THE VAN, Public Forest, Midnight Sunday, real time
Sleep was just not happening. He listened jealously to Maria's even breaths next to him. He never slept well the night before a big mission and to think he'd be able to break that tradition in a rusted out van in the middle of a desert had been wishful thinking.
Instead of sleeping, he'd been thinking about some of the things Oscar had said about Jack.
Stories of what the locals had to endure at the hands of Salazar and his men were abundant in these towns. Jack had known some of them before he'd come down here. Back in LA, in CTU, they were just that, stories.
But here, in these few days, he'd seen the widows. A disproportionate number of men were missing fingers, or limbs, or even eyes. And once in a bar, in a hushed and dark corner, he'd been able to over hear the tale of a rape that had occurred recently in another town nearby. And not the rape of one woman, but many on the same night. He'd heard the word 'payment' in the same conversation before he'd had to move on when suspicious eyes had drifted his way.
What had Oscar said? Jack did the dirty jobs. And he had implied that Jack had never said 'no.' What the fuck did that mean?
He wondered how much Jack had suspected he'd be involved in this kind of shit before he'd come down here. Jack had always walked into these missions seemingly knowing more, being more aware of what was involved than did everyone else. And he was skilled at concealing what he knew or suspected, especially if the higher ups, ie Chapelle, would balk at what might have to be done.
But maiming? Rape?
Could Jack have possibly still come down here if he suspected he'd be complicit in these sorts of things?
Tony's mind resisted taking the next leap in logic. If Salazar men perpetrated these atrocities, and Jack did the 'dirty work'…well, what kind of work would be dirtier? And if Ramon asked, and was refused, he'd be dead. As far as he knew, Jack wasn't dead. Therefore, he hadn't refused.
Tony damned his over active mind, laying guilt on his friend with no evidence. But, God, if he had…
But there was more to worry about. Punishment was one. He'd heard pain in Jack's voice more than once when he'd checked in.
They'd expected some test at the beginning, some initiation—and they hadn't been wrong. Jack had admitted he'd been hurt, although he had refused to give details, only saying he'd be okay in a week or two. Tony remembered how Jack had struggled through that conversation, his speech impaired by some facial injury he wouldn't talk about.
After that, if Tony was suspicious and asked, Jack had said he was fine. Now he knew from Oscar that many of those days he probably wasn't.
And then, he wondered, where was Jack now? Missing for two weeks, was he gone or was he hurt somewhere? If he'd left the ranch, Tony couldn't imagine a reason he hadn't checked in…unless he'd been killed. And if he was on the ranch, as Oscar suspected, he couldn't imagine a reason why that would be beneficial…or even neutral…to Jack's health.
All this added up to a wicked headache and a growing case of heartburn about what was going to come down six hours from now. It was obvious to Tony that Jack, even in the best case scenario, had sacrificed too much for this mission. If tomorrow didn't go well, he'd have done it in vain. Tony didn't want this mission to turn out like that for his friend.
He looked at his watch. Midnight. He had three hours to try and rest. Making his best effort to clear his mind and relax, he turned onto his side and closed his eyes. He tried to think about Michelle and how much he wanted to be home with her and out of this purgatory. He tried to believe he was home in bed with her and tomorrow was going to be just another day.
And he was almost successful before a loud knock resounded through the hollow cargo space. Flashlight beams broke through two separate windows. Maria was immediately awake and sitting beside him. What the hell was this?
"Come out of there with your hands where we can see them."
THE SALAZAR RANCH, NINE DAYS BEFORE
This was one of Ramon's favorite tactics…pouncing on and overwhelming a man in his own bed before he was awake. The fear induced by the half sleep was better. Of course, Jack had been awake for several hours already, so it wasn't quite the same. He'd been watching.
As he had hoped and predicted, Jack had awoken shaking and perspiring. Intermittently he'd been wracked by cramps. Ramon had been patient, letting his miseries mount until he felt Jack had been ready.
He watched from the door as Tomas and Hector, for no one else knew where Jack really was, attacked quickly while Jack's eyes were closed. Silently, they threw a black hood over his head, released his bound arm and re-cuffed it in front of him to the one which had been free. Jack accepted his fate in silence as well, only an occasional grunt betraying his discomfort.
