Unleashed (Mr. Black Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Just do it,” I cajoled.

He chuckled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, but I’m sure you would.”

“You won’t see me again, but just know that my second in command will know just how unhelpful you have been to me!” he said, belting the butt of the gun at the base of my skull.

I felt the pain careen through my head before the world went black.

THE SECOND DAY

My eyes cracked open slowly to survey my new accommodations. I was no longer in the room, cuffed to the chair with Mr. Cheng hovering over me. The gray concrete floor and walls seemed to bleed together losing their respective borders.

My lungs, still charred from the grenade blast, burned as I coughed and tried to take shorter breaths in order to accommodate the pain. The agonizing screams coming from a room not too far from mine, judging by the decibel, were the wails of a man obviously undergoing extreme amounts of torture.

Where the fuck am I now?

The pungent aroma of urine and blood wafted through my cell and straight into my nose. I was unable to clearly discern where it was coming from.

I looked down to inspect my body, and as I tried to feel for any wounds, my action was hindered by the steel metal chains that restrained my wrists to the concrete wall. Shifting my gaze above my head, I saw that the chains had been screwed in via a metal plate and two one inch thick screws per chain. I strained my muscles as I tried to wrench the chains from the wall, but to no avail. All I managed to do was damage the skin around my already sore wrists.

As I assessed my body for the damage the fall might have caused, I noticed that my socks and boots were missing, along with my belt, BDU shirt, and dog tags. Basically, I was stripped of anything identifiable, and anything that could assist me in an escape. The only property my captors had left me with were my military issued olive green undershirt and my BDU camouflage pants.

I surveyed the room for any other occupants, or any possible routes of escape. It was, at best guess, a five foot by seven foot cell. Cold and stark, it had one dirty white bucket taking up residence in the corner, and one light bulb that hung precariously from the ceiling by a piece of wire. Again, I tried to tug at the chains, hoping to feel them budge even a millimeter, but they remained firm. I exhaled and closed my eyes. My head was still a little foggy.

Why the fuck didn’t I listen to myself? I knew I should have had those fuckin’ papers signed, maybe the commander would be alive, and I certainly would be sittin’ on the fuckin’ beach right about now, and not in this muthafuckin’ shithole.

My thoughts drifted off to my team, wondering if any of them had made it, and if they had, were they being tortured as well? I hung my head between my shoulders in despair at the thought of my brothers being beaten only a few feet away from me, and I was unable to do anything but take up real estate in this God forsaken cell.

Then the image of the commander lying on the floor flashed before my eyes. His eyes open, staring directly at me. The sense of loss I felt at that moment superseded any pain my body was experiencing. My only comfort was in knowing that he was finally at peace, and with his wife. I could still hear his voice calling her his
sweet darlin’
whenever they chatted over the phone.

My ears perked up, when for the very first time, but certainly not the last, I heard the footsteps and the jangling of the keys. As they neared, the adrenaline already coursing through my veins began to pump even faster. The looming danger lurking right around the corner released the caged animal within as I struggled against the chains. The door flung open, revealing a tall, lanky black man with crooked, bright yellow teeth and large, sunken eyes. He was dressed in a pair of faded black jeans and my almost brand new military boots.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Elijah Black. I’m Amadi, Mr. Cheng’s second in command,” he said around the lit cigar hanging from his mouth.

I stayed silent but my glare could have launched a thousand daggers aimed straight at his heart.

Amadi laughed. “You all start out the same way, don’t you? It’s that good American training. But you all also end the same way,” he said as he inhaled the cigar, holding in the smoke, then pulling it out of his mouth to look at the tip.

He blew the plume of smoke toward the ceiling, rolling the cigar in between his index finger and thumb, and then inhaled another large puff. The tension in the room was thick. I didn’t know what to expect from Amadi, only that it would probably be painful and agonizing. Amadi lunged at me, stopping only inches from my face, and forcefully blew a stream of smoke into my nostrils, making me cough and gasp for air. His high pitched laugh sounded like a hyena as he jammed the smoldering end of the cigar into the innermost vulnerable portion of my bicep. The aroma of burning flesh emanated from the site. I endured the searing pain, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a single groan.

“Oh! You’re one of those,” he said with a slight tinge of excitement in his voice. “This
is
my lucky day.”

