Taken By Terror by Lolita Lopez

Chapter Two

For the first time in his life, Terror felt despair. It bloomed in his chest like a poisonous flower. He wished that he could chew its petals and succumb rather than stand there, ankle deep in mud and shit and rotting garbage while he endured a soul-crushing sense of failure.

I’m too late.

She’s dead.

Gone.

Drowned in mud and lost forever.

Raindrops pelted his head, running down his neck and under his uniform shirt. It soaked his undershirt, leaving him cold and uncomfortable, but he didn’t feel like bothering with a jacket. He deserved to feel like this. He deserved to feel cold and wet and miserable.

“Fuck me,” Vicious said, seemingly shocked. Holding out a jacket, he came to stand next to Terror and stared at the destruction that surrounded them. “I’ve never seen the aftermath of a landslide and flood.”

“Looks like half the mountain fell,” Lethal remarked. He crouched down a few feet from them and poked into the mud with the long blade of his knife. “It’s solid mud.” He glanced around and shook his head. “If there are any bodies here, they’re buried deep.”

Terror’s eye closed briefly at the image of Maisie, broken and suffocated beneath a slab of mud. Pushing away the painful thought, he asked, “Where are the vehicles?”

“The guards?” Vicious clarified and turned to look at the flattened pile of mud that had once been the guardhouse according to the satellite images they had accessed during the flight. “As heavy as some of those trucks were, they wouldn’t have gone far in the landslide. We should have been able to see them when we came in for the landing.”

“They probably left,” Lethal said, standing up and wiping the gunk from his knife blade on his pants. “I would have. No way in hell I’d stick around to drown or be crushed if I had the means to escape.”

“I agree.” Terror uncrossed his arms and picked his way across the field of debris and puddles. He tried to recreate the scene in his mind, placing the prisoner holding cells and the guardhouse on the location. He envisioned the wave of floodwater and then the crash of the landslide wiping out the camp and dragging everything down to the base of the mountain. “If the guards decided to make a run for it, they would have headed down the mountain.”

Lethal considered the wiped-out road. “If they didn’t leave quickly enough, they would have been caught in the flood or the landslide or both.”

“She’s a high-value prisoner,” Vicious remarked as he bent down to grab a long wooden pole from the mud. Without breaking a sweat, he hefted it up with his considerable brawn and slammed it into the wet ground, driving it deep. “No resistance,” he said, glancing at Terror. “It feels like nothing but mud. No bodies, for sure.”

“She’s a high-value prisoner,” Terror repeated. “What does that mean to you?”

“That if the guards were smart enough to flee before the storm reached its zenith, they would have taken her with them,” Vicious explained. “She’s worth more alive than dead and buried up on this mountain. We know they moved her at least four times since she was taken captive. If the information you got from the interrogation was true,” he qualified. “You don’t move a prisoner four times and then leave her up here to die.”

“No, you don’t,” Terror agreed. His attention switched from the demolished camp to the ruined slope of the mountain. “If they took her and they made their escape fast enough, we’ll have to find another way to track her down.”

“No need,” Grim interjected. His name fit him well as he grimly skulked toward them from the woods where he had disappeared earlier. His boots and pants were covered in mud and leaves. A man of few words, he was worth listening to when he chose to speak. “She went up the mountain.”

Terror’s gaze snapped to the woods and the steep incline toward the summit. “You’re sure?”

“Boot prints in the mud,” Grim said, shaking the water off the collar of his jacket. “Boots are too big. The person who made the print is petite. Maybe five-one,” he estimated. “Approximately one-ten. No more than one-fifteen.”

“That’s her.” Terror had estimated her height to be similar, but her weight seemed higher. Of course, she had been held captive for weeks, probably starved. She could have easily gotten down to that weight range by now.

The despair in his chest started to fade. It was replaced with a sliver of hope and an intense feeling of pride. Maisie was smart, resourceful and tenacious. Maybe too tenacious, he thought. “We should move. She’s got hours on us, and it’s been raining the whole time. Her tracks might wash out.”

“What about Zeph and Hazard?” Vicious gestured to the ship where both pilots remained inside, ready to launch at a moment’s notice.

Terror tapped his mic. “Zeph.”

“Sir?”

“Move to a secluded location. Bring up your shield. Wait for contact.”

“Got it.”

Terror shrugged into the jacket Vicious had given him. “Let’s go.”

