Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Shay Cannon sliced through the water, moving far too fast for this miniscule twenty-by-thirty-foot pool. She reached the wall and flip-turned but didn't kick off the wall. If she did, she'd be to the other side of the pool with only a few strokes.

She appreciated the witness protection program relocating her to a home in Phoenix with a pool. Even if the water temperature was nearly a hundred degrees and she had to do constant turns and swim in the middle of the night with no lights on. She'd take what she could get.

It was torturous enough that she'd been forced to choose survival over her Olympic dreams. At twenty-eight, it was doubtful she'd get another opportunity. In eight-hundred-meter freestyle, she was only slightly above the average age. In her other events, she was an old woman. Most Olympic female swimmers were between twenty to twenty-one. Over thirty was a rarity in her sport. She'd missed the Tokyo Olympics because of a rotator cuff injury and surgery. Her Olympic dreams were as shredded as her life.

Watching her friends and teammates compete the past few weeks had been incredible, and its own form of torture. She should've been with them. But she couldn't dwell on that or how she missed her parents, older brother, and her students, or her tears would mix with the water.

Thank you for this small body of water , she prayed for the dozenth time. To be landlocked completely would've smashed her.

Reaching the wall for the hundred and sixty-eighth time tonight, she twisted to turn. Strong hands wrapped around each of her arms and she was ripped out of the water and into the warm night air.

"Bruh!" she cried out, laughing. "No shot!" She squinted through the near blackness and her goggles at the smart-aleck FBI agents playing yet another prank on her. She'd never admit it to them, but the pranks made the days more bearable and she always tried to return the favor.

"No!" she screamed as she realized … her buddies would have a hard time lifting her this easily and these tanks wearing dark clothing and black hoods over their faces were definitely not Agents Turner or Meacham. Her stomach did a flip-turn faster than even she could accomplish in the pool. "No!"

She was yanked against one of the men's chests and a hand clamped firmly over her mouth before she could holler like a banshee for help or put up any kind of fight.

Not that screaming or fighting would do much good. If these silent, beastly men had gotten past the two FBI agents guarding her and through all the security this small house had, they had to be working for Big T. She would be dead soon .

Panting for air against the hand cutting off her oxygen supply, her body was covered in pinpricks that had nothing to do with the pool water drying quickly on her skin in the hot, dry air.

One man kept his hand over her mouth and wrapped his other arm securely over her chest. She kicked at the other man and dug her fingernails into her first captor. Shay was Olympic swimmer strong and not light, and she fought with all she had. The second man was shoved back and almost lost his footing and went in the pool.

"A strong one, eh?" the first guy asked.

The second man hurled himself at her, grabbing her around the waist while the first man held onto her mouth and shoulder. A third man hurried out of the open sliding glass door, captured and grasped her legs so tightly she could hardly wiggle her toes.

Shay squirmed between these huge brutes like a desperate worm, still gouging with her fingernails as she tried to cry for help, but not even a squeak escaped. The man didn't even seem bothered by the scratches she left on his arms. Even with her wet skin and battling with every ounce of strength she had, their grip didn't slacken or slip.

Please help me , she begged heaven above, but she heard only silence from heaven and from her captors.

Her heart raced out of control as the three brutes silently carried her across the back patio and into the house. A wave of cool air washed over her. She shivered violently as she bucked her body more violently, fighting to get free. Nothing helped.

Another dark-clad man waited in the living area. He gestured with his head, and she was carried to the garage. None of them spoke. Their silence was as disturbing as the compromised safehouse. The black masks and clothing they wore and their silence made them feel inhuman, like monstrosities, freaks, sus characters for real.

Where were Turner and Meacham? Had her buddies fought to protect her and been overwhelmed? Their throats sliced open like the woman she'd seen murdered?

Please, please don't let Turner and Meacham be dead.

