Defending His Hope, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Patricia D. Eddy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design
Cover Photo: Paul Henry Serres
Proofreading: Book Dweller Proofreading
Contents
Just for you
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Patricia D. Eddy
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Prologue
Four Years Ago
Wyatt
The desert winds whip over the desolate landscape as we make our way towards a cluster of buildings surrounded by a low stone wall. Four of us, moving as a single unit, stick to the shadows. The moon is nothing but a sliver in the darkened sky, and it’s quiet except for the skittering of the scorpions along the hard-packed sand.
Giving the signal to breach, I adjust the grip on my M4. Intel says the group we’re looking for is hiding in an underground tunnel accessible by a trap door in the corner of the main room.
Clearing the darkened space takes less than five seconds. It’s empty save for a few discarded rags and a broken chair. Marklin draws down on the west wall, and my NVGs reveal the faint outline of a wooden panel set into the floor. We move together until Berlios drops to one knee.
A loud roar fills my ears. The blast of heat and flame overwhelms my senses, the light blinding me through the night-vision. Pain, sharp in some places, dull and aching in others, is the only way I can tell I’m still alive.
“Marklin!” I can’t hear shit. Only a high-pitched whine. On my back, I rip off the NVGs and blink hard, waiting for the ceiling to come into focus. When it does…fuck. Half the roof is gone. So’s the west wall.
Gritting my teeth, I roll to one side. A wave of agony races down my chest to my hip. Shit. There’s a jagged piece of shrapnel poking out of my shoulder. Right where my radio should be.
Not good, Wyatt. Not good.
A rough grip to my wrist sends me scrambling for my rifle until I hear a familiar voice. “Gotta move. Now!” Berlios snaps. At least the ringing in my ears has faded. He crouches next to me, pulls my arm around his shoulders, and stands.
Jesus Fucking Christ, the pain is too much. My vision darkens and Berlios drags me from the house through a hole in the east wall. The door is completely gone.
Marklin and Hernandez stumble after us, and I try to turn my head. I have to make sure they’re okay. Hernandez cradles his right arm, and his hand…his thick glove is gone, as is his thumb. Marklin’s face is bloody, a dazed look in his eyes, but they’re both moving under their own power. Thank God.
Someone knew we were coming. Knew the perfect time to blow the wall.
The world starts to spin, slowly at first, then faster, and the last thing I hear is Berlios calling my name. And then everything goes black.
Three Years Ago
The truck coasts to a stop over a carpet of moss and spring crocuses. From the back seat, Murphy, the dog who served by my side for most of my last two years in the SEALs, makes an inquisitive noise.
“You sure about this, Wyatt?” The man behind the wheel, West Sampson, shuts off the engine and peers at the cabin in front of us. “This place is in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“That’s the point.” The fresh air holds the promise of warmth, though it’s still brisk enough I’ll need to fire up the wood stove in the main room before dark. “I tried, West. For six months, I tried to find a way to deal with the noise. The traffic. The sirens. I can’t do it anymore. I’ll be better…out here.”
Murphy stays close as West and I unload his truck. Everything I own in the world fits in three rucksacks and half a dozen boxes. “I’d ask if you wanted to come in, but…”
West huffs out a laugh. “You don’t want company. I get it. I won’t stay. You need me to run through the security system one more time before I head back to Seattle?”
“No. I read the manual. Cam knows her shit.” West fell in love with a woman who runs the premiere business security company in the country, and she designed a custom system for me. This place is so far from civilization, there’s no cell service, so the alarms won’t contact any emergency services. But at least I’ll know if anyone tries to break in. West had another member of the K&R team he works with—a hacker—zap all evidence this cabin even exists from every map on the internet.
“You want help moving shit inside?” West shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as Murphy pads through the front door and starts exploring our new home.
“Nah. Get out of here. I’ll check in next week.” The scent of fresh construction fills my nose as I inhale deeply. The inside is largely unfinished, which’ll give me enough projects to get me through the summer. “Monday morning, 0900.”
“Don’t be late. Or I’ll have a bird in the air in under an hour.”
“I’m a goddamn SEAL, West. I don’t need you checking on me once a month to make sure I’m still breathin’.”
“I’m not checking on you. I’m checking on Murph.” Dropping to one knee, West pats his other leg until my dog—a Belgian Malinois—trots over to him and sits. “Take care of this asshole. He’s gonna need someone looking after him.”
Murphy noses West’s shoulder once, then dips his head so West can scratch him behind the ears. His tail thumps on the wood porch until I snap my fingers.
At the signal, he returns to my side immediately, though he knows there’s no danger here. His tongue is lolling half out of his mouth.