Grim took the lead, utilizing his excellent tracking skills to keep them on her trail. The hike was hard, and Terror worried about how Maisie was faring. After being a prisoner for weeks, she was probably malnourished, dehydrated and possibly even sick. There was no trail to make her climb easier. She had hacked her way through the dense brush, climbing over rotting logs and scrambling through gullies.

“She’s spry,” Vicious said before jumping up the steep side of a washed-out creek. His boot slipped in the mud, but he caught himself by grabbing onto an exposed tree root. He hauled himself to the top before crouching down and holding out his hand. “Like Hallie.”

Knowing how much Vicious loved his wife, he understood that was one of the highest compliments the general could ever pay. Terror took hold of his friend’s gloved hand and climbed up the side. When he reached the top, he turned and offered his hand to Lethal who barely needed the help. It was an irritating reminder of how much damage Terror’s body had endured over the years. Everything hurt, all the time. Those first few minutes after waking up were absolute hell as his stiff joints and tight muscles refused to cooperate.

More and more, he had been thinking that maybe it was time to stop. Not to retire or anything drastic like that. No, time to step back and move into a more managerial role. Time to train the next generation of the best covert operatives and plan missions using his years of experience to keep men safe.

His thoughts turned away from retirement to Vicious. For the ninth time since leaving the Valiant, he noticed Vicious glancing at his watch. He couldn’t be sure Vicious was checking his communication logs, but it was the most likely reason for him to glance at the device so often. He had his suspicions about it.

Stepping closer, he asked bluntly, “Who are you reporting to? Orion or Savage?”

Vicious glanced over and had the decency to look chagrined. “Both.”

“Uh-huh,” Terror said, not at all surprised that Vicious had been in contact with the Valiant.

“I’m doing it to protect you,” Vicious insisted. “I had a feeling you would try something like this, especially after Brook helped me see how important Maisie is to you.”

“Brook?” He frowned. “What does she have to do with this?”

“At the dinner Raze and Ella hosted, I mentioned that you were sneaking around the ships with earplugs. I thought you were losing your mind, but she told me about the deaf woman who helped you and that you were trying to understand what life was like for her and maybe feel closer to her.”

Terror bristled at the sudden feeling of exposure. “I didn’t realize I was dinner party gossip.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vicious scoffed. “You know it wasn’t like that.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

They walked in tense silence. Eventually, Terror asked, “Well?”

Vicious didn’t need him to explain what he wanted to know. “After the gas attack and the bombs, I went to Savage and talked to him about you and Maisie. He agreed to authorize a Shadow Force op. I took that to Orion, and he agreed to let you do this off-the-books if I came with you.”

“As my babysitter?”

“Basically,” Vicious confirmed. “The trade-off is that we have QRF on standby plus medical rescue and a dedicated drone.”

Terror glanced at the heavy canopy. “Not likely that drone can see anything.”

“No, but it can follow our chips. Keep tabs on us in case we get chased and eaten by a bear,” he joked.

“That almost happened to Brook.” Terror slowed his pace as Grim knelt to examine tracks up ahead.

“What? A bear?”

“Yeah.” He reached for the canteen on his belt and unscrewed the cap. “Tor told me all about it. Said she was trying to get out of a vent shaft and some big ass bear stepped on the grate over the exit. Looked like it wanted to eat her, but it couldn’t get the grate to move. She barely made it out of the shaft before the explosives detonated.”

Vicious shook his head. “They asked too much of her.”

Terror shrugged and took a long drink of water, then handed the canteen to Vicious. “She accepted the risk to get her reward.”

“Still,” Vicious said, handing back the canteen. “I don’t like it when we use women like that.”

“I know.” His friend had a soft heart when it came to women and children. He was the sort of man who believed deeply in protecting the innocent and the weak. Vicious still hadn’t forgiven him for the shit he pulled with Naya.

“We’ve got a problem.” Grim stood up and scanned the forest. “There’s another set of prints here.”

Terror’s gut clenched. “Man?”

Grim shook his head. “Woman. She’s taller and heavier.” He raised his hand to the lower part of his chest to indicate her height. “She’s carrying a weapon on her left hip.”

“Oh, come on,” Vicious called out in disbelief. “There’s no way you can tell that from a boot print.”

Grim settled his cold gaze on the general. “You calling me a liar, sir?”

“No,” Vicious quickly replied. Walking closer, he crouched down to examine the boot prints. “How can you tell?”

