Chapter Thirteen

Pierce

 

Pierce’s head fell forward before he jerked it back up again. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew it’d been over twenty-four hours since he'd been taken. He was exhausted and hungry but he refused to sleep or eat. The extremely intimidating man – who told Pierce to refer to him as ‘O’ – had him closed in a small room with no windows to see outside, but he did have a view through the clear door into a larger room where O sat with his back to Pierce watching a couple of monitors. It looked like images of the city. Pierce tried to determine if the images were surveillance of the task force's location or if the guy was looking for something else. He knew they were still in Virginia because the ride was only a couple hours at most. O put a blindfold over Pierce’s eyes and put his helmet back on after forty-five minutes of riding.

Pierce’s eyes were heavy and gritty from fatigue. He knew Hawk would find him. He’d get a vision of where he was and come in, guns blazing. He just hoped it was before O’s clients came for him. Why the fuck did the Russian’s want him? Sure he’d picked off a couple of the mob’s key players, but so what? There were thousands of them. Maybe they knew what Pierce’s plan was, maybe Pierce had a mole in his team. Fuck. He couldn’t think as sharply with no sleep or food for almost two days. Now he was wishing he hadn't stayed up so late the night before their mission.

O stood and came to open Pierce’s door. He was about six feet tall. Looked to be in his early thirties. Lithe and toned. He had smooth dark facial hair, trimmed neatly around his mouth and chin. Not overly muscular but he was fucking strong and fast. He would be a stunningly handsome man if he weren't such an asshole.

When they’d first arrived, as soon as he’d cut Pierce’s zip tie off and released his hands, Pierce drew his hand back and tried to land a hard slap across his face, but the man had reared back, making Pierce swing at nothing but air. The man did it so easily and fast, as if he was bored. He quirked an eyebrow at him in question.

“A backhand, huh? Hence the name, I suppose.” He gripped Pierce’s bicep, leading him into his room. “That's so predictable. Try something like this.” O removed his leather coat and draped it over the one chair in the room and came back to stand in front of Pierce. He gave him a hard frigid glare before taking one step to the left side and swinging his flat hand around, chopping Pierce in his throat so fast that if a person had blinked they’d have missed it. Pierce grabbed his throat with both hands and dropped to his knees, gagging on his own spit, panicking because he couldn't take in a breath. He was violently grabbed by the back of his neck and yanked back up. “That’s an open hand throat strike, Backhander. Can be delivered from either side of your attacker, as opposed to a front on strike.” O informed him casually. Pierce still coughed and hacked as the man explained the move like Pierce was his student at a Dojo. “Flat palm, striking 7mm above the Adam’s apple, that’s the hurt spot. If you hit hard enough you can crush their windpipe. Although the chisel fist is the most effective for that result.”

Pierce’s attacker made a show of curling his fingers into a tight fist, tucking his thumb into his pointer finger. His kept the firm grip on the back of Pierce’s neck so he couldn’t turn and drew his fist back to his ear, knuckles straight forward and aimed at Pierce’s throat. Pierce shook his head ‘no’, a thin sheen of tears forming in his eyes. He tried to say ‘no’ or ‘please’ but he was unable to form a word, his voice gone from the pain of the first strike.

Gray-blue eyes drilled into him before the man dropped his fist. His face was so close to Pierce their noses touched. “That’s your only warning. Don’t you ever try to hit me again. Because the next time my fist flies, I’m going to do some irreversible damage to that pretty face of yours. Do you understand?”

 

Pierce was sitting on the bed with his back to the wall. He couldn’t lie down or he’d surely fall asleep. Maybe that was the only reason he was still there, because he wouldn’t sleep. Was that what the man was waiting for… or was he waiting for the client? If the Russians got Pierce, he may never be seen alive again. The thought terrified the shit out of him. He’d accomplished a lot in his life, but there was so much more for him to do. He was too young, didn’t want to die like this.

