Chapter 7

ELI

Igasped, folding in half as a fist slammed straight into my stomach as soon as the door closed behind Caleb.

I threw out a punch at the first man guarding the door, but he was so meaty that my knuckles bounced off of muscle.

"Stay the fuck still, you little rat," Meathead One snarled.

Cold fear joined my thudding pain, the connection made, message received.

My time was here. Finally.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I shouted, my voice bouncing around the depot, hoping someone might help. But, apart from some looks from those closest to us, everyone ignored me. They were used to it around here.

"You've got the wrong person!" I said as I threw my elbow backwards while the other guard closed me in. I felt my elbow connect with something soft and heard a cry but he didn't let it stop him.

"Oh no, we definitely got the right fucking guy," Meathead Two growled, jumping on me and grabbing me from behind in a pincer hold.

I kicked backwards, but even when I hit his shin, he didn't move.

Throwing my head back, I aimed for his nose while I tried to force my arms open and stamp on his foot, but there was no getting away.

"I guess Sam brought in the big guys for this." I smirked as I jumped around, but it was no use. He wasn't letting go.

Meathead One was right in front of me. His hand went behind his back and I thought he might have another gun, but he yanked out a nylon sack instead. If they got me in that, there was no getting out of here.

I was planning to kill myself, but I wanted to go out my way.

Meathead One held the sack in one hand, coming in close to bury his fist into my stomach again. Another explosion of pain and all the air was forced out of my lungs. I tried to curl my knees up, protect my stomach, but Meathead Two was squeezing me too hard.

"You won't be making jokes soon," One said. "Boss has got a nice treat for you."

"What if I don't want it?" I replied faintly.

He grinned, showing his missing and smoke-stained teeth. "Ain't got no choice about that," he said, throwing another fist into my stomach.

I spluttered, trying to find a way to breathe, sure I was going to cough up blood. The harsh, fake light of the depot nearly vanished as he got the sack over my head, but I still kicked out and got him.

There was a satisfying yelp. "You fucker!" One snarled, his fist cracking against my face. This time I really did spit blood.

I made myself heavy, hoping it would give me a chance to catch them off guard, but it earned me a knee in the thigh that dropped me. "What did I say about staying the fuck still?" Two hissed.

I could only sense two of them, but it was enough to subdue me.

They grabbed my wrists. I struggled against them but they were too fast. "I said you've got the wrong guy!" I shouted. "I don't know what you're talking about!" A sudden zip of a cable tie bound my wrists together in front of me. Another clumsily zipped the burlap sack to my throat, digging harshly into my windpipe. Too tight, no way to freedom.

But did I want freedom?

Already strangling, it was just a matter of time before either my throat gave out or they removed the bag.

I tried to get more words out, but the smallest movement of my throat made it feel even tighter. I was going to pass out at this rate.

"Now it's time to fucking move," Meathead Two growled as he shoved me forward onto my hands and knees.

Three years of work, training my body, killing them, killing for them. Even torturing people who betrayed the family to prove I was trustworthy. The Donelli's like their torture, and if it was a choice between slow strangulation or choking on my own severed dick, I knew how I wanted to go.

They didn't give me a chance to stand. Grabbed by the wrists, they dragged me across the smooth concrete floor. Even in my suit, the pure pain of grazes across my stomach and thighs only served to keep me awake.

Every time I struggled, they threw a new punch or kick, which led to more struggling, and on we went.

Along the corridor, up two flights of stairs, along another floor, down a flight. It just kept fucking going, like they were killing time by pulling me around and throwing insults at me. The depot wasn't even that big, and I swear they hauled me through the main area three times. By the time we finally stopped, I was sure I had at least two broken ribs, and the sheer agony of my right arm suggested a break.

I was done for either way.

Then, they finally stopped. With the rattling of a metal door, a loud clang, I was hit with the humid night air.

"Squeak squeak, motherfucker," Meathead One said. If he'd seen me rolling my eyes at him it would have definitely earned me another smack in the face.

