03-Strength of the Mate (41 page)

Adam thought he caught a snippet of radio chatter about an RPG. Gunfire erupted around him again. The sound was still muffled by the ringing in his ears. There was a muffled thud that was still loud enough for Adam to hear it. He felt like he got punched in the upper arm. His left hand went numb and he struggled to steer the rig straight.

Something landed in the road, directly in his path. A bright flash and loud blast shook the rig. Adam’s teeth rattled. His ears rang so loud, that was all he could hear. Reflexively, Adam yanked the wheel to the right. He needed to evade whatever was in the road ahead of him, but his left arm wasn’t working right.

The concrete road barrier loomed ahead. Adam’s grip in his left hand was useless. His left tricep hurt like hell. At this speed, it might kill him to crash through the barrier. Adam hoped like hell his right arm was strong enough for this. He battled to turn to the rig back to the left, away from the barrier.

The front left wheel dropped into a crater. The steering wheel was ripped out of his hand. The rear tractor wheels hit the crater. The truck sounded like it was breaking apart. He’d lost some speed. Adam just hoped it was enough to keep him from busting all the way through the barrier.

§ § §

Adam was floating. The ringing in his ears was painful. There was a sharp, throbbing ache in his left arm. He felt like Eric and Tim had tackled and pinned him in the backyard. Somewhere distant, he heard faint, tinny shouts and cries.

He was being pushed and shoved around. His fucking brothers just wouldn’t leave him alone. Adam fell hard onto his left arm. Blinding pain shot through his shoulder to his neck. It felt like he was being stabbed with a knife. He struggled to get air into his lungs. The shouting sounded closer now. Adam couldn’t understand a lot of the words. Some of the shouts were desperate and freaked out.

Hands beneath Adam’s chin took his hat off his head. It felt good to be cooler. Whoever was moving him around was making his arm hurt like hell. He wanted to lay back and relax, but the pain in his arm dragged him up and out.

The fog cleared. The sun was blindingly bright. Adam was fucking burning up. He needed to get into the shade. The gunfire was so loud, it had to be close by. Adam’s ears were already ringing, but the M16s and the AK-47s made his head hurt.

“Madison!”

Somebody was speaking Arabic. He wished to hell Tim would answer whoever was shouting his name.

“Adam!”

“Madison!”

Adam recognized the voices of some Marines he knew. They were friends of his, not Tim’s. Somebody needed to break up the dog fight. Vicious snarls and barks were getting even closer. Pained yelps followed.

“The fuckers are taking Madison!”

“Adam!”

When he opened his eyes, Adam had to squint against the sun. The brightness made his head throb. He was surrounded by a group of Arab men. Adam lashed out, kicking and punching in desperation. They all wore some type of head covering. Most were armed with an AK-47. They shouted at each other in Arabic. Adam had to get the fuck away from them.

One of the men dodged a kick. When he jumped to the side, Adam spotted Marines in the distance. He dug his boots into the hot asphalt and shoved himself toward the Marines. They were still so fucking far away. It looked like they were getting shot at, so they had to hide behind the Humvee.

Adam kicked hard at the hands he saw reaching for him. They’d stripped him of his Kevlar and his body armor. Shit. A stray bullet could take him out, now. He aimed punches at the faces he could see, but he only had one working arm. Adam rolled, shoving at their hands, trying to break their grips on his clothes.

Adam clawed at the ground. He dug his heels into the ground, struggling to push himself toward the Marines in the distance. They were still under fire, but a small group had moved a little closer. They were trying to reach him, but they kept having to take cover.

Someone grabbed his left arm. Adam shouted in pain. He swore viciously, kicking at the restraining hands. In the distance, he saw several wolves fighting. Some of them wore body armor Adam knew he had to get away. He had to get himself closer to the Marines. His attackers fired their AK-47s wildly. The spray of bullets forced the human and werewolf Marines under constant cover.

One of his attackers used his foot to shove Adam down onto his back. He straddled Adam, aiming an AK-47 at his head. Adam froze, staring straight down the barrel of the automatic weapon. His arm throbbed. Pain stole his breath. Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard Marines in the distance shouting to him.