They roughly pulled him from the bed and led him past Ramon, who watched quietly. Not a man said a word until they reached the courtyard.
"On your knees," Hector ordered, feeling the fine tremor of Jack's taut muscles beneath his hand. Whether it was fear or the lack of the drug causing these tremors, Hector could not tell.
Jack fell to his knees, the dirt already warm and dry under the midday sun. Another cramp hit, and he bent at the waist to ride the pain out. There wasn't much else he could do. The symptoms had been there since he'd awoken. He barely remembered the night before. Ramon had given him something, but vaguely Jack recalled that it hadn't been heroin. He was hurting…just as Ramon had planned he assumed.
Ramon watched as Jack trembled under the hot sun. He hadn't bathed or changed in four days now and the boxers and white tee shirt were stained with dirt from the courtyard adhering to the damp cotton. They, the four of them, were alone in the yard; the men having been sent once again back to the far fields to train. But Jack did not know that.
Ramon spoke to his nonexistent audience, intending his words only for the man on the ground in front of him. Jack knew that final punishments, those that deserved no reprieve, were dealt out in front of the men. Every death in the courtyard served as a reminder to the others of their allegiance to Ramon and the cartel. He wanted Jack to think he was about to die a very unpleasant death.
"I know many of you…nearly all of you…respect Jack as your commander in arms. But Jack has lied to me. A lie that cannot be tolerated."
Jack heard the words. His mind raced. Ramon was acting as if he was going to kill him. But what had he lied about? Ramon wouldn't kill him for the lie at the raid. That had been a set up—punishable, yes, but not by death. He tried to calm down and clear his mind. Only bits and pieces of what had been said yesterday came back to him. What the fuck had he said?
"Jack," Ramon addressed him, "do you wish to defend yourself?"
He did want to know what he'd done or said. Even Ramon had to realize that anything said during a drug induced stupor was questionable. He would have liked to point that out. But he would not grovel in front of his men. So he said nothing.
Tomas and Hector exchanged glances. Most men would be begging for forgiveness already, fear motivating them to confess to sins they'd never even thought of, much less committed. Jack, by his brave yet foolhardy behavior, was begging for more punishment. Which Ramon would be all too happy to dole out. After all, that's the only reason they were out here sweating their asses off in this heat.
Jack felt the blade of Ramon's knife at his throat. "Jack?" he questioned softly, demanding some sort of response.
"Ramon," he began, forbidding himself from beginning with an apology or plea for forgiveness. The dark hood was absorbing heat and already feeling oppressive. "I don't know what I have lied about." Jack felt the tattoo throb on his arm. Not that she really hurt, but the Lady was reminding him of Ramon's purpose. He was to submit…and this was not submission.
Could he have groveled as Ramon wanted if they'd been alone? Was he that stubborn and proud that he wouldn't in front of the men even to save himself from being tortured to death by Ramon? On the other hand, he'd seen this before, groveling never accomplished anything. Again, he wondered what the fuck he'd said last night.
He felt the knife leave his neck and tear open the thin fabric of his shirt. The warm sun assailed his back as the damp shirt fell away. Ramon made a ceremony out of cutting the rest of it off his chest.
Ramon looked up at the hot sun and then down at Jack's perspiring naked back. Damn Jack. He was going to make him do this. Ramon's hand sweated on the handle of the crop in his hand. He'd only wanted to see Jack cave out here. Or to see if he still was too proud and stubborn, still too in control, to admit to a lie he might not even remember saying. Jack seemed not to be caving.
Ramon knew he'd been too groggy last night to have remembered most of what they'd talked about. But that discrepancy…he'd confirmed Jack had been dishonorably discharged just over two and a half years ago, about a year after he'd begun using, two after the death of his family. And six months before the 'interrogation.' Ramon granted that the timeline was not off by that much, and Jack certainly wasn't thinking clearly when he'd said it, but he could use this as a focal point until he was satisfied one way or another.
