Thank you MrMsMingus for the review. I don't know if it is just my computer/iPhone, but I'm not seeing this in the CA section. Please spread the word to your fellow Joan fans to check out the fic. I'd appreciate it.
Lots of violence and uncomfortable material are in this part. If that sort of stuff freaks you out, you may not want to continue.
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Twelve Years Earlier
Location Unknown
When Joan came to, she kept her eyes closed. Her arms were stretched above her head, thick rope bounding them together. Her feet barely touched the ground, the pull on her broken arm and ribs were borderline intolerable. She fought back a moan, her head throbbing. She could feel dried blood at the corner of her lip.
"I know you are awake," a voice whispered in her ear, pushing her slightly. Joan slowly forced her eyes open, meeting the gaze of one of the most dangerous men the CIA had ever pursued. They had only been looking into his terrorist activities for about a month. He was so new that Joan didn't even know his name. That was part of the reason why she and her partners were in Switzerland in the first place.
Joan remained silent, blue eyes meeting brown for several long moments. Her eyes flickered upwards, seeing her wrists were tied around a metal meat hook. Blood slowly trickled down her arms as the ropes cut into her skin. She attempted to wiggle her fingers, but the binding was so tight that she was barely able to.
Joan looked around, seeing that she was being held in a dark room. The air was musty, the walls damp. A single light cast eerie shadows across the floors. There were no windows that she could see. Joan was willing to bet that behind her was only a door.
The man held a crowbar, running it through his fingers. Joan warily looked at the black metal before looking at the man again. "You know," he began, "Of all the people I've tortured information out of, I've never tortured a woman."
Joan swallowed slightly, fighting the reply that threatened to come out of her lips. She glanced at the dirty tray that held different instruments, such as knives, bats, a Taser, lighters, and a gun. There was dried blood on the ends of many of the objects. She flicked her blue eyes back to the man, trying to hide the nervousness that she knew was settled there.
"I wonder…" he continued, "How long it will take you to break. Are you strong, or will you crumble at the first strike? What will it take for you to tell me what I want to know?"
Joan remained silent, setting her gaze. There was no way that she would give up information, ever. It put too many others in danger. Meg…Lena…Arthur.
"We can do this the hard way, or the easy way. I already know who you are, Joan Mackenzie. I know that you were sent here by the CIA to eliminate my men with the hopes of drawing me out of hiding. I know your partners are Megan Wilkins and Lena Smith," he said slowly. Joan's face remained impassive, neither confirming nor denying his claims.
"So, I only have a few questions that I need answers to," the man continued, running the edge of the crowbar down Joan's cheek. She involuntarily flinched as the cool metal touched what was undeniably a bruise against her fair skin. The man grinned at her, delighted at her impulsive reaction. "You will try, but I always get the answers I want." He ran the crowbar down her neck, settling it against the hollow of her throat. "Always."
Joan spoke for the first time, her voice gravelly. "I won't talk," she told him, bracing herself for the blow that she knew would come. "There's nothing that you can do to me that will make me talk."
Her statement was rewarded with a short laugh. Anger rose in Joan at his reaction. Violence she expected, but for him to be amused sent fire through her veins. If she could get loose, she would teach him something about fighting. Joan gritted her teeth, looking upwards. She briefly wondered if there was any way to get out of her bonds.
The man chuckled, finally speaking again. "You know, the longest that anyone ever lasted with me was six hours. He struggled to hang in there, but finally he told me what I needed to know," he said.
Without warning, the man swung the crowbar down, slamming it into the side of Joan's left knee. Her eyes widened in shock, and she cried out before she could stop the sound from coming out of her throat. The blow was unexpected and painful.
The man grinned wickedly, slamming the crowbar into her kneecap repeatedly. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. She fought the urge to scream, knowing that is what the man wanted.
Finally, he stopped, leaving Joan breathless. He raised an eyebrow, seeing her struggle to fight the pain. "You may be harder to crack than I thought," the man said, fingering the crowbar again before setting it down on the tray and turning back towards Joan. "I want you to think very carefully. Is this information worth your life? Is the CIA willing to fight for your life?"
Joan stared back at him, refusing to answer. The man chuckled, turning away. Joan thought that he was leaving, but he turned suddenly, drawing a fist back and slamming it into her ribcage. She groaned, swaying slightly from the impact.
She bit her lip and resisted the urge to let out a choked sob. She watched the man smirk before turning back and walking out of the room.