“I mean it, Wyatt. You miss a check-in—even once—and I’ll be up here so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
West clasps me on the shoulder, and I wince until he loosens his grip and mutters an apology. After almost losing my team in the ambush, I spent a solid month in the hospital and rehab before I could walk more than a few steps at a time or lift a cup of coffee with my right hand.
“Get back to Cam,” I say through gritted teeth. Murphy presses his body to my legs, and I force myself to breathe through the pain that’s more in my head than my limbs. “I won’t disappear.”
In truth, that’s exactly what I want to do. Why I came up here. But West—and his team—pulled so many strings for me, they could weave a goddamn blanket if they wanted to. I purchased the land, but the construction, the security system, the solar panels…that was their doing.
All because seven years ago, I was part of the team that pulled Ryker McCabe out from under a snow-covered bush eight clicks from Hell Mountain. And ten days later, dragged Kahlid—Hell’s head torturer—from his hidey hole so Ryker and Dax Holloway, his brother in arms, could kill the man.
Once all my shit is put away—well after sunset—I crack open a beer and sink down onto the sofa. Murphy lies in front of the wood stove, basking in its warmth.
“This is ours, pal,” I say quietly, toasting my best friend. He’s the only reason I survived as long as I did in Seattle. Without him by my side, the panic attacks, the nightmares, the constant memories? They would have been too much. “No more sidewalks. No more people. No more constant noise. Just you and me and miles of nowhere to explore.”
With a couple solid thumps of his tail, he lets me know he may not understand my words, but he’s with me no matter what.
1
Hope
The tube of concealer slips from my trembling fingers and the rosy tinted liquid splatters onto the pristine white marble countertop. “Shit.” The bruises around my throat are mostly hidden, but now I have a mess to clean up.
A soft knock startles me as I run a washcloth under the faucet, and I yelp.
“It’s me.” Bettina—one of the housekeepers—slips through the bathroom door and shuts it behind her. “Mr. Simon left. He told Mr. Brix he would be back tomorrow.”
I lean against the sink, relief making my muscles quiver and my eyes burn. Every time I swallow, I feel Simon’s fingers digging into my neck, remember the look in his eyes as he squeezed hard enough I couldn’t breathe.
“Miss Hope?” Bettina touches my arm. “Mr. Brix is in the gym for another thirty minutes. I can make sure no one goes near Mr. Simon’s office. Now is your best chance.” She reaches into the pocket of her uniform and pulls out a small memory card the size of my thumbnail. “This is what you needed, yes?”
I stare at the tiny piece of plastic in awe before I pluck it from her hand. “You found one.”
“You were right. The grocery store had them. I snuck it in with the vegetables.” The petite woman tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear. The swelling under her eye is better today, but she holds her left arm tight to her body. Simon twisted it so hard last week, I heard something snap. She can’t go to the hospital—even if he did allow her to leave the house unsupervised. He keeps her passport locked in his safe, and her visa expired years ago. Long before she aged out of the biggest brothel in Salt Lake City and came to work at his compound. If her younger sister weren’t one of his more popular girls, she’d already be dead.
“Come with me,” I whisper. “He nearly broke your arm for talking to me. If he finds out you helped me escape, he’ll kill you.”
A single tear tumbles down her cheek. “I have no future, Miss Hope. I will never be…free. I have to stay close to my sister. She is all I have.” Her eyes brim with tears, and she takes a step back. “Go now. I will do what I can.”
I hug Bettina. A quick, fierce embrace. “If I live past tomorrow, it’s because of you. I’ll come back. When I have help. I’ll get you out. I promise.”
She offers me a small, wobbly smile, then wipes her eyes. “Vaya con Dios, Miss Hope. Do not worry for me.”
As soon as Bettina leaves, I rush back into my bedroom, grab a small nail file, and drop to my knees in front of the heating vent. It takes me ten seconds to pry the metal cover from the wall—a move I’ve practiced dozens of times.
The only thing I still own in this world—a leather make-up pouch—holds close to five hundred dollars. Money stolen from Simon’s wallet a few bills at a time over the past two years. My lifeline. In case I ever worked up the courage to leave.
If I’m lucky, it’ll be enough to get me to Seattle. If not…I’ll be dead. Assuming no one finds me in Simon’s office first.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, I force myself to breathe when I round the corner. The house is quiet. Empty. Half a dozen guards patrol the perimeter of the compound—just inside the twelve-foot wall surrounding the whole place—but they never come inside unless Simon’s here. Brix must still be in the gym. Closing myself in the office, I rest my back against the door. Thank God the laptop is still here.
“Everything you need is on this computer, Hope. It is not connected to the internet, so don’t get any ideas. When you need information from the bank, you will ask me and I will get it for you. Understood?” Simon digs his fingers into my shoulders, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.
“Y-yes. Please. You’re hurting me.”
He releases me and shoves my chair forward. “Get to work.”
