Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (35 page)

Callahan did exactly as Tank instructed, placing the keys in Tank’s hand.

“Thanks, Doc.”

Doc turned to sit back down. “Not so fast Callahan,” Tank said, freezing Doc in his tracks. Turning his attention to the militiamen, “Now I’m gonna lock you boys in this
playroom
,” Tank said. Surveying the door, “It shouldn’t take you more than a couple of hours to beat down this solid steel door,” he said with a snicker.

“Now here’s how we’re gonna do it.” Tilting his head at Callahan, Tank explained, “Doc here is going to slowly close the door as I back into the hall. When the door closes all the way, I’ll lock it. Then my team, the bitch and I will be gone.”

“Whatever you want,” Callahan caustically replied.

With Jewels’ neck securely tucked in the crook of his massive arm, gun ground into her head, Tank stepped backward.

The door followed, Callahan pushing it more toward complete closure with each of Tank’s rearward steps. With just inches to go, Tank stopped, poked his head and shoulders in, purposely dragging Jewels in with him. “Remember, I even see one of you fuckers, the bitch dies.”

Whimpering, her eyes met Marshall’s. “Please, help me,” she pitifully solicited, choking back tears, knowing despite her plea, Marshall really couldn’t help her. No doubt if he tried, Tank would probably kill them both.

Pursing his lips, Marshall stood motionless.

“Boo-hoo,” Tank taunted, mocking a tearful face. Locking his beady eyes onto Marshall, he licked Jewels’ cheek with his sloppy tongue.

Cringing, she jerked her head.

Marshall’s balled fists convulsed with rage.

“Say goodbye to the bitch,” Tank crowed with a wicked laugh, disappearing into the hall.

As planned, his team had already vacated the premises to rendezvous at a designated location out of state at a much later date.

Callahan followed with the door. Snapped it shut.

Tank pitched Jewels across the hall.

Crashing into the wall with her shoulder, she managed to clumsily maintain her footing.

Shoving the key in the doorknob, he turn it allowing the teeth to engage the latch, then with one powerful twist of the head, sheared the shank of the key off in the lock.

The milliseconds Tank had consumed to jam the lock was ample time to grant Jewels a head start, though she had no idea where she was going ... just away from Tank as fast a possible. And, with any luck, maybe even out the door and into the woods toward freedom. Rushing down the hall, the big combat boots echoed an attention-attracting clomp-clomp with every step.

“Get back here, Bitch!” Tank howled, bolting into a full gallop after her down the murky corridor.

INSIDE THE DISCIPLINARY ROOM.
Amplified by the hollow stone corridors, muted sounds of the unfolding chase permeated the thick walls. The beating of frantic feet. Tank’s screaming fits of rage and frustration. Jewels’ random shrieks; an opera in unadulterated terror.

The fourteen men locked in the room huddled in three small groups, brainstorming solutions. Watters and Cooman stood alone, both near the door.

Rubbing the back of his neck and nibbling on his lip, Watters paced. “Shit! She doesn’t have a chance. We need to help her.”

Grim-faced, Cooman nodded. “You’re right, she doesn’t have a chance. But we need to worry about helping ourselves. I don’t want to imagine what’s going to happen when the Commander gets word we fucked over any and all plans he had with his dream woman.”

A man cleared his throat in an obvious ploy to bring attention to himself. “Excuse me. Excuse me, Sir?”

Cooman shot an annoyed look into the crowd.

A shorter man emerged from the clump of green, black, and tan uniforms sporadically dotting the torture chamber.

Realizing it was the janitor, Cooman’s brows crimped. “What do you want, Briggs?”

“Sir, I just thought you’d like to know I have a spare set of keys to the entire compound, including this very door,” he stated, almost arrogantly, jingling the keys in his pocket.

GALLOPING THROUGH THE DIMLY
lit corridor, the harried clip-clop of her feet picking up and putting down the big boots reverberated through the hallway like a homing beacon. This was never going to work.