I turned away from him and stared off into the corner of the room, eyeing the dingy bucket that was probably there to serve as my commode. Employing all of my training, I let the world around me melt away, and focused on the bucket. Amadi smacked me in the face, my head jolting to one side, but the pain did not faze me and only added to my focus.

“It’s okay; the real fun starts in a little while. I will see you later, princess,” Amadi said as he patted me on my freshly acquired cigar wound, and then headed toward the door.

I watched as he walked away, and in the sliver between his skinny body and the door frame, stood a woman fully clad in her traditional long black dress and head scarf, with only her eyes peering through. She had been standing at the doorway, motionless, watching the whole scene unfold. I made eye contact with her, and she quickly shifted her eyes to the ground. Amadi shoved her out of his way as he walked through the threshold of the door.

“Close it!” he hollered at her.

She glanced over at me as she grabbed the doorknob and closed it gently behind her. Instantly, I began to formulate plans in my head for an escape. Granted, I would have to at least be unchained, which was going to pose a problem, since I didn’t know if that would ever happen.

Again, I heard a man wailing from down the hall. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say, as it was muffled by the distance. The excruciating howls were clear and distinct, and undeniably tormented. I knew that I would have my turn before the day’s end.

BLACK, ELIJAH XANDER, LIEUTENANT, UNITED STATES NAVY, 555231

Amadi returned a few hours later.

“I’m back, princess,” he said as he handed a guard a set of keys and motioned him toward me.

The guard walked over and unlocked the metal bracelets attached to the chains on the wall. My arms, still weak and sore from being chained above my head, fell like limp noodles to the floor. I eyed my wrists, which were bloodied and raw, relieved the shackles had been removed.

“Stand up!” Amadi yelled as he started walking back down the hallway.

I tried to get up, but I was still weak from the injuries I sustained from the explosion. The guard grabbed me under my armpit, where the fresh cigar burn was, and lifted me to my feet. It took a moment for me to gain my bearings, but once I did, I pushed the guard away and headed for the door.

“I can walk on my own, muthafucker,” I grunted.

The concrete was cold under my feet. I shuffled them slowly forward as I followed behind Amadi toward the door at the end of the hall. The armed guard behind me was holding a gun to my back to ensure I didn’t make a run for it. I absorbed the pain of walking slowly over the sharp crumbles of concrete in order to survey my surroundings. I observed the frosted glass windows, noting how far off of the ground they were, how many there were, and if they were thin enough to shatter with my bare hands. The risk of cutting a major artery was one I really didn’t want to have to take, in case I was far from civilization.

We walked through the musty hallway, stopping in front of another metal door, which Amadi unlocked with the longest key secured to his ring full of, what looked to be, about fifty keys. The door creaked open to reveal a stark, dimly lit room, boasting a wooden chair situated under a light bulb, which hung a few feet from below the ceiling by a straggly, shredded, brown extension cord.

“Please, have a seat,” Amadi said in a gentlemanly voice as he pointed to the chair.

I glared at him as I made my way to the chair, all the while scanning the room for any possible escape points. The guard behind me pressed the end of his gun into my spine, urging me to move forward.

“Hurry up!” the guard barked.

Amadi walked over and secured my wrists into the handcuffs that were already attached to the arms of the chair, and my ankles to the cuffs attached to the legs.

“Are you comfortable?” Amadi asked facetiously. “A coffee, perhaps?”

I stared off; relegating myself to a compartment in my mind I had created years ago, during my arduous BUD/s training to become a Navy SEAL, employing every tactic I learned during my Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training.

“No? Perhaps some tea then?” he said, obviously amusing himself.

Pacing around the chair as my new boots squeaked under his foot, he asked, “So tell me, Mr. Black, what were you doing in my house in the middle of the night? Quite rude popping in unannounced, don’t you think?” he asked as he stopped circling, and stood in front of me, waiting for a response.

“Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231…”

“You fuckin’ Americans,” Amadi yelled as he punched me in the jaw, not allowing me to finish my prepared name, rank, and service number speech.

My head jerked to the side, but quickly regained its position, zooming my focus on Amadi’s ear to see if either one had a missing piece. Both were fully intact. He obviously was not the target my team had been after. I allowed my training to take over as I fixed my eyes on the wall.

