Author's Note: Wow! So many kind reviews! This fandom is so sweet and supportive; I absolutely love it. Thank you so, so much for your wonderful reviews. They warmed my heart. I can only hope that I won't let you all down (and I'm a bit nervous about it). Things get a little dark in this chapter, so beware, but I hope it's a good read!
CHAPTER 2
Jaz stared patiently down the scope of her gun. She didn't like this. Adam shouldn't be in there alone. But now that he was in, it was her job to offer support where she could. The opportunity for disagreeing was over, and all she was left with was a heavy knot of unease in her chest. Something just felt off.
She tensed at the sound of a shout and a gunshot over the comms, quickly alarmed by Adam's cry of pain.
"Top?" she muttered, her quiet voice tight with worry. He didn't answer, and her anxiety doubled. She breathed through the panic, keeping her body steady as she maintained her gaze down the scope.
Adam's breathing was heavy over the line, and Director Campbell offered the calmest inquiries she could.
"Dalton. Dalton, what's going on?"
More labored breathing. The quick footsteps of a man running for his life.
"Coming out hot," he gasped. Jaz narrowed her focus, keeping her sights on the southeast door. She wasn't sure where he'd come out but suspected he might double back on a familiar path.
She watched the doorknob twist. The door swung inward. Adam burst out.
And then someone pulled him back in.
She saw the arms clamp around his middle, tugging him angrily back into the shadows.
Then the door slammed shut.
And Adam was gone.
Jaz lifted her head from the scope, staring in shock at what just happened. What she had seen. There was Russian shouting over the comms, Adam's own voice mingled in with the chaos.
Then the unmistakable sound of a crushed earpiece, followed by suffocating silence.
Taking deep breaths, Jaz blinked harshly in the darkness. "They got him. He came out the southeast door, but they got him before I could get a clear shot."
Stunned quiet buzzed over the comms, a rainbow of emotions washing over the team.
Jaz inhaled slowly. Deeply. "From what I could tell, it looks like he'd sustained an injury to the leg. Upper thigh. Couldn't see how bad it was."
There were a few seconds of nothing. Then Preach spoke. "Let's move to the meetup point." A rustling of movement immediately came over the line as the older man sighed loudly. "Command, what's our next move?"
In DC, Director Campbell watched Dalton's live body cam footage, her locket at her lips as Adam fought against his captors. The Russian men struggled to restrain him, lashing out with kicks and punches. Patricia's gaze flicked to the edge of the screen, spotting the unmistakable dark stain of blood on Adam's thigh.
The body cam was ripped from the team leader's gear and promptly turned off. Noah and Hannah stood anxiously, wordlessly staring at the main screen.
Folding her arms, Patricia dropped her locket to her collarbone.
"Continue with the mission," she sighed, dropping her head. Hannah's brows dipped in confusion while Noah's eyes dropped to his desk. The comms were quiet, ringing with the team's own speechless reaction.
Patricia lifted her head higher, pursing her lips. "And take steps to recover Dalton."
A pause.
"Understood," Preach answered, a hint of relief in his voice.
They didn't have to be asked twice.
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Adam limped heavily as he followed his captors, twisting his wrists against a heavy-duty zip tie. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving excruciating pain in the tear of his flesh. The bullet had ripped through the edge of his thigh, being more of a deep graze than a hole. But walking was quickly becoming difficult, and he was starting to feel lightheaded.
Even now, his mind was thinking of a way to escape, despite the loss of his weapons and protective gear. He twisted harder against the zip tie.
Attempting to ignore the agonizing pain in his thigh, Adam spared a thought for his team, wondering what they were doing now. Hopefully thinking up a new plan to retrieve the laptop. That was most important.
The muzzle of a rifle prodded his back, and he stumbled into a vacant storage area. One of the guards spoke into a handheld receiver and patiently waited for a response. A low voice crackled over the radio, and Adam was quickly shoved into a spare chair.
The movement sent his head spinning, and he fought to steady it. He pulled at the zip tie again, looking up at his captors warily.
After a few minutes, another man came into the room, his posture stiff and tall. Clearly, he was in charge. Most of the guards were dismissed; two remained as the others filed out of the room to return to their posts. The newcomer stared at Adam for several moments, studying him in the stale air of the room.
When he was satisfied, he began slowly circling Adam. "I don't know who you are, but it's clear you're American." English rolled easily off his tongue, touched by a distinctive Russian accent. "So I'll be frank: what did you come here for?"
Adam looked down at his lap, pressing his lips together.
Minutes of silence ticked on. There was a heavy sigh from the man behind him, and Adam caught movement at his left. Before he could brace himself, there was a vicious blow to his face, one guard's knuckles pounding against his cheekbone. A coppery taste pricked his tongue, and he resisted the urge to spit it out.
"I say again: what were you hoping to find here?"
Adam watched his captor circle around toward his front. The team leader stared stubbornly, the side of his face aching.
One of the remaining guards spoke up in Russian, holding up Adam's now broken earpiece. The higher-up took the small device, inspecting it as the guard continued to speak. Once the guard was finished, the man turned back to Adam.
"You have a team?"
Adam said nothing.
The man cocked his head in frustration, his brow furrowing. "If you don't give us answers, we'll have to do more to…convince you."
Breathing through the throbbing in his leg, Adam put on his best defiant expression. "Looks like my schedule just opened up."
The man stood taller, huffing through his nose. "If you insist."
There was a glint of steel as one guard handed the man a knife, then both guards stepped forward, zip ties in hand.
Adam steeled himself for whatever lay ahead.
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"Okay, quick recap," Preach began. They'd been discussing new options for the past half hour, trying to be quick but thorough. "We go in through the southeast door. McG and I will retrieve the package while Jaz and Amir shadow us from behind. Once the package is secure, we'll find Top, recover him, and head back to the meetup point."