Jack held still while he awaited Ramon's judgment. Ramon watched as he cringed slightly, fighting a cramp. Ramon would have liked to see Jack's face, but the hood was necessary for the rouse. He studied the whip in his hand. Not a powerful weapon. He had forgone using the heavy bull whip. He had a selfish reason for not wanting to mare Jack's body too much. But the multiple strips of leather that branched from the handle would cause plenty enough pain if they struck often enough and hard enough.
Without much more thought, he reared back and brought the whip hard across Jack's mid back. Jack, not having any visual or auditory warning, jolted at the sudden blow. Ramon heard him swallow a grunt of pain, the first guttural sound escaping with the surprise but the succeeding cry caught and suppressed. Ramon formed a wry smile at yet another show of Jack's more than impressive control. He knew the second blow with the whip would be met without movement or sound. He swung. He had been correct.
Studying Jack's now heavily perspiring back, he watched the welts from the two lashes swell and brighten under the heavy sunlight. A few marks from the first strike were outlined in small bright red beads of blood. He stopped to ponder his next move. He didn't want to beat Jack to a pulp, and that's what it would take to produce any reaction…if any even then…from this stubborn son of a whore. Jack was sure to figure out soon that he wasn't about to die.
He suddenly was very glad of the hood. With it, Ramon could at least keep him guessing as to what would happen next. But, to his dismay, Ramon suddenly realized that he didn't know what was going to happen next. And then he knew his mistake.
The men that met their death here were often little more than peasants…not thinking men. They groveled because fear overwhelmed thought. Jack was too smart—and even in the face of fear, he had reason. Jack knew that groveling would not stop his death. Begging would only make him die a coward. Submission was not needed if he was going to die anyway. He wouldn't lose face to earn himself only a slightly less gruesome death.
While the blows from the whip were not, in and of themselves, horrendously painful, the additive effect of the withdrawal, hunger, lack of water, the sun, and now the pain was taking its toll. Jack knew with the next lash he was going to have trouble staying upright. The muscles in his thighs were taught with fine tremors and felt as if any more effort, like fighting once again against the force coming down on his back, would send them into full spasm.
But the third lash did not come. Instead, he felt the fine tendrils of the leather stroking his stinging back. Then Ramon began to play the whip over his neck then down his chest. Jack was confused as Ramon used the weapon to almost…well…caress down his chest, over his bound arms, and down his abdomen. He bit his tongue from demanding to know what the hell Ramon was doing. This wasn't like anything he'd seen done before in this courtyard.
He listened hard, over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. There was no sound of the shuffle of nervous feet or the inevitable clearing of throats as the men squirmed at having to watch another of them suffer. Ramon was putting on a show for him—and him alone. No, not a show, a test. Without meaning to, Jack relaxed slightly. He let his over fatigued muscles slacken which produced a visible slouch.
Ramon saw Jack relax. And while he knew Jack would have eventually, he was suddenly angry to be caught out in an act. He raised the whip high and came down hard on the front of Jack's boxers. There was no way even Jack was going to suppress the cry of pain from that surprise blow. And he didn't. Not only did he roar with the agony, he crashed hard to the ground, his bound hands barely breaking the harsh fall onto his face.
Ramon threw the whip aside. Circling slowly while Jack lay in pain, he watched as the yellow dust coated Jack's sweat soaked skin as he slowly writhed at his feet. Ramon aimed a kick at Jack's belly, which glanced off one of his forearms before landing hard against his mid section.
Sneering, he stalked away, followed by a baffled Tomas and Hector, who had done nothing but witness the strange session. When he reached the porch of the house, Ramon turned and looked at Jack, still and quiet and blind to what was happening around him. He'd soon be baking in the midday sun. Fuck him, he thought as he turned and went into the house, somehow feeling the loser of that encounter, even though he wasn't the one lying helpless and miserable in the dirt.
Hector followed his brother towards his office. He knew to tread gently with Ramon's present mood. Waiting for Ramon to settle into his chair, he looked out the window. Jack hadn't moved. Hector wondered if he was afraid to or unconscious. Ramon would need to take better care of him if he intended on drawing out whatever the hell this was.
Hector had thought he'd known. He'd thought it was to beat a proud Jack into submission. But there had been no beating in that courtyard today when the submission had not come.