Joan cringed, finally allowing her guard to drop. A tear fell from her eye, and she instantly felt annoyed that she couldn't wipe away the salty liquid. It traveled down her cheek, settling against her dry lips. She struggled to breath, the panic and pain overtaking her mind.
Come on, Joan, think! She ordered herself. Joan attempted to slow her breathing. Glancing up again, she saw that the hook her hands were bound to was rusty. Joan realized that with a bit of finagling, she may be able to break the hook from the ceiling.
Gritting her teeth, Joan used her uninjured leg to turn, the hook moving as she began to make a circle. The hook creaked quietly, and Joan prayed that the man didn't hear what she was doing.
She managed to turn about ten times before she heard footsteps. Quickly, Joan returned to her original position, frustrated that the hook seemed to be stubbornly planted to the ceiling.
The man came back in, followed by the two henchmen that had hit the car. Joan glared at the three, ice filling her gaze.
"I will never tell you anything, and I will not scream," Joan told them. The strength behind the statement surprised her, and the men chuckled at her resilience.
"Everyone thinks they will survive but they all eventually give in," the leader reminded her, picking up a bat and handing it to the shorter of the men. "Why should you be any different?" He handed another bat to the taller man.
Calmly, he sat in a rickety chair, looking at Joan. Despite the look in her eyes, the man was delighted to see a look of wariness settled there. "What do you know about my operations?"
Joan set her jaw, closing her eyes as she waited for the first blow.
Her eyes shot open as the bat the smaller man was holding slammed into her stomach. She felt her body shudder yet she still remained silent.
"What do you know?" the man repeated. She didn't answer, and the other man slammed his bat into her broken arm. Still, Joan refused to cry out. "You really are stubborn," the man said, smiling as the smaller man slammed the bat into her knee.
This continued for several long minutes. The three men alternated between questioning and torturing Joan before finally setting the bats down, clearly frustrated. Joan gasped in pain, unable to keep the sound from escaping her lips. She panted, relieved that the questioning had stopped. Her body screamed in pain, yet she still managed to glare at the leader as he stood, facing her.
"Is this the best you've got?" Joan managed to snarl. The leader smiled wickedly, running a dirty finger across her forehead and down her cheek. Joan attempted to jerk her head away as strong fingers gripped her jaw. He squeezed her face before shoving her away, nodding his head for the men to follow him.
Joan allowed her chin to drop, finally letting out a guttural moan. Her body was wracked with pain and she could feel the men getting angrier as she refused to answer their questions. She wasn't sure how much abuse and torture she could take…
An image of Arthur filled her mind, and it was enough for Joan to start slowly turning her body again. She used her right leg to turn her body, the toes of her four inch heels scraping against the ground.
Joan kept turning, swearing that each turn would be the moment that the hook would give way. She could feel the ropes burning her wrists, but that was minor compared to the rest of her body. Joan had no clue what she would do if she managed to get down. She had serious doubts that her leg could bear her weight. And besides, the dim light in the room showed that there was no means of escape outside of the door, which was more than likely locked with one of the men waiting outside.
She stopped when she heard the door opening, dropping her chin to her chest. Joan feigned sleep, hoping that the men would think she was unconscious and leave her be.
Reality overtook hope as a hard slap to the face startled Joan. She jumped slightly, eyes shooting open to meet the gaze of the smaller man. He laughed slightly at her pitiful whimper, holding a granola bar to her lips. "Eat," he ordered, shoving the food into her mouth.
Joan nearly gagged at the sudden motion, but managed to keep her reflexes under control. Instead, she chewed the bar thoroughly, stared at the smaller man, and spit the food back in his face.
"You fucking whore!" he screamed, drawing his hand back and slamming his knuckles across her face. Blood from a clotted wound filled Joan's mouth, overtaking the sweet taste of honey that had lingered. She drew her uninjured leg back and kicked out.
The man batted her leg away before she could connect.
The man buried his fist deep into Joan's stomach. Fingers then wrapped around long blonde strands, yanking Joan's face downwards. "You women should learn not to bite the hand that feeds you," the man hissed.
Before Joan could react, he grabbed the Taser and pressed it to her stomach. She screamed slightly, the sharp pain taking away her breath instantly. Her limbs frozen, Joan dangled helplessly as he pressed the Taser into her stomach several times, each time longer than the last.
I'm going to die, Joan thought. He's going to kill me. The sadistic look on his face sent chills down Joan's spine. He was actually enjoying this, not even bothering to try to ask questions of her.
Finally, after the sixth time of voltage being shot through her body, Joan lost her battle with consciousness.
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End Part 3. Reviews are my friend, and the more you review, the faster I post. ;)