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No.
Giving into the pain and devastation wasn’t going to help anything right now. What he had to do was focus. Pull it together. If he gave up on his girl, she was as good as lost to him.
Which was not acceptable.
Surf dragged in a breath and shoved the fogginess right out of his head. He needed to clear it, figure out what had happened, and how he was going to get himself and Lila out of this mess and home safely.
As he forced his sluggish brain to cooperate the memories came back, in a trickle at first, but then a flood that left him near breathless.
A protective rage unlike anything else he had ever experienced barreled into him almost hard enough to knock him to his knees if he hadn’t already been sitting down.
The man who had shot him had shown up at the cabin. Not at one hundred percent, Surf had been overpowered and knocked unconscious. Something he would never forgive himself for. Because Lila had been tied to the bed and assaulted.
As clearly as though it were playing out before him, he remembered her naked body bound to the bed. The terror in her eyes as she’d looked at him, the devastation in her voice as she’d begged him not to watch.
Helpless.
Overwhelming helplessness had flooded his system as he fought against the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. His girl had been assaulted right in front of him, and he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it.
Hadn’t been able to protect her.
Hadn’t kept the promises he’d made that he would keep her safe.
That she could trust him.
Damn, Lila must hate him.
A howl of rage echoed through the space, and it took Surf a moment to realize it was coming from him.
Shoving open his eyes he looked around. He was in a small, dark room. Likely a basement if the dank smell and concrete walls were anything to go by. There was no way to know if they were still in Switzerland or if Zara and Ross Duffy had transported him someplace else after they knocked him unconscious. Since there were no windows, he couldn’t tell what time of day it was or how much time had passed since they were taken.
Was Lila here somewhere too?
He struggled to get to his feet, and it wasn’t until he looked down that he realized it was because of a metal cuff around his right ankle. It was attached to a heavy metal chain currently tangled around his feet. It ran to a metal ring embedded in the concrete floor in the middle of his cell.
Memories of being held hostage in Somalia along with his team assaulted his mind.
Naked, injured, humiliated, controlled, it had reminded him so much of his childhood that when he and his team had finally been rescued, he’d felt completely hollowed out and empty inside.
There had been only one way he could cope.
The same way he had coped as a teen when he was finally too big to be pushed around by the men his mom brought home. Sex. With as many different women as he could find. All that had mattered to him was that high of an orgasm, knowing no one but himself was in control.
Now it wasn’t sex he craved. That high was of no good to him. If he survived there would be no procession of nameless women in his quest to heal.
All he needed was Lila.
The helplessness he’d felt those couple of weeks was nothing like he felt now. Then his life and the lives of his team had been in danger, and while he loved every one of them, they were his brothers in every way that mattered, they’d all signed up for this life knowing full well the dangers they were facing.
But Lila hadn’t signed up for any of this.
She was just a sweet woman who had been unloved, used, and manipulated her entire life.
She deserved freedom and happiness, not to once again be at the mercy of someone who didn’t care about her and wanted only to cause her pain.
“Hold on, honey, I’m coming for you,” he vowed as he shoved at the chain to straighten it out.
Once he had, Surf shoved to his feet, examining his body for injuries. There were a couple of bruises, and from the pounding in his head and the lingering dizziness, he likely had a concussion on top of the drugs that had been pumped into him.
