52. Fifty-One

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white against the black leather. The SUV's engine hummed, a low growl that echoed my own simmering tension as we sped down the highway. The convoy stretched out behind us in the rearview mirror—a motley assortment of motorcycles, luxury sedans, and battered pickup trucks, all united in our grim purpose.

Eli sat in the passenger seat, his leg bouncing restlessly. He kept glancing over at me, his brow furrowed with worry. I wanted to reach out, to reassure him somehow, but the words stuck in my throat. What could I possibly say? We were driving headlong into the unknown, into a confrontation with a man who, by all accounts, was the devil himself.

In the backseat, Xander and Xavier were uncharacteristically quiet. They sat close together, shoulders brushing, as if drawing strength from each other's presence.

The sky outside was a leaden gray, heavy with the promise of snow. Skeletal trees flashed by, their bare branches clawing at the clouds. It felt like we were driving through a wasteland, a no-man's-land where anything could happen.

My mind raced as I navigated the winding roads, trying to formulate some semblance of a plan. But the truth was, I had no idea what we were walking into. Algerone was a ghost, a phantom who had haunted the edges of our lives for years without ever showing his face. And now we were driving right into his den, offering up Xander and Xavier like lambs to the slaughter.

The road narrowed, hemmed in by signs of residential life in whatever small town we were about to pass through on our way to Cincinnati. I didn’t know exactly where Algerone was holed up down there, but I’d texted him to let him know we were on our way. I hoped that once we got closer, he’d roll out the welcome matt.

A red light glared at the intersection ahead, forcing me to ease off the accelerator. The SUV rolled to a stop. Suddenly, a black sedan whipped around the corner ahead and skidded to a halt mere inches from my front bumper. Another vehicle, a hulking SUV with tinted windows, careened in from the side street and slammed to a stop perpendicular to us, blocking the intersection. Doors flew open and men in black body armor poured out, swarming around our vehicle with choreographed precision.

“Shit,” I swore under my breath, adrenaline spiking through my veins.

Beside me, Eli tensed, his knuckles white as he gripped the door handle. “Feds?” he asked tightly.

My eyes darted over the men surrounding us, taking in every detail with razor-sharp focus. These weren't feds. Their movements were too fluid, too practiced. They wore no insignia, no badges.

“No,” I said grimly. “These are Algerone's men.”

Xander let out a low whistle. “Damn, Pops doesn't mess around, does he?”

I didn't have time to respond. The men were already in motion, yanking open car doors. Rough hands seized me, dragging me out of the driver's seat. I caught a glimpse of Eli being similarly manhandled, his face a mask of fury as he struggled against his captors.

“Let go of me, you fucking—” His snarl was cut off abruptly as a black hood was yanked over his head.

Panic clawed at my throat. I thrashed against the iron grips pinning my arms, desperate to get to Eli, to Xander and Xavier. But it was like fighting a tide. For every mercenary I managed to throw off, two more took their place. They moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine, their faces impassive as they wrestled us into submission.

In the chaos, I lost sight of the others.

My vision went dark as a hood was yanked roughly over my head, the coarse fabric scratching against my skin. I could hear Xander and Xavier's muffled curses and the scuffling of boots on pavement, but I was powerless to help them. Hands like iron vices clamped around my biceps, wrenching my arms behind my back. The bite of zip ties cut into my wrists.

I was shoved and prodded like an animal until the hard metal frame of a car door hit the backs of my knees. A palm on the crown of my head forced me down and in. I fell awkwardly across what felt like a bench seat, my shoulder slamming into the opposite door. The slam of the door I'd been shoved through was like a gunshot in the close confines.

The engine roared to life, and the vehicle lurched into motion. I strained my ears, trying to pick out any clues to where the others had been taken, but all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears and the muffled voices of the mercenaries in the front seat, barking clipped orders into radios.

Time lost all meaning in the darkness of the hood. We could have driven for minutes or hours; I had no way to gauge the passage of time. My mind spun dizzying scenarios of what awaited us at our destination. Algerone's reputation painted him as a man who got what he wanted, no matter what.

The vehicle bounced and jostled as it navigated what felt like a winding, unpaved road, each rut and pothole jarring through my cramped muscles. The air inside the hood grew stale and humid with my own recycled breaths, the coarse fabric chafing against my skin with every jolt. I tried to keep track of the turns, to form some mental map of our journey, but it was impossible in the disorienting darkness.