A branch in the hallway was coming up. Should she keep the course running straight, or turn? Not seeing anything but more inky hallway ahead, she decided to take her chances with the turn and rounded the corner ... another gloomy hallway appeared just like the one she exited.

Time to ditch the speed-draining, noise-making footwear. Not wanting to stop, she slowed her gate enough to whip the boots off one at a time with a forceful heave-ho kick that sent them flying down the hall a good ten feet in front of her. Practically landing on top of one another, the footwear created an eerie pile in the middle of the hall. Though the boot flinging only took a millisecond, she figured that would be all the time Tank would need to run her down. Sure enough.
“Bitch,” she heard him yell behind her. Too close behind her.

Ramping up speed, she sprinted down the oppressive stone hall. Arms pumping. Hands slicing air. Bare feet rapidly slapping against the cold stone floor. Legs striding long, powerfully and fast. Before long, an opening came into view, presumably leading into another hallway. Maybe this was the way to the stairs. To the outside. To freedom. She blasted toward it. Around the corner she sped.

Much to her chagrin, after only a few strides, the creepy hall looked familiar. Too familiar. It was the dead-end prison wing. And Tank was closing the gap.
Shit!
Even knowing she was speeding toward an eventual impasse and was nowhere near the only exit she knew out of the compound, she kept running. Closer to her cell. Closer to the stone wall with nowhere to turn. What would she do when she reached the end? At this point, she had no idea, but wasn’t slowing down.

A few more strides.

His fingertips skimmed the length of her spine.

Desperately, she pushed herself to increase speed, but there was nothing more to give. Her legs were operating at full bore. Lungs felt as if they were about to explode.

Like heat from a flame thrower, his hot breath swept across her back.
WHAM!
Hitting from behind, he threw her down.

Dispatching a croaky scream, she tumbled to the ground. Her right shoulder absorbed the brunt of the tackle, acting like padding for Tank’s heavy body as they skidded across the gritty rock floor to a sliding stop. The pain in Jewels’ shoulder was excruciating.

They both lay for a moment, neither moving except for flaring nostrils and rapidly rising and falling chests as they sucked in much-needed oxygen.

Tank was first to move. “Gotchya,” he whispered in her ear, peeling himself off her crushed body. Springing to his feet, he stretched, aging bones crackling.

Groaning in misery and still breathing hard, Jewels’ body was a crumpled heap of pain.

“Get up,” he said, bending down and grabbing her by the wrist.

Slow to obey his command, she struggled to her feet. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with it?”

Disappointment rolled over Tank’s mean face. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve given up.”

Shrugging, “What the hell. We all have to die sometime,” she said lethargically, grimacing in pain. Feeling Tank’s eyes studying her, she figured he was probably wondering if this new attitude was real or just a ploy.

“Come on,” Tank said, latching onto the her right arm, marching her deeper into the corridor of prison cells.

“Why does it have to be
that
arm,” Jewels mumbled in frustration, looking up at the ceiling. A comment meant for God’s ears. Good thing her words weren’t intended for Tank because he ignored them.

Dragging her back to her prison cell, he roughly pushed her inside.

Stumbling from his forceful shove, she nearly careened into the footboard of the cot, but at the last minute regained her footing, saving herself from wrapping her body around the metal piping. Gingerly, she rubbed her throbbing right arm and shoulder and stood tall at the side of the bed, turning to face him.

“Get on the bed,” he said, his tone quiet. Calm.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jewels rolled her eyes, widened her leg stance and folded her arms in defiance. It seemed the nightmare was about to begin. Again.

“Sit the fuck down,” Tank ordered, this time exercising his brute strength to push her down onto the cot with one powerful thrust of his palms into her shoulders.The mattress springs creaked as her body hit them hard with a violent bounce.

Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, she wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Wanted to conjure up a plan for escape, but couldn’t do that, either. Maybe she was too scared. Or too tired. Or just too emotionally and physically drained. Whatever the reason, Jewels was placid in the presence of her latest captor: her kidnapper and the murderer of Boo-Boo, Sharon and Kirk. And she supposed her name would soon be added to his list of murder victims.

Leaning over for eye-to-eye contact with Jewels, he reached for her cheek.

Automatically recoiling, she squinted and gritted her teeth in anticipation of the penetrating slap that was, no doubt, forthcoming.

“Hmph,” Tank snorted, gently caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.

Warily, she opened her eyes one at a time, confusion drenching her face
.

“Let’s call a truce,” Tank said with a genuine smile.

Radically, Jewels blinked. His words didn’t compute.

Standing up straight, he wiped his palms on the thighs of his pants. Surveyed her. “What you did back there in the disciplinary room with that poker and getting Cooman to release your boyfriend...,” his voice trailed off as if in deep thought. After a moment, “You’ve got a fearless lion heart.”

Jewels raised her brows, looked at him. It almost sounded as if it were painful for him to say that, or maybe he just wasn’t accustomed to seeing the positive in others or doling out compliments. “Thank you,” she softly replied.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he smirked. “I have to know, would you really have stuck that hot poker in my eyes?”

Gazing wide-eyed up at him, she felt compelled to give him an honest answer. “No, not with you helplessly chained down,” she said shaking her head, quickly adding, “But I would have, if I could have, in self-defense when I thought you were going to kill me.”

Parking his hands on his hips, “Fair enough. I figure if I just leave now, lock you in this cell...,” he lifted his shoulders, “well, we’d be even.”

“So this means you’re not going to torture, rape and kill me?” she blurted out, instantly cringing at the sound of her own words.

“You
are
direct,” he returned with a chuckle.

Jewels gnawed on her lip. Verbalizing those thoughts was ridiculous. Even worse was posing them as a question to a bona fide assassin.

Tank’s shiny bullethead nodded in agreement. “That’s right,” he replied, his attention suddenly drawn to the door, as if sensing the need to get out while he still could.

“Well ... thank you,” Jewels said with a cautious smile, thinking this was a side of him she had never seen: compassionate.

Quickly turning his head back to her, he glared, “Don’t be thanking me ... Bitch.”

Instantly Jewels’ face painted sullen;
that
was the side of Tank she knew.

Walking to the door, he looked back at her. Rubbing the ugly stitches marring his once perfect-complexioned cheek, “You still owe me and I
will
collect, maybe even some of that five million you offered Watters and Callahan ... and for sure, I want that sweet ride of yours, so get it restored for me.”

Automatically, Jewels folded her arms across her chest, scrunched up her shoulders. Tank’s revenge wasn’t over.

Walking into the hall, he dug keys out of his pocket, turned back to face her. “Assuming you survive the Commander, someday, Julia Andrasy, somewhere, somehow, I
will
return. You
will
pay. Revenge
will
be mine,” he promised, again rubbing the mangled flesh on the side of his face before closing and locking the cell door.

Jewels sighed with relief. Dropping her head on the pillow and curling her body into the fetal position, she wrapped herself in the scratchy wool blanket spread on the bed. Closed her eyes. Didn’t think of escaping. Or screaming for help. Physical and mental exhaustion had tamed her fight. All she wanted to do was sleep and hopefully awaken from this nightmare to find herself in her own bed, pain-free with Boo-Boo curled up at her feet.

1022 HOURS.
When janitor Briggs finally opened the door, Watters was poised to be the first man out. An AR-15 he had commandeered from one of the men was slung across his back and his face was painted in random black stripes and olive green shapes for camouflage. One of the men happened to have a couple sticks of NATO jungle paint on him and passed them around for those who wanted it, figuring Tank and his defectors had probably absconded with Jewels into the surrounding woods where they’d have to track them.