Chapter 26

Caleb drummed a staccato rhythm on his desk, his eyes fixed on the screen that taunted him with its refusal to yield secrets. The glare of his laptop mocked his every attempt to infiltrate Isabella’s encrypted iCloud fortress. He swore under his breath, frustration coiling in his gut like a tight spring. The digital walls stood impenetrable, yet within those walls lay the vital thread that could tie Isabella to Whitman, unraveling the entire sordid case.

“Damn it,” he muttered, slamming the laptop shut. He needed air, a momentary escape from the depressing defeat of the morning’s efforts. He’d take his lunch break outside this time, clear his head.

The chill of the outside world greeted him, a reprieve from his heated mind. He stepped over the biggest snow sludge, not wanting to get his nice shoes dirty, and walked to Subway. Nothing fancy for him. A simple sub would do.

“Turkey melt with bacon on Italian bread,” he said to the Subway employee when it was finally his turn.

He made it a meal with a Coke and two of those delicious raspberry cheesecake cookies. Unfortunately, the restaurant was packed, so he’d have to eat it at his desk after all. At least he’d gotten some fresh air, right?

The bag with his sub and cookies in one hand and his Coke in the other, Caleb stepped out onto the sidewalk. He dodged people brushing past him until the world shrunk to a pinpoint of cold, hard pressure against his back.

“Move, and you’re dead,” a voice hissed, barely above a whisper but laden with lethal intent.

A gun. His heart jackhammered and adrenaline flooded his system. He froze, breath hitching. Years of judo and kickboxing screamed within him, urging him to fight, to exploit the attacker’s balance, to break free. But even as his muscles tensed, ready to react, his mind roared louder with the knowledge that any sudden move could be his last. As fast as he was, he couldn’t outmove a gun.

“Easy, easy,” Caleb said, his voice a forced calm belying the terror snaking through his veins.

“Walk toward the black car,” the voice commanded, and Caleb obeyed. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew who it was. Joey DiMartino wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. Every instinct, every trained response to refuse to get into that car and fight his way out had to be curbed. He couldn’t risk a struggle, not when Joey’s finger twitched on the trigger with eager anticipation. It would cost Caleb his life.

“Get in.”

Caleb stared at the nondescript sedan idling at the curb, its back door ajar like the jaw of some urban predator. Fuck. He had no choice.

He stepped toward the car, his dress shoes scuffing the pavement. The interior was shrouded in shadows, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of the street he was being torn from. His hands trembled, betraying the fear he tried to cloak under a mask of stoicism, but he managed to get in without stumbling, even holding on to his lunch.

The door closed with a thud, sealing his fate. Seconds later, Joey—he could see his face now—slid in next to Caleb in the back seat, gun still in hand. He took Caleb’s drink with his other hand and gave it to the driver, then did the same for the bag with Caleb’s food.

“Phone. Now.” Joey stretched out his hand, waiting, unyielding.

Caleb had no issues handing over his phone. He wasn’t stupid enough to use an easy code or—worse—face ID. Joey held it in front of Caleb, muttering a curse when it didn’t unlock. “Your code.”

And so it began. Caleb took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself. “No.”

Joey’s hand was quick, the back of it striking Caleb’s cheek with such force his head whipped to the side. Pain splintered across his face, a bright flare that momentarily washed out the dread. Caleb’s eyes watered, but he set his jaw, the sting on his skin fueling his resolve.

“Your code.”

“You heard me the first time. No.”

Joey grabbed Caleb’s chin, forcing their gazes to lock. “I can make this very unpleasant for you.”

“Already is.”

Joey’s grip eased, and his face relaxed a little, almost as if he was amused. “If that’s how you wanna play it.”

“I don’t want to play at all.”

“You’ve got a wicked smart mouth on you. Won’t do you any favors.”

Caleb didn’t think that statement needed a response, so he kept silent.

“We’ll revisit this later.” Joey curled his fingers around the phone and turned it off, the screen’s glow dying. With a flick of his wrist, the dead phone disappeared into Joey’s jacket, severing Caleb’s hope of being tracked.

Caleb swallowed the metallic taste of fear and defiance on his tongue. Seconds later, Joey blindfolded him with rough fabric that bit into his skin. The sensory deprivation sent his already heightened awareness into overdrive as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Every jolt of the car, each turn and acceleration, compounded the disorientation, twisting Caleb’s sense of time into an unending spiral.

The city traffic meant lots of stops and turns, the occasional honking car, an ambulance passing by, but then the traffic thinned, and the car’s motion lulled into a steady hum. Had they hit a highway? Caleb’s senses remained on high alert. How much time had passed? Ten minutes? Twenty?

Through the cloying thickness of fear, the scent of Joey’s aftershave wafted toward him, a stark reminder of his captor’s presence. Caleb’s heart hammered against his ribs, a relentless drumbeat echoing the dread pooling in his gut. But it wasn’t just the fear for himself that gnawed at him. It was also the thought of Roman, how he would take this, how worried he would be. And even more important, fear for Roman’s safety, which now depended on Caleb being able to resist the inevitable interrogation.

The car’s engine finally went silent, ending the dull roar that had filled Caleb’s ears for god knew how long. Rough hands gripped his arm, yanking him from the false sanctuary of the back seat. Where were they?