After what could have been thirty minutes or three hours, the SUV rolled to a stop. The driver killed the engine, plunging us into an eerie silence broken only by the muffled rustling of the mercenaries climbing out. I tensed, heart pounding against my ribs as the door beside me was wrenched open. Rough hands seized my arms and dragged me out into the frigid air.

The crunch of gravel beneath my feet was the only clue to our whereabouts as I was marched forward, still hooded and bound. I strained my ears for any hint of the others' presence, any sign that Eli or Xander or Xavier were nearby, but heard nothing beyond the crunch of boots and the flapping of coattails in the wind.

A metallic clang rang out, like a heavy door slamming shut, and the ground beneath me changed from gravel to smooth, hard concrete. The echoes of our footsteps ricocheted off unseen walls, the acoustics telling me we had entered some narrow, low-ceilinged hallway, perhaps underground.

The air grew colder and damper as we descended, the chill seeping into my bones through the thin fabric of my shirt. The mercenaries' grips on my arms never faltered, their pace brisk and purposeful as they led me through the twisting bowels of whatever godforsaken place this was.

The hood muffled all sound, leaving me in a world of eerie, echoing footfalls and my own labored breathing. Occasionally, the scrape of a boot or the rustle of clothing would pierce the unnatural quiet, tantalizingly close yet maddeningly indistinct. Were the others here, suffering the same disorienting march into the unknown? The thought turned my stomach.

Time stretched and warped, measured only by the burn in my legs and the pounding of my pulse in my ears. Just when I thought I could bear the uncertainty no longer, we lurched to an abrupt halt.

Keys jangled and a heavy bolt scraped back. Hinges screamed in protest as a door was heaved open, the sound ringing through the passage like a gunshot. My captors hauled me forward, their fingers digging into my biceps with bruising force.

Six steps, then they spun me roughly and shoved me down into a hard metal chair before slicing through the zip ties binding me to free my arms. I tensed, waiting for more restraints, but none came. Apparently, they were confident enough in their control over me not to bother.

The hood was yanked off my head without warning, the sudden influx of light searing my retinas. I blinked rapidly, squinting against the painful brightness as my eyes struggled to adjust.

I found myself in a small, bare room, the walls a featureless expanse of gray concrete. A single metal table stood in the center, its surface gleaming under the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescents.

The mercenaries who had dragged me here were nowhere to be seen, having melted away like ghosts the moment their task was complete. I was alone, the silence pressing in on me from all sides, broken only by the faint buzzing of the lights and the rasp of my own breathing.

My mind raced, adrenaline still surging through my veins from the hectic chaos of our capture. Where were the others? Had they been brought to similar rooms, left to stew in uncertainty and dread? The thought of Eli, of Xander and Xavier, subjected to this same disorienting isolation, made my blood boil and my fists clench.

Time ticked by with agonizing slowness, each second stretching into a small eternity as I waited. For what, I couldn’t even begin to guess. Would it be torture? Interrogation? Or were they planning to kill me?

The door swung open and two figures strode in wearing nondescript black suits, the kind you'd expect to see on government agents or corporate security. But there was something off about them. No badges, no insignia, nothing to identify who they worked for or what agency they represented.

The one on the left, a wiry man with close-cropped gray hair and a face like weathered stone, took up a position in the corner. His eyes, a piercing blue that seemed to look right through me, never wavered as he stood there, arms crossed over his chest. A sentinel, silent and watchful.

His partner, a woman with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and lips pressed into a thin, unsmiling line, took a seat across from me. She moved with the coiled grace of a predator, each motion deliberate and controlled. When she spoke, her voice was like steel wrapped in silk, smooth and cold.

“State your name,” she demanded, and it wasn't a question. “Date of birth and social security number.”

I met the woman's cold gaze, my jaw clenched. “Something tells me you already have all of that information. I have nothing to say to you.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance passing over her features before they smoothed back into impassive professionalism. “Mr. Laskin,” she said, each syllable crisp and precise. “You would do well to cooperate. Your situation is... precarious, at best.”

“It’s Doctor,” I corrected her. “Doctor Laskin. And you would do well to tell me where the hell my people are,” I shot back, leaning forward. “What have you done with them?”

The woman leaned back in her chair, regarding me with a cool, assessing gaze. “Your... associates are being processed,” she said, each word measured and deliberate. “As are you. Cooperation will make this much easier for everyone involved.”

A harsh bark of laughter escaped my throat, echoing off the bare concrete walls. “Cooperation,” I repeated, shaking my head. “Is that what you call this? Ambushing us on the road, dragging us here against our will? You'll have to forgive me if I'm not feeling particularly cooperative .”