"Ramon," he said still watching Jack, "how long shall I leave him out there?"
There was no response. When he turned, Ramon was looking away from him, so he didn't realize his brother was already seething in anger.
"Claudia will be back tomorrow. If we keep Jack in the house, she will suspect something is going on." He paused. When no response came, he assumed Ramon was listening and went on.
"We could have her bring him food…take care of him." Hector, and he knew Tomas too, were sick of being Jack's caretakers. They both had work to do. Bringing Jack food and water, cleaning the mess, that was servants work. But Ramon had refused to let anyone else know where Jack was. But Claudia was going to find out anyway, why not have her help? He couldn't keep paying for the spa and shopping in Mexico City forever to keep her ignorant.
Ramon heard his brother speaking. And deep down, he knew Hector's points were valid. But he didn't want to hear it right now.
He spoke in anger without turning towards Hector. "You want your woman…" then he stopped and finished the sentence silently in his head, to take care of the man she's fucking when your back is turned?
Ramon didn't stop himself because he wasn't sure it was true. He had no proof, he was only keenly suspicious. He'd bitten back the sentence because he didn't want Hector to go out into the courtyard and kill Jack on the spot. Hector was a good brother, but he was only obedient to a point. He was a man and it would be well within his right to kill Jack if he was sleeping with Claudia.
But if anyone was going to kill Jack, it was Ramon. And personally, he was actually amused Jack had the balls to cuckold Hector. But not surprised.
He stood and faced Hector. He knew his anger was with Jack and calmed down enough before he took his fury out on his brother. "Leave," he ordered simply.
Hector looked at the floor then briefly at his brother, angry himself and hurt his brother would not discuss this with him…more than being Brigg's nursemaid…but what was going on in his head that had created that odd scene today. But he remained silent and turned to leave.
"Leave him out there another half hour. Let him wonder what's going on. Then clean him up, get some fluids in him, and put him back in bed. And I want him completely bound again." He almost apologized to Hector for being short and treating him like a servant, but bit it back. Instead, he turned and refocused his attention on the man in the courtyard. Jack rustled slightly and rolled from his side onto his back, surely trying to protect his damaged skin from the blazing sun.
This would not happen again tomorrow. He would know what he wanted and would plan better tomorrow.
8-
THE VAN, Public Forest, Sunday after Midnight, Real Time
There were only two of them, but they had Tony and Maria well covered—there hands against the side of the van, there feet spread wide, an ancient hand gun several feet from their heads. Upon seeing the flashlights, they'd immediately jumped towards their stowed guns, but they'd been too slow to react. One of them had been inside the van before either could be reached. They'd been hauled roughly out and frisked.
"What are you doing out here?" the short one with more stripes on his fraying uniform shirt asked.
The younger one, obviously lower in rank, rummaged through their belongings in the van.
"Sleeping," Tony answered simply, in as close to the colloquial local accent as possible.
The police officer, or ranger, or whatever the hell he was whipped him across his kidneys with the gun. Tony sagged briefly then straightened. Maria looked at him worriedly. They were in a bad spot. These men of the 'law' were obviously not the rule following sort. In fact, the smell of tequila seemed to waft from their pores.
They were obviously looking for drugs…and not a bag full of pot or a dime bag of heroin. These two would immediately assume they were runners from a rival cartel trespassing on Salazar turf. And even if they were found not to be carrying, it would be assumed they'd hidden the stuff. Why else would they be in the forest? Of course, that's why the police would even be here, rooting out that type.
Tony wondered whether Ramon Salazar liked his enemies alive or already dead when they were brought forth for the reward.
"Try again," he was ordered. The noise from inside the van stopped.
"We are just on the road. Her parents…they are not happy with me that she is pregnant. We are finding a new place to live." Tony tried to sound as scared and desperate as he could.
But his story lost credence as the younger officer appeared from the other side of the van with two federally issued handguns. Guns were one thing around here…just about everyone in the business carried one…but not like these.
If they were IDed as cops, their fate would be the same…no…probably worse. Ramon probably paid more for drug agents who were snooping around his territory and Tony was pretty sure he'd want them alive and he'd want information.
