push it away, but another hand fists in my hair.
“It is not drugged, Isaad. Please, let me help you.” Faruk kneels and takes the glass from the asshole holding me. “Do as I ask, and I will take the pain away.”
Despite the fog currently muddling my brain, once his face comes into focus, the dark circles under his eyes and the stress lines around his mouth give me hope. He hasn’t found them.
I choke down the water. Not much choice in the matter. As I let my eyes close, waiting for something to happen—anything—Faruk sighs. “Isaad, I am a rich man. You, more than anyone, know this.”
Yeah. And I helped you get that way, shitstain. Kill me. I don’t want to listen to your stupid, fucking voice a second longer.
“I could hire someone new to find my son. But I do not wish to. You want to live, do you not?”
I want to say yes. To do anything to keep myself out of the well. But I can’t. I won’t. “Death…sounds pretty good…about now, asshole.” Shaking off Musa’s grip on my hair, I use what little bit of saliva I have to spit in Faruk’s face. “Put me…back in the well. Too fucking bright…out here.”
For a few seconds, nothing happens, but then Zaman and Musa start in on me, and I curl into a ball to protect my head. The pain is so much better than not knowing who I am that I welcome it. As they drag me from the room, I lunge for the knife I buried in the potted plant days ago. It’s dull as fuck, but I use the last of my strength to drive the blade into Zaman’s calf.
He goes down, and blood stains his light gray pants. Musa drops me in favor of helping Zaman. Collapsing into a heap, I hawk a mouthful of blood towards the fucker writhing with his hands around his lower leg. Faruk pulls out a small pistol and presses it to my forehead.
This is it.
Relief spreads through me, an odd calm that makes everything slow down. If there’s a God, I hope he knows how sorry I am for everything I’ve done. I hope I get to see Ry and Dax again. I hope they forgive me.
“You are determined to die, Isaad?” he asks.
I meet his gaze, feeling more like myself than I have in years. “My name…is Ripper, you fucking piece of shit.”
He slams the butt of the gun against my head, and as darkness overtakes my vision, my last conscious emotion is despair. He didn’t shoot…
Chapter Seven
Seattle
Ryker