The woman's lips thinned into a razor-sharp line. She leaned forward, her elbows coming to rest on the cold metal of the table as she steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Doctor Laskin. You are not in control here. You will answer our questions, or there will be consequences. Consequences that will extend far beyond your own well-being.”

Ice slithered down my spine at the thinly veiled threat in her words. My mind raced, conjuring images of Eli, Xander, and Xavier at the mercy of these cold-eyed operatives. I forced myself to take a slow, steadying breath, schooling my features into a mask of stony indifference. I couldn't let her see how deeply her words had cut, couldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd found a chink in my armor.

“I want to see my people,” I said, my voice flat and hard as tempered steel. “I want proof that they're unharmed. Then, and only then, will I even consider answering your questions.”

The woman's eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring slightly as she exhaled through her nose.

I met the woman's icy glare, unwavering, even as my heart pounded against my ribs. The silence stretched between us, taut and thrumming with tension, broken only by the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead.

“I'm afraid that's not how this works,” she said finally. “You are not in a position to be making demands.”

She rose from her chair with a fluid grace, circling the table to stand behind me. I felt the heat of her presence at my back, the hairs on my neck prickling with unease.

“Now,” she continued, her breath ghosting over my ear. “Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Tell me about your childhood. Your birth parents.”

I clenched my jaw, staring resolutely ahead at the featureless gray wall. “I don't see how that's relevant.”

“Everything is relevant here. Every detail, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, helps paint the full picture.”

She moved back into my line of sight, perching on the edge of the table. The harsh light glinted off the smooth, dark sweep of her hair, casting harsh shadows across the planes of her face.

“Your birth parents,” she repeated. “What were their names?”

Sweat beaded on my forehead, tracing a slow, maddening path down my temple as the temperature in the room inched higher degree by excruciating degree. They were turning up the heat gradually, I realized with a grim sort of detachment, trying to break me down both mentally and physically. It was a tried and true interrogation tactic, one I was all too familiar with from my psychological studies. Ratchet up the discomfort bit by bit, make the subject increasingly desperate for relief, for an end to the torment. Then dangle that relief like bait, yours for the price of confession, of betrayal.

The woman watched me squirm with a glint of sadistic satisfaction in her dark eyes. She thought she was a predator toying with her prey, savoring every flinch and bead of sweat, but she’d made one fatal mistake.

I wasn’t trapped in that god forsaken room with them.

They were trapped in that room with Keres.

The woman leaned in close. “I'll ask one more time. Your birth parents. Give me their names.”

A familiar darkness stirred in the back of my mind. Keres prowled the edges of my consciousness, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

“Go to hell,” I spat, my voice low and gravelly.

The woman's lips twisted in a snarl. She raised her hand as if to strike me, but before she could connect, I let Keres off his leash.

I watched from a distance inside my body as Keres lunged, a snarl ripping from his throat as he snapped at the woman's face with lightning speed. She reeled back, eyes wide with shock, but it was too late. Keres's teeth clamped down, biting deep into the flesh of her cheek. With a savage twist of his head, he tore free a ragged chunk, blood spraying in a crimson arc.

Despite not being in control, the coppery taste of blood splashed over my tongue. The woman screamed, a shrill sound of agony and disbelief as she clutched at her ruined face. Blood poured between her fingers, pattering on the concrete floor in a macabre rain. She staggered back, nearly crashing into the table in her haste to escape.

Her partner pulled out a strange-looking gun and fired a single round, the sound a dull thunk. Pain bit into my shoulder, followed by a burning numbness.

The world tilted and spun as whatever they had shot me with flooded my system. Keres snarled in fury, fighting against the encroaching darkness with every ounce of his feral strength. But it was like trying to hold back the tide, the numbness spreading through my limbs with each sluggish beat of my heart.

Through the haze, I watched the woman's partner approach, his movements precise and measured, the strange gun still trained on my chest. His face swam in and out of focus, a blur of hard lines and cold eyes. He said something, his lips moving, but the words were lost in the rushing static filling my ears.

Keres lunged again, but didn’t get far before he collapsed. Our muscles trembled and twitched, no longer obeying our commands as the paralysis crept higher.

The room seemed to pulse and warp, the edges of my vision darkening like a vignette. Sounds echoed strangely, distorted as if I were underwater. The woman's pained whimpers, the steady drip of her blood on concrete, the rasp of my own labored breathing—all blended into a discordant symphony that scraped against my raw nerves.

Keres fought like a wild thing caught in a trap, all snapping teeth and desperation as the blackness slowly closed in.