Maria looked at him again. He knew her thoughts were travelling the same path as his. They'd planned their covers in such detail…how could they have overlooked $500 Glocks as something that might stick out down here when carried by two near peasants?
"Her father must be a powerful man if you need such weapons to defend yourself from him." He laughed, and from the corner of his eye, Tony saw him stick his old weapon into his waistband. In an instant, he felt his very own gun on the back of his very own neck.
"Now, again…who are you and what are you doing in these woods?" he demanded in a low menacing growl, pushing the muzzle hard into Tony's skin.
Beside him, he heard the other man get close to Maria, but his head was turned away from her and he couldn't see if she had a gun on her as well.
Tony toyed with telling him the truth, but that was ridiculous. Even if it didn't get them killed, the fact there were two Federal agents nosing around would be far and wide by the morning and the raid would be jeopardized. He needed to continue the lie.
But Maria spoke first. "Senior," she said, calling everyone's attention to her, enough so Tony felt the gun removed from his neck and he was able to turn to see her.
Maria had changed from the ridiculous get up she'd been wearing in the bar, but she still, with the makeup and jewelry, could pass for a professional. And to add to the illusion, Tony saw her turn it on. No Maria, he wanted to say, stop her from a very dangerous gamble. But he didn't see another way out at this moment, so he had no choice but to go with her plan.
Maria made the offer—herself for each of them for their freedom. The older man struck Tony hard with the gun at his neck, stunning him and knocking him to his knees. He ordered the younger one to guard Tony as he grabbed Maria's arm and let her around the front of the van.
THE SALAZAR RANCH, 8 Days Before
When Ramon walked into the room, he was carrying a small briefcase. Jack looked up at him briefly and let his head fall back to the bed. This was the third time he'd been in since yesterday. Ramon had not said a word to him during any of the previous visits. He had granted Jack a hard stare and had given him his fix…a small one both times, barely enough to keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay.
Hector had also been in twice to force food and water on him and let him up to use the restroom. He remembered Hector and Tomas dragging him in yesterday. His back still stung from the whip, especially since he'd been tied up in four point restraints since yesterday, and forced to lie on the sensitive skin constantly. The moderately bad sunburn didn't help.
He couldn't remember how long he'd lain out there, but long enough to make him miserable and barely functional. But he did remember Hector extorting him to come to enough to take his own shower. And he did…the threatened violence and the idea of Hector bathing him had not been pleasant. One shower with Ramon in attendance and leering lasciviously had been bad enough. The pain of the water on his back had revived him enough to shower and shave and then drink something, though he couldn't eat until Ramon had given him something for the withdrawal.
Ramon approached the bed. The look on his face was unreadable and that made Jack very nervous. He'd been thinking about yesterday. He should have figured out the rouse sooner and given Ramon what he wanted. Then maybe he wouldn't be hovering so menacingly now. Then again, maybe he would. There was also that mysterious lie Ramon had referenced. If he had to bet, he would bet that whatever this was, that lie had something to do with it.
Still without speaking, Ramon put down the case and opened it away from Jack's line of vision. When he did turn around, he held a thin knife in his hand, really a blade with a handle. He walked to Jack and laid the blade at the edge of an old scar.
Jack flinched. What the hell was he doing? He held off from asking. But instead of an explanation, Ramon cut along the path of the pale raised flesh. Jack groaned and felt the warm blood trickle down and over his right flank.
Ramon smelled fear as Jack tensed against the restraints and closed his eyes to wait for the pain to pass. The perspiration induced sheen that immediately coated his taut body was rather pleasing.
When he opened them, Jack's eyes were wide with confusion and apprehension, and staring directly into his own. Ramon smiled. This would go better than yesterday.
"Reminiscent of anything, Jack?" he asked, his voice with the light lilt of a knowing teacher asking a pupil a question he should know…but didn't because he hadn't done the homework.
"I'm sorry, Ramon, I don't understand." Jack was determined to play the game today. He needed off this bed and out of this room. Not only so he could do his job, but for his own sanity. He was tired of beginning each day wondering if he'd live through it.