His arms were yanked upward. Adam cried out with pain. They taped his wrists together. Before he could catch his breath, a hood came down over his head. It was made from a thick, coarse material that blocked out most of the light.

There was a desperate edge to the voices shouting his name. Adam was jerked onto his feet. He shouted and swore. His knees almost gave out, the pain was so bad. Adam trembled. He stumbled over his own feet as his abductors dragged him across the ground. Rough hands shoved him into a car.

The car was small. Adam was sandwiched tightly between two men. He guessed he was in the backseat. Adam stopped fighting when he felt the car move. The sounds of the gun battle faded.

He sat silent and docile. The men he’d seen all had AK-47s. It felt like someone had a handgun shoved into Adam’s ribs. His kidnappers spoke rapidly in Arabic. With each turn the car made, Adam was forced to lean heavily into one of the men beside him. They were driving fast, taking the turns quickly, throwing Adam around.

He swallowed hard. Inside the hood, he was sweating. Adam hoped Roger Allen was okay. He hadn’t seen if Roger had gotten up under his own power. Adam remembered the wolves wearing body armor, fighting desperately to get to him. He wondered if Will or Jason had been among them. If Adam had seen a friend kidnapped by the enemy during a gun battle, he’d have been scared and pissed off. His friends had more important things to worry about than him.

He closed his eyes, a sharp pain twisting in his chest when he thought about Dawson. Adam’s stomach gave a queasy roll. He’d been trying to get up the courage to tell Dawson how he felt. It had been hard enough to let down those walls for his brothers, after all these years. He was still a coward when it came to Dawson. If he made it out of this alive, Adam would tell Dawson how he felt.

Christ, he’d been such an idiot. Dawson deserved to hear the words. Even if he didn’t feel the same about Adam.

Who would be the one to break the news to Tim? Adam didn’t want Dawson to shoulder that burden, but he would probably insist it was his responsibility. He hoped Paul and Jason would be there to support Dawson, when he talked to Tim.

What the hell was he thinking? They’d be coming for him. Tim would see to that, no doubt. Adam had to stay alive long enough for his family and friends to find him. He didn’t know when it had happened, or what he’d done to deserve it, but Adam had people who cared about him. He had to survive this, so he could tell them all he cared about them, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Undisclosed Locations
Fallujah, Iraq

It was hot inside the hood. Adam’s breathing made it even worse, so he tried to slow it down. He lost track of the turns they’d taken, and the time in between turns. He was disoriented.

Adam’s arm throbbed. He hoped the bleeding had stopped. He’d need to get it treated soon, but how the hell would he do that? He shifted to keep his arm from pressing against his captor when they made a right turn. That seemed to help the pain a little.

The hood was abruptly ripped from his head. Adam blinked against the bright light. He found himself in the back seat of a small hatchback. Both captors beside him held AK-47s. The one in the front passenger seat had his AK cradled between his knees. Adam couldn’t tell if the driver was armed, but it didn’t really matter.

Adam glanced surreptitiously through the windows, trying to get his bearings. He didn’t recognize anything he saw. He had no idea where he was. It had been too much to hope they’d headed straight into the town of Fallujah.

They were surrounded by nothing but desert, as they traveled down an unpaved road. The landscape was broken up by the dirt berms the Marines told him served as property boundaries.

Signs of civilization were sporadic. They passed a few run-down structures that could be homes. Sometimes there were clusters of these structures. Adam thought he saw women and children moving around these small villages. They passed by too fast for him to be sure.

His heart sank. Adam had no idea if the Marines could find him, way out here. Would they even know where to look? He was afraid they would tear Fallujah apart, but not search outside of the town. He had to be underestimating them. They knew their jobs; they had to know to search outside the town, too.

The car slowed. Adam chanced a glance through the windshield. His captors were tense, but no one raised a weapon. He didn’t get his hopes up that they were approaching one of the road blocks manned by coalition troops.

Adam got angry when he recognized a media crew. He wasn’t going to let himself be exploited by his kidnappers, or ratings-hungry reporters.

The car came to a stop behind the news crew’s Land Rover. The man on Adam’s left, and the front passenger, both climbed out of the car. The news crew had an Arab-speaking translator with them, so the two groups were able to communicate.