The air shifted, and from the clanging around me, I was sure we were in the loading bay.

"Well, Eli!" Sam Donelli's slick voice dashed through any thoughts I had of a quick death. "So nice of you to join us!"

I coughed as one of the meatheads yanked me to my feet, punching me in the stomach again. They were pretty one-note.

"Come on then, tie him up!" Sam clapped. "We wouldn't want our honoured guest to be uncomfortable!"

There was a click from behind me where Sam's voice had come from, and I was eighty percent sure he had a gun.

Still dragging me across the floor, the light through the bag had become brighter, I guessed from the massive floodlights they used in the loading bays.

The meathead threw me, my shoulder smacking against a wall, and I instantly sprung off it and tried to jump away. But they were already there, landing another punch, knocking me back into the wall.

"Oh, don't make a fuss, Eli." Sam laughed, growing closer. "I've done all this for you. It would be rude to try and escape now."

I was about to fight, until a muffled shout came from my left.

I squeezed my eyes closed as Jones' cry pierced through my struggle.

Chalmers would be there too, then. They were inseparable now. Even in death, if Sam had his way.

Pulling me upright, I finally coughed, the warm metallic blood was too much to hold in my mouth. It seeped over my lips, and I let it go. I wasn't swallowing back down my pain, no matter how easily the cable sliced into my flimsy throat.

Fuck, I'd wanted it to be fast. But I also expected this.

A quick twist and my back slammed into the wall, my shoulder whacking off a solid surface, hard, metal. Another clang, a rattle. I'd taken part in enough of Sam's theatrics to know a drainpipe when I heard one.

"What do you think?" Sam asked as a knife nicked my wrists and freed them. Each meathead had already grabbed an arm and they were forcing them backwards. "It will be a fitting end for you three." Sam sounded so pleased with himself. He had no idea I was the king of fitting ends.

There was no point asking for forgiveness or listening to the thugs taunting me. Another reason the Donelli's were so successful was loyalty.

I was tied up to the drainpipe and slowly losing consciousness. Looking at it logically, they had already won.

The meatheads were standing right in front of me, though the pounding silence beating around us was more suffocating than the thin strip of plastic cutting through my Adam's apple.

"I've got two friends of yours I'm sure you'd love to see again," Sam goaded. "Though it was only three days ago you met up at that diner, you piece of shit."

I let out a rough grunt as Sam backhanded me across the right cheek. The sack over my head did nothing to lessen the blow.

I coughed, cloying blood coating the dry first layer on my chin.

He stepped away from me as pain oozed from my pulsing jaw, joining the chorus of agony within me.

I rocked my head up, the back of my skull thudding off of the metal pipe. It rang hollow, high, thin, maybe thin enough for me to work with.

"And you!" There were three more steps before Sam stopped on my left. "You really gave me the runaround there. I thought we'd never catch you!" There was a dull thud and Jones gave a muffled yell.

Sam kept talking while my training kicked in. Even if I wanted to focus on the man that had reshaped my reality in the darkest way, the agent inside me was trying to find a way for us to escape. I'd been a soldier before I became an agent, and I couldn't stop myself.

Jones was an annoying little shit and Chalmers was as good a person as an agent could be, and they didn't deserve to die here. I would have stopped fighting if it was just me, but I was responsible for them, even if I didn't want to be.

It started with learning the terrain. Eyes closed, I tracked Sam's movements while extending my hearing, picking up any background noises around us. A plane flew high above us, a quiet rumble behind the three or four men at two o'clock.

Two in front. At least two to my ten , Sam and Jones on the left. No confirmation of Chalmers, but she would know to keep quiet.

Until a slap rang firm from my right and she cried out.

"You bastard!" Jones shouted, along with more clanging. I had to assume he didn't have a sack over his head. I wasn't sure if that was better or worse for him.

I curled my numb fingers into fists, testing the give of the cable tie. My hands were probably already blue. I stretched my neck, but there was no relief there either.