Instead of answering, Ramon threw Jack a puzzled look. "You know Jack," he said, looking down at Jack's abdomen, not at his face. "When they did this to you before, you couldn't have been wearing much…if anything."
With that introduction, Ramon took the waistband of Jack's boxers and sliced through the elastic easily, continuing down until he came through the hem on his right leg. "No, these scars, they go down well below your belt." With that, he did the same on the other side.
Jack was breathing heavily, watching Ramon move that blade so swiftly so close to his crotch. And the implications of what he was saying, where his focus was today, were just beginning to come clear.
Ramon watched Jack's face as he grabbed the shredded garment and yanked it away. Jack rewarded him with the flinch he'd been aiming for at the sudden movement and sudden exposure.
Picking his head up, Jack examined the fresh wound, the blood staining the white sheet, and his old scars. "You mean the scars…how I got them?"
"Yes, Jack, the scars, how you got them." Ramon made a second cut in a lower scar. But not as deep and as long this time.
Jack hissed.
"Tell me again what happened."
Shit, he must have said something the other night. But there would have been nothing in his files about the interrogation. And certainly, in Special Ops, he would be at risk of capture and potential torture. Ramon would know that. So why was he so fascinated? There was no option but to play along and find out.
"I was captured on a mission and interrogated."
Ramon remained impassive. "What did they use? To make these cuts I mean?"
"A scalpel, I think."
Ramon examined his blade, as if making a mental comparison. Then he turned and discarded it into the briefcase. When he turned back, he had something new in his hand which he ignored as he spoke. Jack couldn't ignore the soldering iron…he remembered the pain acutely.
"Were you naked?"
Jack swallowed hard. Ramon noticed.
"Yes."
Jack wished Ramon would just inflict the pain. These questions were worse—admitting this stuff to Ramon. Back then he'd even covered up as much as he could when he'd been debriefed days later in the hospital, claiming amnesia from being unconscious so long. But somehow he knew answers such as 'I don't remember" were only going to prolong Ramon's game.
Ramon held the iron an inch from the old burn on his left flank. Jack could feel the heat.
"Were you tied down…as you are now?
"No," Jack told the truth. But that obviously wasn't enough as the iron made contact for a few seconds then was pulled back. Jack breath hitched at first then was very rapid as he rode out this new agonizing wave. He didn't wait for Ramon to explain…he knew what was being asked. Ramon wanted every humiliating detail.
"They tied my hands together…and…" God damn, this was hard. And Ramon's obvious satisfaction with where this was going made it that much harder.
"And what Jack," he asked, lowering the soldering iron so that just the proximity was painful.
"…and hung me from a ceiling beam."
Ramon tossed the iron into the case. He'd marred Jack enough. It was obvious the descriptions were more difficult for him than the pain.
"So there you were, naked, dangling from the ceiling. Fascinating."
Jack knew Ramon was just trying to humiliate him, but even knowing that didn't make it any easier. He felt his face burning.
"How long?"
"Half an hour…maybe more…I'm not sure."
Ramon studied the scars. "That's a lot of pain, Jack," he paused for effect. "Did you talk?"
"No."
"I'm sure you didn't," Ramon smiled condescendingly at him, even belittling the un-embarrassing part of the ordeal.
"Did you scream?"
Jack closed his eyes. "Eventually…yes." Ramon didn't need to know about the gag.
"But you didn't beg, did you Jack? You're too proud to beg…or give in." Ramon could see Jack hanging there, naked, fighting not to scream. His eyes glance up at the ceiling in the bedroom…no beam…unfortunate.
Jack kept his eyes closed and said nothing. There was no answer to that question that would satisfy Ramon.
Ramon decided that asking what they wanted to know was worthless. He didn't care anyway. This was about Jack, not his torturers. He stood and went to the case, fumbled around deliberately, then pulled out the taser and placed it well within Jack's field of vision. Then he went to the bathroom, closed the door and just waited, letting Jack sweat it out.
But Ramon had no idea how effective, how much anxiety, this ploy would have. He didn't know the whole story yet. But Jack did. And his heart raced at the sight of the taser. His waking premonition about his daily flirtation with death seemed much closer to reality.