Amadi laughed as he pulled a half-smoked cigar from his dingy pants and lit it with an antique brass square metal lighter; probably stolen from another prisoner. The smoke emanating from the cigar filled the room with the caustic odor of cheap tobacco. He made his way over to me and pulled the cigar out of his mouth, holding the smoldering end up to my cheek, taunting me with another burn.

Amadi situated his face within an inch of mine and asked again, “What were you doing at my house?”

“Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231…” I began to recite again, which angered him, made apparent by the absence of his usually arrogant smile. He lifted my shirt and jammed the cigar into the tender skin over my ribs, stopping me once more from finishing my service number. He let it remain there until the smell of burning flesh permeated the room. I gritted my teeth and held my breath to hold back my groans. Amadi pulled the cigar away from my skin, leaving a deeply charred quarter-sized circle. The burning sensation lingered and I felt like the cigar was still being held to my skin.

He removed his belt. “So you think you’re a tough guy, huh?” he said as he began to whip me about the chest and head with the hard metal buckle.

“Black, Elijah Xander, Lieutenant, United States Navy, 555231…” I could no longer maintain my composure and let out a slight moan. Upon hearing it, the smile returned to Amadi’s face as he continued to pummel my legs and torso with the belt. He finally stopped when it appeared that he had lost his breath due to all of the physical exertion. He was still panting for air as he slid his belt back through his belt loops, the brown leather still dripping with my blood.

“Are you ready to answer yet?” Amadi asked as he clasped the buckle closed.

I looked down to see the boots he had stolen from me.

This muthafucker is still wearing my goddam boots.

I shifted my gaze toward his face, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva at him. “Fuck you!”

He angrily swiped the fluid from his face and clenched his fist, striking me right across the jaw.

“You son of a bitch,” he yelled.

“That feels so good,” I taunted.

He threw another punch, and then a third. “Had enough?”

“Have you?” I said, spitting blood on the floor.

“You are fun to play with.” He smiled.

“Where’s Cheng?”

“He has more important things to do than deal with trash like you,” he said, punching me in the gut.

I doubled over, my stomach churning. I held my breath, trying to keep from throwing up. The only thing I owned was my self-control, and I would be damned if I let them have that.

“That’s all you have?”

He chuckled as he rubbed his knuckles.

He looked over to one of the other guards. “Do you want to have a turn?”

He nodded and walked over to me.

“Can’t finish me off, yourself?”

“It’s not fair to hoard all the fun to myself,” he said as he leaned against a wall and pulled out a cigar.

The guard stepped in front of me and pulled his belt from his pants.

“I see that you need help,” I said, trying to focus, as my right eye had started to shut.

The man looked back at Amadi. “How many before he passes out?”

Amadi replied, “I say four.”

The guard looked back at me. “I say one!” he yelled, striking me in the temple, instantly knocking me out.

I woke up the next morning sprawled out on the ground with half a slice of bread and a small tin cup of water lying on the floor next to my head. I thought of these bits of food as my small reward for surviving another beating. The brutality continued day after day. Slowly the days turned into weeks, and it seemed like there would be no end to the cruelty. Secretly, I hoped Amadi would go too far and put me out of my misery.

I rested my face on the cold, hard ground, longing for a soft bed and warm sheets. My whole body ached, and the hunger pangs were only exacerbated by the crumbs that were being fed to me. From a distance I could hear the belt buckle slapping against the flesh and bones of another poor soul, feeling fortunate that it wasn’t my turn yet and hoping that Amadi wouldn’t send one of his lackeys to do his dirty work. One special day, I woke up face down on the concrete floor in my cell, feeling like my jaw had been run over by a Mack truck. Amadi had allowed his second in command to conduct the interrogation. Unfortunately for me, this guy had even more of an evil streak and inflicted more pain than Amadi would have. The guard had used my face as a human punching bag for hours, and only let up when I eventually passed out. It couldn’t even be called an interrogation since the guard never asked one question.

So, weak and malnourished, I lacked the energy to even sit up, so I just laid there…still…contemplating ways to push Amadi over the edge, praying for death’s reprieve. After all, I hadn’t given Amadi any information thus far, so I didn’t know why they were keeping me alive, except for the sheer sport of having an extra bag of bones to beat on for the mere pleasure of it.