Grim crouched next to him and pointed as he taught. “Length of the stride. Depth of the imprint.” Grim turned back to the trail. “She’s good. She picked up Maisie’s trail and is following it. She’s also equipped for this kind of hiking. There are spike holes in her boot prints.”

“A hunter?” Terror guessed.

“This high up?” Lethal seemed unconvinced. “We’ll be above the timberline soon. Whatever lives up there is going to be too heavy for one woman to carry down on her own. She’ll have a partner somewhere if she’s planning to pack out the meat.”

“Probably,” Grim agreed. He grew quiet as he moved a few feet ahead, crouching down to sweep away some brittle leaves. He tilted his head as he studied whatever he had uncovered and then followed the new trail a few more feet, pausing to sweep away debris as he walked. “Dogs. Two of them. One bigger than the other.”

“Domesticated?” Vicious asked and caught Terror’s eye. There was no need for his friend to explain why he was asking. Years earlier, when they had been undercover as young men on a prison planet, they had witnessed wild dogs tear into and devour a group of prisoners who had tried to escape the compound. It had been a gruesome sight and one that neither man wanted to repeat.

“Most likely,” Grim said. “I can’t imagine anyone letting two wolves trot alongside them.”

“Have you met Menace’s mate?” Vicious asked. “Because she definitely would.”

Terror didn’t even try to smother his laughter at the image of Naya traipsing through the woods with a scowl on her face and two feral beasts at her side.

“Am I wrong?” Vicious asked.

“Not at all,” Terror replied, still smiling.

Grim didn’t seem the least bit amused. “Domesticated or not, they’ll make noise if we get too close. We should be cautious.”

“Too bad your tracking skills can’t tell us if she’s friendly or not,” Lethal remarked, his gaze fixed on the woods behind them. He had been watching their flank the entire hike and seemed to be in his element. Like many of their brethren, Lethal had been born on a colonized planet to a warrior and his Grabbed mate. He had spent his youth in the forests and hills and seemed now to be almost homesick among the familiar smells and sounds of his long-gone home.

“Even I have limits,” Grim answered. “This way.”

With a wave of his hand, he started walking again, and they fell in line behind him. Up above, the sky opened up, dumping torrents of frigid rain and making their slog up the mountain even harder. Winded and fatigued, Terror couldn’t imagine how tired Maisie was by now. Was she starving? Was she sick? Had she collapsed somewhere? Gotten hurt?

And what about the woman tracking her? Was she friendly? Was she dangerous? Pro government? A Splinter sympathizer? If Maisie was lucky, the woman following her would be someone like Brook or Hallie. Someone kind and helpful who would take her in and keep her safe until he could find her.

Of course, once he did find her, decisions would have to be made. He couldn’t let her stay here on this planet. He had to get her back to the Valiant and get her straight to medical. After that, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

Keep her.

It was a thought that wouldn’t leave him. He hadn’t ever been the type of man who wanted a mate. He hadn’t ever seen the appeal or the need for a woman of his own. If he wanted sex, he visited a poppy. He didn’t need someone to cook or clean for him, and he didn’t see children in his future so what use was a mate?

You won’t be alone anymore.

Terror shoved that thought aside. He was alone, but he wasn’t lonely. He was perfectly happy in his life and his situation.

Liar.

Since his rescue, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of emptiness. He had always found great satisfaction in his work and in fulfilling his duty. Now, it seemed lacking. It wasn’t enough. He wanted something more out of his life. He wanted his sacrifice to mean something. He wanted someone to fight for.

Collar her.

It was tempting. So tempting. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but from her first visit to his cell, from her first shy touch and kind smile, he had craved her presence. It wasn’t her natural beauty or the innocent timidness with which she approached him that left him yearning. It was something else, something in her eyes. It was the glimmer of understanding. She hadn’t seen all the things he had, but she had seen enough to understand what he had survived.

It was why he trusted her when she had tapped out her plan to help him escape. It had been the afternoon before everything went bad. Something had happened between Maisie and Devious that spurred her into action. She had come to his cell with such determination on her face. She was going to break him out and get him back to his ship.

Later that night, his captors had dragged Devious into the cell. Bloody, bruised and barely conscious. Clinging to life. Someone had betrayed Devious, and from the sounds echoing in the hall outside his cell, they had betrayed her, too

Hearing them beat her, hearing her broken cries, had damn near broken him. That was the last time he heard her. Until receiving the intel that led them to this mountain, he had feared her dead.

But she was alive. She was fighting for her survival. She wasn’t giving up.

And he wasn’t going to give up on her.