When Ramon came out of the bathroom, Jack debated just telling him what had happened. But that would be admitting a huge weakness that maybe he could avoid. Maybe Ramon wouldn't use it.
"Don't like tasers Jack?" he smiled maliciously seeing Jack's anxiety. "I bet not," he added, gently running his finger over one of the burns from the contact. "Those bastards didn't play fair, did they?"
Ramon stared into Jack's face and lowered the weapon, jolting Jack with a very low setting. Jack swallowed hard not to yell out…not with pain, but with fear. He was sweating profusely. They had started out on a low setting that day too.
"Well, neither do I," Ramon said before administering a second jolt, more powerful this time.
Jack held his breath and couldn't stifle a small cry deep in his throat. His heart skipped a beat. Any stress could do that, but what Ramon was doing was making him conscious of every abnormal hitch in its rhythm.
Jack could remain silent no longer. "Please, Ramon, tell me what you want," he almost begged. If Ramon was torturing him for information, threatening to kill him, well that was one thing. But dying while he toyed with him, Ramon oblivious to the danger, just seemed ridiculous. That's what was causing the fear—that kind of death was just stupid.
"So you're hanging there, screaming, in pain, bleeding, but you didn't tell them anything—so how did you get out?"
Jack hesitated, trying to come up with a story. Ramon didn't like that and raised the taser.
"Wait," Jack pleaded. "Wait."
This was fascinating. Jack was so breathless with anxiety he could hardly speak. He'd never seen Jack like this.
At his initiation, they'd punished him far worse than this, had inflicted far more pain. And Jack had borne it all stoically. In fact, better than anyone he'd ever seen. Because of that, Ramon had let the ritual go on longer than usual, and Jack had been hurt more than he'd meant him to be. That was the first time he'd been intrigued by this man.
He let the hand with the taser fall to the side.
"My heart stopped."
"What?" asked Ramon, sure he had heard wrong.
"The taser settings were too high. He got angry and used it too high," Jack was talking quickly to keep Ramon from re-raising his hand. "It caused my heart to beat abnormally, too quickly, and then, eventually stop." There, it was out—the explanation the doctors had given him days later.
"You died?"
For some reason Ramon looked up and down Jack's naked body, as if reassuring himself he was solid. It made Jack more uncomfortable, as if that was possible. "Yes, for a short time," he ignored Ramon's gaze and continued. "But they revived me. They…they had a doctor at the facility…a clinic."
Ramon was slightly incredulous. "The whole story now, Jack, or I use it again," he said, impatient of having to mine for each detail of the saga.
Jack took a deep breath before he spoke. "I think they did CPR. They had a defibrillator. It worked." Ramon was looking at him skeptically. "Ramon, look at my chest closely…there are paddle burns from when they revived me."
Ramon did. Under the thick blond hair high on Jack's chest were several faint rectangular burns…unnoticeable unless you looked hard. "Alright, go on." He was slightly more convinced.
Now Jack could lie a bit. If he told Ramon about the drug, the bastard would probably be curious enough to find it and use it on him. This was fucked up enough, reliving this nightmare. "They got me stable…were getting ready to do more."
Ramon interrupted. "They killed you, brought you back, and still were going to torture you some more? My, Jack, they were heartless bastards," he said with an amused lilt.
Jack heard the begrudging respect for his torturers in Ramon's last sentence. You're a sick bastard yourself, Ramon. He continued. "They left me alone with the doctor…left to talk or do something. I had enough time. I pretended to pass out again, when he came near, I over powered him and slipped out. My unit…they were on the periphery of the camp trying to find me. They got me out."
"That's quite a tale Jack," Ramon said, raising the weapon again and laying the prongs on Jack's throat. The fear in Jack's eyes made Ramon think Jack was telling the truth. "So you, Jack Briggs, are afraid of tasers. I believe the story, but that…fear…of pain? You?"
"The truth is, Ramon," Jack had tried, but couldn't avoid it. Ramon would be able to hang this over his head, use it whenever convenient, but he had no choice. He had to keep him from pressing that button again. "The truth is, all that…the shocks, the CPR, the defibrillation, it damaged my heart. You could kill me with that, even on low settings."
