Prologue

Crimean War

April 1855

Major Jackson Corbin huddled in the corner of the Russian prison and clasped his hands over his ears. He did everything he could to block out the screams of pain coming from his fellow officer and best friend, Lieutenant Bradford Prescott. Brad was paying the price for what Jack had done. Or rather, for what Jack knew.

Another bloodcurdling scream echoed off the stone walls. Jack bit back a cry of anguish that threatened to cast up the contents of his stomach. Except there wasn't anything to cast up. It had been days since they'd been fed, and the little food they were given wasn't edible.

Jack pressed his hands over his ears again to dull the cries of torture. He couldn't stand to listen to the pain the Russians were inflicting on his friend to force Brad to reveal secrets the young soldier didn't know.

Jack was the only one who knew where the army would attack next. Except, if he didn't return to headquarters, no one would know.

Hopefully, when Jack didn't return, his commanding officer would realize he'd most likely been captured and would come to rescue him. But he was afraid that by that time there would be no one left to rescue.

Jack sucked in a deep breath when another anguished scream echoed in the cold, damp dungeon.

"Does it bother you to hear your friend suffer, Major? Or does it not affect you to know that you are the cause of the lieutenant's agony?"

Jack lifted his head and glared at the Russian officer who had ordered Brad's torture.

"You bloody bastard," Jack answered with all his bitterness flooding his voice. "You know bloody well Lieutenant Prescott doesn't know anything. I'm the only one who has the information you want."

"Of course you are," the Russian officer said with a grin of satisfaction on his face. "But we've already tried to encourage you to share your secrets with us, and you refused. It would hardly be to our benefit if we killed you in the process of getting the information we want. You have a tolerance for pain that far surpasses that of any British soldier I've ever seen. Now we will see if you are equally as able to listen to your young officer suffer the pain that should have been yours."

Before Jack could respond, several guards dragged Brad back into the cell and dropped him at Jack's feet.

"We stopped, for now," one of the guards said as he locked the cell door behind him. "It seemed useless to torture an unconscious man."

The guards laughed as they left the dungeon.

"I'll let you tend to your friend," the commanding officer said, then left with a vile grin and a swagger in his step.

Jack was filled with a hatred that only intensified when he looked at Brad. "I'll make them pay," he whispered.

Jack ripped off a piece of his shredded uniform and dipped it in the little water left from earlier in the day. He dabbed at the blood streaming down Brad's broken jaw in an effort to ease his pain. They'd whipped him with a cat-o'-nine-tails. Its nine knotted cords had cruelly peeled several strips of skin from his back, shoulders, and face.

Jack had a strong constitution, but seeing his friend's skin torn from his body was more than he could stomach. "This is the last time they'll touch you, friend," he swore as he gently patted at the blood oozing from raw flesh.

Brad moaned in pain, and Jack held a cup of water to his lips.

"I can…handle…another round…"

"Maybe you can, friend, but I can't," Jack said.

"What are you…going to…do?"

"Whatever it takes, Lieutenant. You just lie still and watch the show."

"Help…should come…soon," Brad said in pain-filled gasps.

Jack poured the last of the water over Brad's back. "Not soon enough," he said. "Not soon enough." He did as much as he could to stop the worst of the bleeding, then sat down on the filthy floor, leaned against the wall…and waited.

He tried to regain as much strength as he could before the enemy returned. He'd need all he could muster to inflict as much damage as possible. He wouldn't survive, he knew he wouldn't, but neither would as many of their vile enemy as he could eliminate.

He closed his eyes and summoned a vision of what he had hoped would be his future. He knew now that it would never happen, his dream to open his own gentlemen's club. It would be a prestigious establishment catering to an upper tier of men in a community that didn't have any other place for them to gather socially. His club would serve the finest food and alcohol, and there would be a room for members to sit and relax and read newspapers, engage in conversation and lively debate. There would be another lavishly appointed room reserved for gambling and card games. Perhaps there would even be a few rooms on the upper floor with female entertainment.

Everything in his establishment would be of the finest quality, and members would have to meet certain requirements to belong.

A smile lifted the corners of Jack's mouth as he fleshed out his dream, but it quickly faded when he heard the clomp of heavy boots on the stone steps that led below ground to his gloomy cell. They were coming back. But this call would be their last.

"Pretend you're unconscious, Brad. Don't move."

"What are you…going to…do?"

"Let me handle this," he said, wrapping the chains they'd used to confine him around his hands. They were the only weapon he had to use against them.

"No, Jack," Brad struggled to say. "You don't stand…a chance."

"Neither do you if I don't do something."

"No…" Brad said again.

"Quiet," Jack whispered.

The footsteps from beyond their cell grew louder, and Jack said a quick prayer that this would be over quickly, then waited for the cell door to open.

Three guards entered, and Jack tightened his grip on the chain binding his hands. They approached Brad, and one of the guards bent down to grab him.

"I don't know why we're wasting our time with this one. He doesn't know anything, and he's close to death already. We should concentrate on the other one and leave this one to die on his own."

A second guard grunted his agreement, and a third made what must have been a lewd remark, judging from the way the three Russians laughed. They turned their attention away from Brad.

Jack was ready. When they were near enough, he let out a crazed bellow, pulled his arm back as far as the chain would allow, and released the chain as he swung his arm forward.

The chain wasn't long, but it was long enough that it slashed through the air and struck two of the guards across their faces, knocking them to the ground. In the next instant, he kicked out and caught the third fellow on the jaw with the side of his boot.

The guards released painful bellows that echoed in the dungeon, loud enough that Jack was sure they could be heard throughout the prison.

He yanked at the chain, ready to send it flying again, but it was caught on the foot of one of the downed guards. Before he could recover it, the Russian commander charged into the cell. The guards recovered enough to unite against him.

The three guards surrounded him, and while Jack fought off one of his attackers, the second and third pulled out knives and guns to use against him.

The enemy to his right lifted his gun and took aim. Jack staggered, and just as he whirled away, a bullet entered his back. Before he could recover his balance, he felt the piercing pain of a knife as it sliced through the flesh at his side. He pushed away from the wall, fought the first guard and knocked him to the ground, then went after the second.

Blood streamed from his back and side, and even though he weakened with each wound he suffered, he managed to stay on his feet and fight off his attackers. In his rage he felt flooded with a power he'd never known before.

"Behind you, Jack!"

He heard Brad warn him just as the third guard sliced his flesh open below his right shoulder. A searing pain ripped through him, clear to his waist.

He knew this wound would probably cause his death. But before he could give in to it, he watched in resigned terror as the commanding officer aimed his pistol and fired a bullet that struck him in the shoulder. Jack felt himself fall to the ground just as Brad's voice penetrated the melee.

"Help's coming!" his friend cried, but Jack was afraid the arrival of a rescue party was too late to save him.

Jack welcomed the cold stone floor and gave in to the darkness that consumed him. At least Brad would be spared another round of torture.