Forsaken Duty (Red Team #9)
Elaine Levine
When we last visited the Red Team…
Here’s a refresher for those of you who have read the previous Red Team books (skip this and go read them if you haven’t yet!).
* Spoilers! *
It’s November, and the team is in their sixth month of investigation.
The team’s getting ever closer to discovering who King is.
Owen has mysteriously gone AWOL with Jax.
Jason Parker—Val’s dad—announced everything that was happening was part of a game.
While being held by Jafaar Majid, Wynn Ratcliff may have spotted the parents she thought had died long ago.
Lion and his pride of watchers have been found, but Mr. Edwards has taken Owen’s son.
Yusef Sayed is still acting as the team’s eyes and ears from his motel in Cheyenne, WY.
Jafaar has outed Rocco (aka Khalid) as a Fed.
Deputy Jerry is Jafaar’s spy.
Mandy and Ivy are pregnant.
Casey still has a crush on Lion.
And now, we continue with Forsaken Duty…
1
Owen Tremaine hoped he’d survive the next punch. He kept his eyes closed, but couldn’t shut out the pain. Life’s bitter ironies. Addy Jacobs was alive…but he was going to die here, before he could see her again if he couldn’t end Mr. Edwards’ interrogation. Life fucking sucked. He laughed at his own morose thoughts. Wasn’t like him to feel sorry for himself. This wasn’t so bad. Not like the day she was taken from him. This was just physical, not a soul injury like that had been.
He’d gotten through that; he could get through this. For her.
He’d been some meathead’s punching bag for what, a day? A week? How long had it been? What was it they were after? He tried to think through the pain. He could hear Jax’s muffled shouts in another room. How far away was he? How many men were with Edwards?
He cracked his eyes open, trying to figure out where he was and how he got there. Oh yeah, the accident. Jax’s car had been broadsided on a country road outside of Denver. They’d exchanged gunfire before a flashbang had been tossed under their SUV, knocking them down long enough for the others to take them. After that, he woke up in this hellhole, tied to a rusty steel chair in the middle of what looked like an old jail cell in some long-abandoned piece-of-shit property, if he were to judge by the peeling paint and the persistent sound of dripping water. He wondered if he was in the tunnels somewhere.
He slowly straightened in his seat. Who knew how long of a break he’d have before they came back to him? If he was going to act, now was the time. He tugged against the ropes on his right ankle, once again maneuvering his foot to the support bar connecting the front to the back of the chair. Wedging his boot in the weakened corner, he used his other foot to push the chair and himself up a few inches, then slammed down on the one leg. The rope felt like a garrote around his ankle. Didn’t matter. He had to get free. Had to get to Jax. He did it again and again until the chair’s decaying support bar gave way. He repeated the motion with his other foot, breaking that bar too.
He sat for a minute, letting the pain wash through him, listening to hear if the bastards who’d been torturing them were coming back. When he didn’t hear them, he leaned the chair off one leg and wiggled his tied ankle free, then did the same with his other leg. That was all he could manage before he heard them coming his way.
He tucked his ankles close to the chair legs so no one would notice he’d gotten them free. The meatheads came back in, followed this time by a trim, middle-aged man with blond hair and blue eyes. His nose was too small for his face. His skin was weathered. Bastard apparently liked the sight of a man beaten to jelly, for he smiled at Owen.
“I see you’re awake again. Wonderful. Shall we start over?”
Edwards was the man who’d carved up Wynn’s hand. The man who’d strung up Ace. Probably one of the costumed observers to Fiona’s attempted initiation. He was the devil himself, and he had a blood price on his head among Owen’s team.
Owen would be quite pleased to collect it.
He closed his eyes, knowing the bastard fed on negative emotion—fear, anger, hopelessness. He stuffed those emotions away, starving Edwards of his jollies. “You go ahead. I can’t remember what we were talking about.”
The edge in Edwards’ voice was the only indication Owen had hit his mark. “Who’s funding you?”
“I already answered that. Pay attention, man.”
Edwards nodded toward one of his paid fists. Owen took a hit in the jaw. He looked up at the guy, visualizing a steel chair leg going through his chest.
“Answer it again,” Edwards said through clenched teeth.
“Family money.”
“What family?” Edwards asked.
“What does it fucking matter?” Owen’s hands were almost free from the rope binding them behind him. He wasn’t about to sell out his investors. Val was a minority shareholder. He could take care of himself, but Senator Jacobs, who’d provided the other minority stake in angel funds, couldn’t. Beyond that, the government had footed the bill for this lucrative contract from their dark ops budget.
Before the goon standing near him could throw another punch, Owen said, “Uncle Sam’s family. It’s classified. Don’t you have friends in high places? Go ask them. By the way, while I have your attention, where’s my boy?”