A man the size of a WWF wrestling champion came into the outer room and said a couple of words to O, then turned and looked through the glass at him. He held a plate with a sandwich and had two bottles of water tucked in his elbow.

He came into the room and placed the food on the bed beside Pierce’s leg.

“Eat.” His voice was unusually deep, deeper than Pierce had ever heard before. His accent was Russian. Pierce trembled. They were here. Here to take him from his country. He’d be stored in some cargo ship with god knows what. Hawk where are you?

“Eat,” he said again, a frown forming on his face. “Now.”

Pierce’s hands and legs shook so hard, they rattled his teeth. No matter what, he wasn’t going to eat that. They could be trying to poison him or get him to digest some kind of truth serum so he could divulge classified information. They could forget it. He’d die first. 

The man walked towards him and yanked him off the bed, slamming Pierce’s body into his. He gripped Pierce’s chin and raised him off the floor. “Stupid,” he growled in his face.

“Put him down,” O snapped at the giant and Pierce was dropped immediately. “He’s not stupid. He’s smarter than I assumed. You can drink the water Backhander if you don’t trust the food. You’ll see the seal is not broken. Killing yourself is not necessary.”

“A reasonably healthy human can go five to six days without water,” Pierce said shakily.

“Why wait so long?” the giant said in a combination of broken English and Russian. Omega had agreed with his client to let one of their enforcers stay with him. He didn’t trust him. Regardless of the fact that Ahtoh was dumb as a box of rocks, he still didn’t let the man have access to any communication devices nor was he allowed to leave.

“He’s waiting long enough for them to save him,” O answered for him.

Both men walked out the door speaking to each other in Russian. Pierce wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until he fell asleep, but he didn’t do either. Tears would cost him fluids he couldn’t spare.

The next day went by in a blur. O never left the room on the other side of Pierce's door . He slept in very small increments, spending most of his time at the computer. Any time Pierce moved within the room, he’d watch him with those cold eyes, like a predator. Evening was falling and Pierce was struggling. This was the greatest test of his strength he had ever faced. Seventy-two hours with no food, water, or sleep. Pierce feared that he couldn’t last another hour, but with each hour that passed he claimed a small victory. He believed Hawk was coming for him, he truly did, he just hoped it wasn’t too late.

Pierce barely staggered over to the glass, probably using his last bit of energy. O was staring at him but he didn’t move. The glass was sound proof so yelling at him was pointless. Pierce tapped again but still no movement. “Asshole,” Pierce muttered. O must’ve read his lips because he smiled evilly at him.

“I want to ask you a question,” Pierce said lazily. “Just one question.”

O stood and came to stand in front of the glass. Damn, the man’s eyes would be sexy as fuck if they weren’t in the head of a psychotic killer. Pierce assumed he wasn’t coming in so he just mumbled his words the best he could, looking directly at him. “I would like to make one phone call, please.”

O mouthed something but Pierce couldn’t make it out. His eyes were heavy and dry, his vision blurred.

“Please,” he moaned.

O mouthed something again and it pissed Pierce off. He slapped the window, yelling at his captor. “I can’t read your lips you fucker! I need to call my mom. Just for five seconds. I just want to tell her bye. I’m all she has,” Pierce lied, crying into his palms. If he could call his house then his system would automatically trace the call and transmit it back to his headquarters.

He heard the door open and O stepped in, crouching down next to him. “I said, no. You’re smart, but I’m smarter. One: your mom and dad are retired and traveling, and two: a man as important has you has trackers all over the place. One phone call to the right number can pinpoint your location. Now shut the fuck up before you piss me off.”

Pierce looked up at the man with defeat. “Who the fuck are you?” Pierce groaned in anguish. This was not just some hired gun for the mob.

“No one to be trifled with.”

Pierce watched as he went back out of the room and took his place at his computer. Pierce eyed the five bottles of water on the table and seriously reconsidered his drinking strike. No. Fuck them. By the time his clients come and get me, I’ll be almost dead.