And here I'd been wishing for death. I should have done it when I had the chance. I had a gun with me all the time, I'd been in enough fights. It was my need to feel Sams's last heartbeat that kept me going.

Jones had only ever been a handler. Chalmers knew what it was like. You could see it in her eyes when you looked at her. She knew what it meant to give up part of yourself for a cause that meant fuck all in the end.

"Take off his bag," Sam said. I heard him step away. Then more footsteps, a knife at my throat, and a burning slice from collarbone to ear, dulled by the burlap sack.

The moment I choked, heaving a breath before spitting blood, the bag was whipped off my head.

I was hit with intense white light beaming down from above as the main flood lights shone straight into my face.

I swung my head to both sides. Chalmers and Jones were in the same positions, hanging limp with wide eyes glued to Sam. If Sam decided to go for us, we had no chance. I didn't want to give him any reason to kill them, though I'd never heard of Sam offering mercy without a price. A quick scan of the loading bay ended with my gaze on Sam's twisted face.

It wasn't hard to act scared when I suspected Sam was going to follow the history of TV mobsters who thought their calling was in drugs, death, and long soliloquies.

Sam kept himself beefed up, fought the same as Caleb and I. Wide jaw, thick skull, and tattooed hands meant for violence.

It was his smirk that got me. It contained the same depth of malice as Wyatt's, one that haunted my nightmares.

My body shuddered as the memory struck me. Her face crushed against an antique rug her grandmother gifted us on our wedding day, glassy eyes as Wyatt kept thrusting, not knowing the hand he had pressed against her head had cracked her skull and killed her.

Bile rose in the back of my throat as I tried to concentrate. Each man around us would have a gun, and they were close enough that the chances of hitting any of us were high.

Maybe the drain pipes could be ripped off of the wall, but we wouldn't stand a chance. The best course of action would be to grab a gun and try to kill as many of the meatheads as possible. They had men stationed all around the depot. If Sam had us tied to the North wall, we might make it to the parking lot, get my car and run. But there was only one exit to the depot and the guards had walkie-talkies.

The best chance of escape was death. And I wanted to make sure Sam Donelli knew who I was and what I'd done before I went.

Sam was having too much fun playing with his gun. It was a standard pistol with a long silencer fixed on the barrel. And he looked too similar to Wyatt for me to not imagine how satisfying it would be to slice open his chest and watch him bleed. With him reaching for me, gasping, begging like his brother had as I rolled a knife through his intestines.

Sam held his gun between his palms, grinning as he lifted it, the floodlights casting his silhouette as he shot three silent rounds into the air before snapping his attention back to me.

"See that? You fucking see that? You've never seen me shoot a gun before, have you, Eli? You know why? Because I'm a fucking man, and I prefer you fuckers to die slow."

I was still looking for a way out, but there were too many bulges in jackets, and some of the idiots around us thought shoving a pistol in their crotch was a good way to go about it.

It had been a long time since I'd come face-to-face with Sam. I'd been waiting for a chance like this for months. The reason I let Caleb fuck me in the beginning was to get to him. Until Caleb destroyed me with his lust.

"You scum bags don't even deserve that." Sam grit his jaw, and I caught a vein popping in his temple as I glanced out of the corner of my eye. "You guys think you're so fucking smart, don't you? Coming in here with your shiny jackets and your fucked up hairstyles, as if you can just waltz in like you belong here."

Focusing on gentle breaths, I brought out my pain to keep myself alert. They could have easily shot me in the depot, so he must have a plan. I looked to Chalmers, whose shirt was stained with dried blood, and she already looked like she'd given up. Her shoulders sagged as she met me with a frown, mouthing a slow ‘sorry' to me before her chin dropped to her chest.

I looked back at Sam, who was staring at me, but I could tell nothing registered. Just like last time we met, Sam didn't have a single clue who I was. All he saw was the ‘rat' who had infiltrated his base, not the man who had his entire life stolen away all because Sam wanted information from me and my wife.

I wouldn't let him win. Even in death, I'd stand my ground against him.