Ramon smiled a genuine smile. Another weakness…first his family, and now this. He was enjoying getting to know Jack.
He gloated a moment and then remembered the original purpose of this game-the lie.
"So Jack," he said casually, "when did all this happen? I assume you've had sufficient time for recovery."
"About three, no closer to four, years ago, just before I started using," he answered quickly without hesitation.
That answer directly correlated with the time line in the paper work.
Ramon wasn't quite sure what to make of the discrepancy in the two reportings. Certainly the first was more suspect, seeing as Jack was drugged at the time. And that's certainly how he would defend himself. On the other and, Jack, if a skilled liar, might have told the truth under the influence of the drug and was now think straight enough to remember properly. He didn't bother asking. He'd gotten plenty from this session even if he wasn't quite satisfied about the previous error…or lie.
Jack tensed as Ramon ran the taser hard down his neck and over his chest, watching him hold his breath in anxious anticipation of what he might do—like play Russian roulette with his life with that fucking taser. But as he continued down, the touch of the prongs became lighter. When Ramon reached his groin, he grazed over his penis and testicles with the weapon—not painfully, but playfully.
Jack watched Ramon as he stopped there and studied him, Ramon's eyes riveted on Jack's privates. Then he swung his eyes to Jack's face. Jack felt his skin flushing and burning again when he saw the leer in Ramon's features, the sexual threat was unmistakable. No, he wouldn't, Ramon Salazar doesn't do that, not to a man. But he wasn't sure. That was the trouble with Ramon…you could never be sure.
Ramon swung the taser away suddenly. Not a word passed between them as Ramon prepared Jack's dose and injected him. The high was good. He must have pleased Ramon today to have earned this. He was sure he had.
He let the drug take him away from the room and Ramon and the uncomfortable threat. Vaguely, he felt his arms and legs set free. In a daze, he luxuriated in being able to move freely again. The heroin dulled the pain and stiffness in his joints and muscles. The sting on his back disappeared and he no longer felt the pain of the small new wounds Ramon had inflicted. He wasn't aware that he moaned softly in relief.
For his part, Ramon watched as the drug took Jack. He never tired of watching the effect it had on him…to see the tension leave his body, the look of partial bliss, the obliviousness cross his face. He smiled as Jack stretched cat like in his nakedness when he freed him.
Moving his hand forward, he brushed the back of it against where the taser had just been. Jack moaned. Ramon wasn't naïve enough to think he'd induced the sound with that light touch. Jack's penis hadn't reacted. But he was hopeful that soon that would change.
Claudia had just come through the front door as Ramon brushed passed her.
"Welcome back, Claudia," he greeted.
Ramon was smiling. The greeting was actually light hearted. Any greeting from Ramon to her was a surprise, so this was a downright miracle. But Claudia wasn't stupid. Hector had sent her away from the ranch for a reason. And most likely, he'd exiled her at Ramon's bequest. Immediately, she intuited that Ramon was up to something. She planned to steer clear of him until she knew it was safe.
"Thank you, Ramon," she replied politely before directing one of the men to put her luggage in her and Hector's bedroom.
By the time she'd reached the room herself and undressed, she'd left thoughts of Ramon far behind. As she stepped into the shower, her mind turned to Jack. Mexico City had been nice. But she had been lonely, and even she could only spend so much of Hector's money.
Her mind had been preoccupied with ridiculous fantasies of having this time with Jack…of making love in the large, soft bed, of dinners in the exclusive restaurants, and days spent wandering the streets and talking. It was a silly school girlish dream, but nonetheless, she'd dreamt it.
She desperately wanted to see him tonight. With Hector home there was little chance of being with him, but even just seeing him would settle the anxious anticipation she'd had all the way home.
After her shower, she dressed quickly in something new and expensive. Something Hector would overlook, but would be sure to catch Jack's eye. He was so good at that, at paying attention to the small things that made her happy. She imagined his hand on the silky bodice, or even better, slipping up her thigh beneath the soft folds of the skirt. Dios, how much she wanted him.
Absently, she wondered if there was any way she could make Ramon think it was a good idea…his idea…to invite Jack to dinner tonight in the main house.