Every room in his house holds terrible memories, but I can’t dwell on them now. I have to hurry.
Bettina’s vacuum hums in the hall. She’ll make a fuss if anyone comes.
Move, Hope. One foot in front of the other.
The desk feels like it’s ten miles away, not ten feet. My hands shake, and I almost drop the memory card. Then insert it upside down. “Shit.”
By the time I finish making copies of the files I need, my heartbeat roars in my ears loud enough to drown out the vacuum. Or maybe Bettina had to move further down the hall? How long has it been? A quick glance at the clock on the screen sends panic flooding through my limbs. Brix is almost done with his workout. I have to go. Right now.
Stripping out of my sweater, I tug at my bra. The tiny hole I made in the lining of the cup is just big enough to hide the small piece of plastic. If I can’t get to the garage, if the Lexus keys aren’t there, if anyone sees me…maybe I’ll be able to keep the card a secret until I find another chance to run.
Another chance? Simon would never let you out of his sight again. If he even let you live.
By the time I crack open the office door, my inner voice catches up with reality.
He won’t kill you. He can’t. He needs you to hide his money. He’ll just hurt you over and over again until you stop fighting. Until you’re so broken, there won’t be anything left.
The hallway is empty, the house utterly silent. No one will question the soft tapping of my boots on the travertine floors, but I’m so tense, each step sounds like a gunshot to my ears.
At the door to the courtyard, I stop and check all around me. Adrenaline tightens my chest, and sweat dampens my palms. Go. Right now. Before anyone sees you.
I’m going to make it. My fingers curl around the garage door handle, but before it opens more than a crack, a rough hand grabs my arm. I’m yanked back—so hard I stumble. My ass hits the ground. All the air leaves my lungs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Brix glares down at me, a snarl twisting his lips. “You’re not allowed in there.”
I can’t talk. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Until Bettina bursts through the French doors into the courtyard.
No.
“You leave Miss Hope alone!” she screams. Brix whirls. Just slow enough for Bettina to jump onto his back. Her good arm winds around his neck, and she holds on tight. Shit. Move, Hope. Move!
Breath rushes back into my body with a strained whoosh. Pushing to my feet, I lunge for the garage door. Seconds away, Brix pulls out a switchblade. It sinks into Bettina’s forearm, and she crumples to the ground with a whimper.
“Run!” she cries. Lunging, she grabs Brix by the ankles. He grunts, trying to shake her off. One punch. Two. Blood streams from her mouth. Still she holds on.
I’m frozen. Help Bettina? Or escape? I can’t let her risk her life for nothing. She whimpers what might be the word “go.”
I spin on my heel, but my indecision costs me. Pain slices through my left arm, hot and sharp. A heavy weight slams into my back. Down again, my knees crack against the flagstones. Another burning strike, this one to my thigh.
I kick with all my strength, and bone crunches under my boot. Brix roars. The weight lifts. Blood streams from his mangled nose. The knife is just out of his reach. I lunge for it, my fingers closing around the metal seconds before he realizes what I’m doing.
I can’t fight him. He’s too big. Too strong. Even with the blade, I’ll lose.
Chucking it at his face, I turn and sprint for the garage.
“Bitch! Get back here!”
I slam and lock the door seconds before he reaches it. My gaze sweeps around the huge building. Simon collects cars like he collects brothels, and I have my choice of four different vehicles. The Lexus SUV is closest and, thank God, the keys are inside.
Brix’s words are too muffled for me to hear as I start the car and jab the remote for the large rolling door, then the find the button for the gate in the perimeter wall. I made it this far. If I can make it out of town…if I’m fast enough…if I can get to the highway… Maybe I’ll live long enough to make it to Seattle.
Five hours later, I pull into a gas station. Thank God I chose a dark red sweater this morning. No one can see the blood staining my sleeve. Or my black slacks.
I don’t have a phone. Or a purse. Or any possessions. Just the five hundred dollars in the center console. The attendant gives me a sideways glance when I slide four twenties across the counter. “Pump Six, please.”
If I thought I had time, I’d load up on first aid supplies and treat the deep gashes to my bicep and thigh. But when I crossed into Idaho, I realized how stupid I was. The Lexus has GPS. Brix can track me. So I hand over another twenty for a couple of candy bars, a bottle of water, and a Welcome to Idaho t-shirt and try to hide my limp as I return to the pump.
I tear the t-shirt into strips while I fill the tank, then tie one around my arm and the other around my leg when I’m back on the road. Dangerous at seventy miles per hour, but so is bleeding to death.
Ahead of me, dark, ominous clouds fill the horizon. Eight more hours. Give or take. I should have bought a coffee. Or three. Flooring it up a hill, I pray I’m fast enough—or lucky enough—to still breathe free air tomorrow.