She didn't want to know the truth, didn't want to admit it. Her agents who had teased her like brothers and stayed by her side through this awful ordeal had likely been murdered so these men could capture her.

The fourth man held the door leading into the garage and she was hustled through. They went out a side door and a large black SUV waited on the small concrete driveway. She was shoved into the middle seat, leather ripping at the bare skin on the back of her thighs.

One captor released her mouth and yanked off her cap and goggles, dropping them on the floor of the SUV.

"Help! Help!" she screamed, almost shoving past him before he manhandled her back into the middle seat and clapped his hand over her mouth again.

The fear made her pant for breath as the man's large hand covered her nose and mouth. No cap, she could not get enough oxygen. She could hold her breath for three minutes and ten seconds. Her kiddos on the swim team she coached loved to test her on that. Right now, her lungs felt constricted and black spots appeared on the edge of her vision. She thrashed to free herself and accomplished some good punches and fingernail digs, but nothing that would free her.

Her two attackers sandwiched her between them in the back bench seat. The other two men climbed up front. Doors shut and the man finally released her mouth. She drew in precious oxygen and then screamed on instinct, trying to get past the man on her left and back out the door. He violently pushed her back.

"You can scream all you want, beautiful. Nobody is coming to your rescue," the man said.

She knew he was right, but kept hollering, "Help!" anyway. It was the only thing she could do, some kind of release from the horror. She clawed at the man on her left, who already had deep grooves in his arm, pinpricks of blood surfacing in the cuts from her nails. He grasped her hands tightly, unfazed. Did the monster not feel pain?

The man in the front passenger seat yanked out a knife, pivoted to face her, and pointed the blade in her face. "Stop the racket or I will remove your tongue."

Shay's bare back slammed against the leather seat behind her, and she stopped screaming.

"Thank you." He smiled but didn't put the knife away. His lips and blue eyes were the only parts of him she could see through the mask. He was thinner than the other three but just as muscular. None of them looked familiar at all. They weren't the guards she'd seen with Big T that fateful night. She had to assume they worked for the mobster, but what did she know?

Her entire body had the shakes. She didn't cry. She was proud of that fact. It was a good flex.

They drove away from the safehouse.

Not so safe after all. How had these men found her? How had they penetrated the security and overcome her guards? Were her FBI agents really dead? Ah, Turner and Meacham. Her bruhs since her protective big brother Darian couldn't be here with her. She'd liked both of them. They were abrupt and loved to tease her but good guys. Turner had a baby daughter and was always instigating the pranks on her and Meacham .

The questions hardly mattered and her sorrow for the agents' deaths would do nothing, but it was better to let her mind scramble for answers than to focus on the fear of what would happen next. Tears stung her eyes thinking of Turner and Meacham and their sacrifice to protect her. All in vain. Were they really dead? She hadn't seen any bodies.

The man on her right ran his fingers through her blonde hair and skimmed them across her shoulder. She jerked in the other direction. Through the holes in the mask, she could see his smirk and his brown eyes roving over her swimming suit and bare flesh.

"Ah, coming to me, then?" The man on her left slid his arm around her and yanked her against his sweaty armpit. His fingers traced along her waist and hip, dipping down to her thigh.

Shay shivered violently from his touch, shoving his hand away.

Usually she was as comfortable in a swimming suit as a turtle in a shell. Right now, she felt exposed and vulnerable. She wouldn't have been safe in a snowsuit, but at least these men wouldn't be able to ogle and touch her so easily.

The air conditioning blew full blast in her face. The cold air on her damp skin was much more welcome than these men's hands. They wouldn't quit touching her. She batted at their hands, squirming one direction then the other. The two in the backseat laughed at her vain efforts to keep them at bay. She felt disgusting and dirty. Their foul hands were almost as horrifying as the terror of her imminent death.

She tried to block out their vile touch and prayed in her head. She didn't even know what to pray for. A valiant rescue? The men seemed confident none was coming. Had the FBI not been alerted to her abduction? Had these men completely dismantled the security, cameras, and sensors at the safehouse?