Adam watched the reporter and cameraman approach the open rear door of the car. He decided he wouldn’t let them engage him. He’d identify himself, and his employer, and nothing else.

The reporter said he was with the BBC. “Could you tell us your name?” He extended the microphone toward Adam.

“Madison. Adam. U.S. citizen. I’m a civilian contractor with Ares International.” He kept his voice low and monotone. Adam faced forward once he’d answered, determined not to answer any more questions.

“Can you tell us where you’re working out of, here in Iraq? Why have you been taken captive? Are you being treated well?”

Adam’s captor pushed the reporter aside, climbing in beside him again. The other man got back into the passenger seat. The driver quickly pulled around the Land Rover, and they were back on the move.

They made several more turns onto unpaved, unmarked roads. They pulled up in front of what looked like a compound. Several mud structures were connected by flimsy, covered walkways.

His kidnappers piled out of the vehicle, except for the driver. Adam was gripped by his right arm, thankfully, and dragged from the backseat. He stumbled getting out. His captor didn’t jerk him around like he’d expected.

He needed to stay calm. Adam had to pay close attention to his captors. He couldn’t afford to piss one off, even accidentally. No matter what, he couldn’t let his guard down. They might try to trick him somehow. His own brain might trick him into thinking these men were his friends. Adam had to remember these men were dangerous.

They led him to a sparsely furnished, dirt floored room. Adam was pushed into a straight backed, wooden chair. Beside him was a large table. He sat passively, listening to the rapidly spoken Arabic, without understanding a word. Their voices were angry and frustrated, so Adam knew he had to keep them placated.

One of his kidnappers left the room. He returned several minutes later with a much older Arab male. The older man looked Adam over closely. Adam sat passively, not meeting anyone’s eyes. They spoke to each another in hushed tones. Of course Adam was the topic. He had to be.

The older man twisted Adam’s arm, trying to examine his wound. Adam couldn’t help his flinch and gasp. He started to pull away from the man’s grasp, but managed to stop himself. He felt the older man’s eyes on him. The hands on his arm became gentle.

Angry words were exchanged between his captors. The older man gestured toward his arm several times. Adam hoped that meant he’d get treatment soon. Not that it would be that good. He thought fleetingly of the base hospital. He pictured the cozy room where the werewolves could curl up together to share healing energy.

The older man left the room, taking Adam’s captors with him. Three different men entered. Adam had never seen them before. If they’d helped kidnap him, he didn’t remember them. They all carried AK-47s. Adam didn’t like these guys. The first group of captors hadn’t been nice, but something about these three seemed a hell of a lot more hostile.

A fourth man came in, his weapon slung over his shoulder. He carried a large bowl of water and a bag of medical supplies. Adam almost panicked when the man produced a long knife. He was still breathing heavy when he realized the tape around his wrists was cut.

Adam took a deep breath, preparing himself for the pain of having his wound cleaned. The antiseptic smell coming from the bowl was reassuring. It burned like a motherfucker, but that was good. When the wound was clean, Adam braced for them to take the bullet out. He expected some nasty looking metal forceps or something. He was surprised when the back of his arm started to burn.

Adam was relieved to realize his wound was a through-and-through. There was no bullet to dig out of his arm; it had gone in and come right back out. The antiseptic hurt like hell, and his caregiver wasn’t gentle. Adam flexed his arm, testing the bandage around his upper arm. It felt a little better now, and he sighed in relief.

Adam sat quietly with his hands in his lap. Someone dug around inside a plastic bag. A large bottle of water appeared in front of him, cap removed. Adam licked his dry lips. He’d never been this thirsty. He stared at the bottle longingly. He wouldn’t reach for it until someone gave him permission.

One guard spoke in Arabic, gesturing between Adam and the open bottle. That was all the invitation Adam needed. He used his uninjured arm to lift the bottle to his lips so he could drink.

The water was lukewarm and delicious.

There was a knock at the door. One of his guards answered it, and dishes of food were passed in. Adam wasn’t hungry. The thought of food made him sick to his stomach. He was determined to eat, though. He had no way to know when they would feed him again, and Adam needed his strength. His body needed fuel to heal his wound.