Billionaire UnveiledBy: J.S. Scott
Was I really being rescued or was I delirious?
My brain was so muddled that I just didn’t know.
Getting my freedom back wasn’t something I’d expected. I’d been resigned to the fact that I was never going to make it beyond the camp where I was being imprisoned.
The only thing I knew is that I wanted this to be real. But it didn’t make sense.
And why was Marcus Colter here?
At one time, he’d done some private rescues of international prisoners, but his group had disbanded some time ago. My brother, Jett, had been injured in the ill-fated mission that had been the last for Marcus and the Private Rescue Organization. The only way my rescue could be happening is if he’d gotten the team back together again.
I suppose it wasn’t impossible that he’d pulled a group of guys together. But my brother was definitely out of commission, and so were a few others who’d been wounded in the helicopter crash that had ended PRO’s existence.
I wanted to thank him for risking his life to save mine, but I couldn’t quite get the words out of my mouth. Maybe I’d always hated him for what he’d done to my older sister, Harper. But the incident with my sibling had occurred over a decade earlier, and I was grateful that Marcus Colter had snuck over the border and into Syria to rescue me. The mission was almost suicidal, yet he’d done it.
I moaned softly from the pain as the Jeep came to an abrupt stop and Marcus shifted my body to get out of the vehicle, and then handed me over to somebody in a helicopter.
I made it out. I’m going to live.
The realization that I wasn’t going to die at the hands of my black-hearted tormentors was almost too much to comprehend.
Tears of relief trickled down my cheeks, but my body was so weak that I couldn’t move. My mind was sluggish from deprivation and torture, but I knew everything I needed to know:
I was safe.
I felt much better a few days later as I ended my call with Harper to let her know I was still alive, and that I was getting more physically stable every day.
Maybe I did need to gain a few pounds, but with my love of all things junk food, I’d regain the weight I’d lost. I was well hydrated with the help of IV fluids, and my brain was finally functional again.
Dropping my cell phone onto the bedside table, I mumbled to myself, “I need to get the hell out of here.”
There was nothing I hated more than hospitals, and I’d already been in the large medical facility in Istanbul much longer than I could tolerate.
Truth was, I wanted out of the Middle East. I wanted to be back on US soil.
“Talking to yourself again?” Marcus Colter drawled as he strolled through the door of my hospital room.
I wished I could deny his claim, but I’d been completely alone until he’d walked in, and it was obvious that I was done with my phone call. Honestly, I did tend to talk to myself a lot since I was usually alone. “I’m bored,” I said. It was a lame excuse, but it was partly true.
I hadn’t been out of my hospital bed except to use the restroom since I’d been admitted to the hospital. I wasn’t used to being idle. My job as a foreign correspondent kept me traveling and extremely busy almost every minute of the day.
I looked up at Marcus as he stopped at my bedside, noting that he looked as handsome as ever in a custom suit and tie that almost matched the gray of his eyes.
“You’ll survive,” he drawled with very little sympathy. “You need to stay until your condition improves. You have to be strong enough to travel.”
As usual, I wanted to slap the smug look off his face. Unfortunately, I’d seen the exact same expression too many times in the past. Everywhere I went, it seemed like Marcus was there. If a certain area of the world was a hot spot, I never had any question as to whether or not Marcus would show up. He always did, although I had no idea why he always seemed to be in the most screwed-up places in the world. Being a journalist, I had good reason for being wherever there was trouble. But Marcus was a businessman, and he no longer did any work with PRO. So why was it that he was always in the middle of anything bad that was happening on the planet?
“I’m better,” I argued. “I’m strong enough.”
Marcus lifted an arrogant brow. “You wouldn’t make it past the hospital door before you collapsed,” he observed. “You’re still too weak.”
I wanted to challenge him by getting up and walking out of the hospital, but I was still attached to the IV, and I already knew how much effort it took just to get up and go to the bathroom. I’d done it many times since they were pumping me full of fluids. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I want to go home, Marcus. If I have to, I’ll have one of my brothers come get me.”