Gravel crunched underfoot as Joey marched him across an uneven lot, his viselike grip on his arm preventing him from falling as Caleb tripped twice. They stepped over a threshold, and the sudden change in acoustics told Caleb they were inside a room. The stench of mildew and stale cigarettes almost made him gag, and somewhere, a faucet dripped a steady rhythm.

The blindfold was ripped off, and Caleb blinked against the sudden light. A motel room, he concluded once his eyes had adjusted. The curtains were pulled close so he couldn’t see the name. No obvious signs of branding anywhere, so probably not a chain motel. He still heard traffic, so they were close to a major road. The I-90, possibly?

Joey shoved him onto a desk chair that creaked ominously under his weight. Caleb’s wrists were yanked behind him and secured, the zip ties biting into his skin with cruelty.

“Comfortable?” Joey asked calmly, circling Caleb like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Not particularly. The zip ties are a bit tight.”

Joey grinned. “I bet they are.”

A third man entered the room, carrying Caleb’s lunch. Caleb’s stomach rumbled, but he doubted he’d get to actually eat his sub.

“What did he get?” Joey asked the other guy.

“Sub and cookies, plus a Coke.”

“I’ll take the Coke and the cookies. I have a sugar craving.”

Joey took his time eating the cookies, his eyes never leaving Caleb as if he were sizing him up, determining his best approach.

Finally, Joey crunched the paper bag into a ball and threw it into the trash. After a long sip from the Coke, he said, “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

His tone was friendly enough, but Caleb had no illusion their conversation would be. He braced himself for the threats, the pain, and whatever twisted game Joey wanted to play. He could handle pain. It was familiar territory, but never like this. Never without trust, without care.

“Who do you work for?” Joey asked.

Caleb pressed his lips together.

With a sigh, Joey took a switchblade from his pocket and clicked it open. “Let me ask that again. Who do you work for?”

Caleb shook his head.

Joey pressed the blade against Caleb’s cheek. “Would be a shame to ruin that pretty face.”

“Go to hell.”

The knife cut a cold, sharp path down his cheek, drawing blood. “Wrong answer.”

It stung, but Caleb had suffered much worse. And he would endure this too. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—betray Roman. Not even under the threat of steel or the shadow of death that loomed in Joey’s icy stare.

“Who sent you?” Joey asked.

Caleb didn’t react.

“Fine, have it your way,” Joey growled, withdrawing the blade with a suddenness that left Caleb’s nerves jangling.

Joey’s fist crashed into Caleb’s cheek. A sharp explosion of pain reverberated through his skull. Caleb’s head snapped to the side, and spittle flecked the grimy floor of the motel room. Another blow followed, knuckles finding the tender flesh just below his ribs. Air whooshed from his lungs in a pained gasp, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to pulsating agony.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… It hurt. It hurt so bad. He sucked in a breath, then another one.

“Who’s your employer?” Joey asked.

“Fuck you,” Caleb spat, the words tasting of iron and resolve. Or maybe that was the blood in his mouth. Not that it mattered.

The questions kept coming, a barrage meant to disorient and break him, but Caleb held firm. Pain bloomed across his body as Joey’s frustration turned physical again and again, but still, Caleb gave no ground. Silence was his only shield now, coupled with a stubbornness that refused to wilt under Joey’s harsh glare. No names would slip past his bloodied lips. He’d sooner die than betray the trust Roman and the team had in him.

Somehow, Caleb retreated inward, away from the relentless assault, the same way he did when he was in a scene. His mind separated from his body, and though he felt the pain, it didn’t touch him on the inside.

Instead, he conjured up images of Roman, each memory a balm against the brutality of the torture. The two of them in bed, cuddling. Roman’s soft flesh against Caleb’s skin. The impact of Roman’s hand on his ass. The lust in Roman’s eyes when Caleb kneeled for him. The warmth of Roman’s hand on his back, steady and sure, grounding him when the rest of the world seemed intent on tearing him apart.

Would he see Roman again? Or was this the end for him?

Fear was a living thing, a serpent coiling tight around Caleb’s heart. It whispered of unspeakable consequences, of never kneeling for Roman again, never feeling the reassuring pressure of his grip. Yet as Joey delivered another punishing hit, one that sent sparks dancing across Caleb’s vision, the fear was kept at bay by the fortress of Caleb’s will.

Roman’s eyes swam in his mind—those brown depths that held storms and secrets alike. The image of him, so vivid it hurt, was a lifeline thrown into the roiling sea of Caleb’s despair. Somewhere beyond these walls, Roman was fighting for him, and that knowledge lent Caleb a strength he didn’t know he possessed. Caleb’s body bore the brunt of Joey’s rage, but within him, something unbreakable took root and flourished. With Roman etched into his very soul, no amount of pain could truly conquer him.

Joey’s hand clamped down hard, fingers biting into Caleb’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze and return to the present. The room was a blur through Caleb’s tears and sweat, and he’d taken a few hits to his face as well, but Joey’s eyes pierced through the haze with predatory precision.

“If you think this is bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Joey said.

All Caleb could do was blink. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to form words. Everything hurt, everything swam, everything was blurry. He could barely think, let alone speak.

“Stubborn little…” Joey muttered, releasing Caleb’s face with a shove so his head knocked back against the wall.

Pain splintered through Caleb, another jolt in the relentless tide, and then everything went black, and he was sucked into blissful oblivion.