Drake Sisters 07 - Hidden Currents

I’l talk it over with Libby and Sarah and see what they think before I ask Katie. Matt’s very protective of Kate and he may object.â€
    â€œAl of us object to the things you girls do, but you do it anyway. If Kate decides she can heal you without harming herself, nothing Matt says wil change her mind.†Jackson caught her shoulders and helped her to her feet.
    El e swayed unsteadily, her head screaming at her. “I’m going to have to lie down.â€
    â€œMe, too. Let’s just get into the house in case Gratsos tries something else.â€
    â€œI don’t think Stavros wil be in any shape to try anything against us for a while. He’s going to need a little medical attention.†El e smirked at him.
    Jackson wrapped his arm around her waist tighter and began to walk her toward the house. Bomber dropped into position at his side, his body relaxed, which helped Jackson breathe a little easier. If El e said Gratsos was done for a while, he wanted it to be true, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. The man just kept coming at them.
    â€œYou’re going to let your handler know you’re safe? Are you certain that’s wise?â€
    â€œI have to, Jackson. It isn’t fair to him and he might be able to come up with a plan to help us with Stavros.â€
    Jackson remained silent. He had his own plan for Gratsos and it didn’t include al owing the poor excuse for a human being to live.

    14
    THE room was hot, too hot, so hot he could barely draw in a breath without scalding his lungs. It was smal and had no windows, no ventilation other than a smal hole up near the ceiling. Most of the time they kept a bright light on him, forcing him to stand for days, beating him when he toppled to the floor or just plain sat down out of defiance—wel , more necessity than defiance, but they didn’t see it that way.
    He’d been there weeks now, with no end in sight. Alone. Always alone. Occasional y they brought in others and tortured them—he could hear the screams and the sounds of brutality, the cries, usual y in another language—and he was certain he was the only American prisoner they had. It was probably the reason they didn’t kil him.
    He wasn’t certain he could have kept his sanity without her—without that voice, so soft and melodic in his head, taking him to another place, tel ing him she was with him, sharing her mind so that he felt he wasn’t alone in that smal six-by-six room. When she wasn’t with him, he composed music in his head, long concertos and entire symphonies. Or he took apart weapons and put them back together, al in his head, paying attention to every detail. Sometimes it was bombs, making them and taking them apart. Complex math problems and then back to weapons—in his mind he traveled back and forth, trying to keep from going insane.
    They were coming. He could hear them. He always heard them. His heart began to pound and his stomach lurched. Air rushed out of his lungs in anticipation. It was going to be bad. It was always bad. They’d reduced him to an animal—no—less than an animal. He had rope brands from the tight bindings on his arms after they hung him for days, beating him with chains and whips and cables. He knew his arms were infected, he was running a fever, but it was al about breaking him.
    He’d been in the camp too long and had seen prisoners come and go enough to know that each time they came at him, he was either going to survive and be tougher, or they would break him and destroy him for al time. The voice— her voice—became his reason to be tough, to survive.
    He’d been buried in the sand up to his neck for three days. That had been one of the worst ordeals, with the heat and the insects and the pressure on his body. He’d ended up with three broken ribs and several raging infections that lasted weeks.
    A guard came in and his heart sank. He recognized the man as one of the most sadistic, a man who took pleasure in torture. He’d seen him put a dril through the back of a man’s hand and laugh before beginning to chop off body parts, slowly kil ing the man. He often sexual y assaulted the prisoners, and then beat them for hours, pausing only to take breaks when he was tired. He favored blowtorches, dril s and electric shock.
    At once, she was there, almost as if a part of her