Was a quick death the only hope she had?

Shay couldn't believe how low she'd sunk. She used to be exuberantly happy and focused on working hard to succeed. Her days had been busy with many hours spent in the pool, lifting weights, doing yoga and ice baths for recovery, coaching her swim team and private lessons, cooking healthy meals, and spending any spare time with friends and family.

After witnessing a well-known Denver crime lord, Big T, slice a woman's neck open in the restroom of an exclusive party celebrating the Olympic hopefuls, her life had taken a drastic turn.

That night, she'd been blessed to sneak away, hide in a supply closet, and call Darian, her protector, brother, and trusted confidant. He'd immediately connected her with the FBI through his college friend, Agent Pike Larkin. The police and FBI had come for her and arrested Big T. She'd never forget the man's hazel eyes focused on her as they cuffed him and took him away.

Shay had been shuttled through protective custody locations for the past two months. She'd missed her chance at the Olympics, but at least she'd survived.

Not any longer. These men had somehow found her, penetrated the FBI's security systems, killed her friends Meacham and Turner, and now they were going to murder her. Why not just kill her and leave her at the house? At the moment, fighting off their disgusting hands, she might have preferred being in heaven already.

The trial for Big T was scheduled for next week and she'd imagined she would finally be free. She'd been wrong. Everything was being torn from her grasp.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a wobbly voice. She hated that. She wanted to show how brave she could be, even if it was a lie. Her stomach pitched violently. The vehicle raced around corners, flinging her across the man on the left's lap and increasing her nausea. She shoved herself away, her shoulder hitting the front seat.

"Soon," the man up front said. He pointed the knife at her again. "Sit still." Then he gave the men groping her a look. "Give her a break for two minutes."

They both grunted in disgust but thankfully stopped touching her. Shay straightened, holding herself erect so she wouldn't brush either of the men. The violent shaking of her entire body betrayed her fear.

Please. At least let me die with honor.

The man up front took off his mask, ruffling his thick hair. He was a deceptively good-looking blond, a boy-next-door kind of look. She shivered harder. "Big T's lawyer wants to know everything you know first. We're flying you to him." He looked her over as if he were surveying his dinner choices at a succulent buffet. "If you tell him every last detail that you've told the feds, I won't let Lyle and Ross torture you before I kill you." He tilted his chin to the men beside her and smiled like that was the best offer he'd ever given anyone.

"Don't make promises like that," Lyle whined, squeezing her leg. "Take away all our fun."

She yanked away from Lyle, but she had nowhere to go and bumped into Ross, who grinned behind his mask and reached for her swimsuit strap. Shay grabbed at her shoulder to try to keep her suit on. The driver whipped around another corner. The fear and movement of the car and repulsive look in Ross's eyes overwhelmed her. Bile rose up her throat and she spewed all over him.

"Hey!" He cursed and shoved her back at Lyle.

The blond man laughed as Lyle secured his arms around her from behind. The vehicle slammed to a stop and Shay hit her head and shoulder against the back of the driver's seat. Chills, her burning throat, her racing pulse, and the disgusting taste in her mouth made her even more miserable.

There was a pause in the fondling, the vehicle movement, and their foul tongues. She looked outside the windows. They were parked next to a big building where a large cargo door was slowly clanking up.

She could see a few more large buildings throughout the area—airplane hangars, she realized. Small planes were lined up off to the side of a lit runway. It was a small, out of the way airport.

They were flying her to Big T's lawyer. Would she have to fight them off the entire flight? Would she even be able to? Despair and darkness overcame her. She thought witnessing a murder and giving up her Olympic dreams was horrifying. Nothing in her previously happy, busy, and fulfilling life could've prepared her for this. All she could do was pray in her head over and over again. She had no hope of rescue, but the Lord would be her strength and her comfort through her imminent death.