Everyone nodded in understanding, shifting impatiently.
Preach looked at each of them before gripping his rifle tighter. "Then let's make this quick."
He and McG moved through the brush first, approaching the building with stealth and precision. Jaz and Amir followed at some length behind, keeping a careful eye out for their teammates.
They were intent on retrieving the laptop.
But their minds were with Adam.
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Adam bit his lip as the knife punctured his skin. He watched crimson well up on his forearm, a small bubble at the point of the knife. Clenching his jaw, he looked up at his captor, wondering apprehensively what was next.
His wrists were restrained against the arms of the chair, his ankles zip tied to the front legs. Blood dripped freely from his thigh, coating the natural wood beneath him with red. The lightheadedness was only getting worse, a low stream of adrenaline adding weary stability. Adam knew what was coming. From here, there could only be pain.
And as he stared at the tip of the knife poked into his skin, all he could think about was the team. As long as they completed the mission—as long as they made it through safely—he could deal with what came next.
Without warning, his captor shoved the knife all the way through his arm and into the wood of the chair.
A startled scream ripped from Adam's throat as a fresh wave of dizziness splashed through his head.
"What are you after?" the man asked calmly.
Dalton looked up, huffing as he remained silent. As long as the team was safe, he could do this. He could stay strong.
His captor shook his head, his hand clasping the knife's handle. With one, abrupt motion, he tore the knife from Adam's arm, drawing another cry from the team leader.
Adam maintained a steady glare, breathing heavily through the fiery agony in his limb.
"What are you after?" the man repeated, enunciating each word clearly. Stubborn silence fell over the room, Adam's hands curled over the arms of the chair in quiet anger.
The two of them stared at each other, unwavering. Pained rage met calculated coldness, blue eyes meeting brown. They knew this would be a long, drawn-out battle of strength and resolve. Neither would give up easily.
Silence lingered for another long minute, two strong personalities quietly regarding each other. The sharp odor of blood filtered through the room, mixing with the old, tired scent of aging boxes.
Adam's captor stood taller, staring down at his captive.
Abruptly, the man swung the knife down again, slamming the handle onto Adam's hand.
Bones gave way under the force.
There were a few cracks.
And a burst of pain.
Adam couldn't hold back the yell, his hand throbbing angrily. He was allowed a few minutes of reprieve as he caught his breath, his hand already purpling and swelling. There were tears in the skin from the force of the blow, and the sting of the open cuts mixed with the sharp ache of broken bones.
"If you don't give me answers, I'll be forced the continue," the man threatened, wiping the blade of the knife with a clean, white cloth. Adam watched red smear onto white, unnerved by the gruesome contrast. He didn't say a word, intent on outlasting his enemy.
The man inhaled deeply, nodding his head. "So be it." He waved on one of the guards as he stepped toward the edge of the room. The larger underling set his rifle aside, shrugging off the stiff top of his uniform.
As the guard moved forward, Adam stared at the larger man's clenched fists.
And he boldly lifted his head a little higher.
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The team moved quietly down the hallway, rifles held steady as they tread carefully. From what Noah had told them, security was fairly light. With a quiet approach and even quieter elimination, they could easily get to the laptop.
And nothing would stop them from getting Top back.
As they approached a corner, Preach signaled a stop, peering carefully around the bend. Footsteps echoed from their left, and Jaz moved quickly, turning to aim her gun down the dimly lit corridor.
A guard rounded the corner. Jaz pulled the trigger, releasing the pump of a suppressed shot. And he fell quietly to the floor.
The team shared glances before they moved along, cautious as they ventured deeper into the network of hallways and storage areas.
They were anxious. More anxious than usual. Even with the mission at hand, their eyes darted from wall to wall, looking for signs of Top.
The quiet didn't help.
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Adam measured each breath carefully, uncomfortably aware of his newly broken ribs. They ground against each other whenever he shifted, shooting painful sparks through his torso. His strength was slowly draining away, and he was quickly growing tired.
Still, he wouldn't say a word. He'd die here if he had to.
"I'm starting to lose patience," muttered his captor, walking around Adam in a slow, thoughtful ring. He was twirling the knife in his hands, a whisper of the hurt to come. Adam didn't care. He'd been prepared for this. Pain was an inevitable outcome of his occupation.
The room was silent as the man stopped, leaning closer to Adam's face. "Tell me what you came here for."
The quiet lingered, a rebellious glint in Adam's gaze.
There was a flash of silver as the knife was pressed against Adam's bare bicep, just under the hem of his sleeve. The team leader didn't react, instead watching the man with a dark stare.
Metal bit into Adam's arm, digging deep as the blade dragged through flesh. The knife slowly carved through delicate layers of skin and muscle, trailing down the length of the limb. Adam clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths shaky and pained. Steel sliced cleanly through veins and nerves, and Adam couldn't stop the agonized growls from behind pursed lips.
The pain was overwhelming, jolting through his body sharply. Adam could only pray for relief.
And for the first time since his capture, he felt excruciatingly alone. All he could do was suffer through it. There was only him here. He could only rely on himself.
And for minute, he wasn't sure he could.
But he'd be damned if he let his team down.
"Tell me."
The knife was at his forearm, leaving a fresh stripe of agony in its wake. Red continued to trail toward his wrist, slow and cruel.
Adam let out a yelp as the knife scraped against his wrist bone.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
He wanted to scream, but the stubborn side of him refused. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction.
The blade finally came to a halt, and Adam was left shaking in the aftermath. His pain-filled eyes sought out his captor, a hard determination mixed with the burn of pain. The man smirked, relishing in the rough vulnerability.
He pulled the knife from Adam's wrist, moving back to his bicep.
And then he started again.