Please! I need strength and comfort in spades.

The SUV idled forward, driving through the huge opening the cargo door had revealed and pulling up next to a black jet. Lights were on inside the jet, but the interior of the building was dim.

Popping the door open, Lyle yanked her out of the vehicle. His arms were a clamp around her waist, making it impossible to draw a full breath. He was going to bruise internal organs. "Scream all you want," he said. "Nobody's around to hear you and Jaden won't slice you up yet. Just don't puke on me."

If only she could puke on demand. Please , she begged heaven above. Please.

She didn't even know what she was pleading for. Two months ago, she'd been a part of the Olympic team, the media speculating about her winning medals in two individual events and possibly two relays. She'd been a beloved daughter and sister and coach to incredible teenagers who she adored and who worshipped her and loved that she attempted to use their teenage slang.

Now she was a witness, and not a protected one. She was a toy for these foul men. No man had ever messed with her like this before. She had muscles and grit and could give an average-sized man a run for his money in any fight. Sadly, her athleticism and strength wouldn't benefit her against four trained brutes.

The only unknowns about her life were whether her FBI agents had survived, and if she'd be raped and tortured before she was murdered tonight. She prayed for her family, her FBI agents, her teammates, her kiddos. She didn't know how to pray for herself. She could usually take care of herself, but she always gave praise and gratitude to God and turned to Him for light and peace. She knew the Lord had blessed her with talents, great support, joy in her life, and a hard work ethic.

Right now, she had nothing. Despair blanketed her like black tar, oozing over her and sealing off any hope of escape.

Lyle lifted her off her feet and she cried out involuntarily. At five-eight and a hundred and sixty pounds of pure muscle, she'd never had a man pick her up and manhandle her before. He easily carried her across the cement and up a few steps onto the plane.

Her gaze darted around the interior of the jet. It was an opulent space with white leather seats and chrome accents. Of course a crime lord like Big T would have a lit plane. The man was in prison. Shouldn't the FBI have seized his plane? Wouldn't his men have moved on to un-locked up criminals? Big T must be powerful, even behind bars.

The men who abducted her climbed onto the plane and Ross shut the door behind them.

"The pilot's here?" the man from the driver's seat finally spoke.

"Got a text he was doing the pre-flight checks and we'll take off in two minutes," Jaden, the blond knife-welder, said.

"All right." The driver took his mask off, his bald head glistening in the overhead lights. He was the opposite of his handsome, blond cohort. He was bulky and strong. His face had a jagged scar running down his cheek and a smooth scar distorted his upper lip. Blood red tattoos dotted a thick circle around each eye. His neck was covered with a tattoo of talons with knife-like claws. His eyes were pale blue and piercing. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes. He was horrifying.

"I'm Jonah." He sneered at her, his gaze roving over her bare flesh and her swimsuit. "Jaden will keep things running smoothly and you and I will have plenty of time to get to know each other on the flight."

Shay tried to back up, but she ran into Lyle, who wrapped her up tight.

Even though she knew it wouldn't help, she screamed out of sheer terror .

The cockpit door banged open. Everyone startled and turned, Lyle yanking her around in front of him. The pilot strode out of the doorframe. The man had thick dark hair and a breathtakingly handsome face. He was tall and well-built, more smooth muscle compared to her captors' brute strength. This man's defined and tanned arms, muscular chest, and lean legs filled out his Henley shirt and slacks perfectly. Shay couldn't believe she was gawking at this pilot, one of her captors, the man who would fly her to certain death. He captured her attention and would likely command the gazes of everyone in the room no matter where he appeared.

Shay's eyes narrowed as she surveyed him and then they widened. This wasn't just some scum-ball like the other four men. She knew him. This man was a warrior, an elite pilot, her hometown's hero, her secret crush of many years.

It couldn't be. Could it?

She shook her head to clear it, blinked, blinked again. "Paul?" she whispered.

Was it possible that Paul Braven, retired Air Force hero and one of her older brother's best friends in high school, was standing before her? Tall, dark, devastatingly handsome, with a magnetism that had every girl from Glenwood Springs, Colorado drooling over him. Paul Braven. He had some fancy Air Force title that meant he was a special ops hero as well as an accomplished pilot.

Paul.

Even with the brute behind her, holding her securely, his cringy arms splayed across her midsection, she felt peace, safety, and the elusive comfort she'd been praying for. This was fire. The heroic, kind, and handsome Lieutenant Paul Braven would never let these men torture, rape, and kill her .

She smiled tremulously at him, waiting for him to command the men to release her. Then he'd kick them off the plane, hold her and comfort her. After she gave him a sweet kiss of gratitude, he'd fly her to safety. Would he stay by her side? Give her a chance to reveal her crush on him?

"Are you ready for takeoff?" he asked, focused on the blond, not responding to her saying his name or her staring at him like the hero she knew him to be.

Wait … no! Paul wasn't going to rescue her? Was he going to pretend he didn't know her?

Despair crushed her and she leaned heavily against the man holding her. Please, no. Paul either didn't recognize her or didn't care to admit he did. Once again, hope dripped through her fingertips like sunshine converted to black, sticky tar.

"Waitin' on you," the blond responded.

Paul arched his eyebrows as if they were all beneath him. "You got the package." He tilted his head toward Shay.

"Obviously," Lyle said, stroking his fingers down her arm. "You two know each other?"

"I watched the Olympic qualifiers," Paul said, meeting her gaze briefly. The depth of his chocolate brown gaze washed over her and instantly she felt safe and warm. Hope stirred inside her again. Paul did know her. He would rescue her; he was just setting up the rescue plan. Four tough criminal thugs against one hero. It wouldn't be easy, but this was Lieutenant Paul Braven. If anyone could demolish these men and rescue her like a champion, it was him.

Would he object to a lingering kiss after they were safe? Paul had always been kind to her, but being seven years older and her brother's friend, of course he'd never looked at her as a potential date. Then her brother Darian had blamed him for Darian's fiancée betraying him and dying. She hadn't seen much of Paul in the last eleven years.

Right now, his gaze trailed over her body, and he looked at her very similar to the way these other men had looked at her. "She's even hotter in person."

She recoiled at the change in his glance and his words. That didn't sound like the Paul she remembered.

Was it not him? A lookalike? Or could he have sold out to the evil side of humanity? The tragic tale of military hero not feeling appreciated and giving in to the desire for wealth. Ditching his honor and ideals for bitterness and filthy lucre.

Not Paul. Oh, no! Her stomach pitched and bile crawled up her throat. She tried to swallow it down.

"She's ours," Lyle said, palming her arms and pressing her closer to him.

"Obviously," Paul said, mocking him. "Sit down and buckle up. You can have your fun once we reach cruising altitude."

"Sounds good," Jaden said. "Thank you."

Paul tilted his chin to Jaden, turned, and strode back into the cockpit without a glance her way. The door closed behind him like a death knell. Shay's heart fragmented and cracked in that moment.

The pilot either wasn't Paul or he'd sold his soul to the devil. How could that happen? How could a man as good and honest and gucci as Paul, a military hero, their town hero, be working for scum like this, for Big T? No matter her brother's hangups and anger at his former friend, she'd always known Paul to be a loyal and fearless stud.

Tears streaked down her face.

She'd been terrified, shaking, screaming, fighting, and puking, but this was the first time she'd let herself cry tonight. The disappointment was too overwhelming. She'd had a glorious moment of faith and gratitude in heaven above when she'd seen Paul and he had looked at her.

Now … it was finished. Paul wasn't her hero. He'd left her to the dogs to devour and rip apart. She was devastated, beaten. Her life was over. She didn't even know what to pray for. All hope was lost.