"You gotta stop looking at me like that, or I'm gonna get ideas." Sam did a sweep of my body, inspecting me from two metres away. "Besides, I'm saving you for something better."

Sam's eyes flashed as his lips drew into a grin. "I've let you scamper around in my house for too long. Vermin like you should have been exterminated before you even got inside. I knew there was something wrong with you when you first came. I can see it in the way you walk. You don't know shit about this life."

I took a shuddering breath, wincing at the damage they'd already done. I couldn't hold back anymore.

"I don't, do I?" I said, meeting his hard glare. "And you don't know shit about me."

His pause was enough for me to continue. "It's been three years since Wyatt raped and murdered my wife. And I've been working you lot over for a year as well."

Then it was my turn to smile as Sam's face slipped.

"Bruno was the hardest, you know?" I carried on. "I had to sneak into jail, and he fought like a motherfucker before I got a knife in his throat." And then I beat him the same way they did to my wife, going at him so furiously I didn't actually know when he died.

"What?" Venom sliced the air as Sam moved closer.

"Wyatt went too quickly." I smirked as he waved his big, scary gun in my face. "You remember that? A year ago, when your brother died in a bar fight? He was too fucking drunk to realise what was happening." I snorted. "And don't get me started on Carlos. You'd think he would have been more careful. Two weeks ago, died from an overdose, right? And you weren't even suspicious?" I laughed, a splatter of blood bursting from me, dribbling onto my chest. "I took out both your brothers and you didn't look at me once."

"What!?" Jones shouted, his pipe clanging again. "What the fuck are you talking about!?"

He didn't know when to shut the fuck up. Was that really his priority right now?

"How do you think we found you!?" Sam said with glee as he pushed the gun straight between my eyes. "You thought you were so smart, sneaking about, gathering all your intel. We knew it was you all along. All the information you stole? Every bit of it was fake."

"Oh, yeah? And you still left me to scurry around without stopping me?" I chuckled, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of my own life before snapping my gaze back to his. "Well, I'm right here, Sam. You finally caught me."

I didn't drop my stare, hurling out every ounce of hate that had been festering in my heart since Martha was stolen from me. I could finally show them who I was, the person I hid from everyone but Caleb.

Sam let out a long breath as he stepped back from me. Something changed in him, a new tension rising as the gun clicked in his hand.

It was done before a single word fell from her lips. One shot, straight into Chalmers forehead. Her body jolted in shock as the muted click of the trigger echoed around the loading bay and splattered her brains against the wall.

Silence plunged around us, so loud my ears rang as the world stopped. All I could do was watch, wide-eyed as her body slumped forward, bent at ninety degrees, still twitching. The tie around her wrists held her up as blood poured from her head in a steady stream.

Chalmers had been prepared, she knew we were done for. Jones, though, he'd never seen anyone die before. It was obvious from the way his screams tore from him, and how hard he fought against his restraints. His babbling, his crying, the fighting - it only pulled Sam's attention. So I could thank Jones for that, at least

Brief thoughts of my daughter danced across my mind. Hot summer days picnicking in our back garden, a Christmas full of love and family, planting spring flowers and crunching through autumn leaves. It was her sheltered innocence I was here to protect.

They couldn't get to her once I was gone.

"What happened to you not using guns?" I spat at him.

"It doesn't count when you're killing vermin. And it's not gonna end here." Sam snarled. "You think you three are enough? This is war. We stayed off you guys as a fucking curtesy. We let you run operations in our territory. You think it was a fucking coincidence the information about the Marshall deal just fell into your lap?"

"It wasn't like that!" Jones shouted. "We were just doing our jobs."

I threw him a bitter look. His terrified eyes hit me, and I shook my head. He was done.

Sam took a single step towards him, the gun flashing in the floodlights.

"Oh, God! No! Please! Stop! I'll tell you anything!"

Which was exactly what my wife said. I learnt early on that begging was never an option with the Donellis.

Fear joined the pain shooting through me as the quiet, steady flow of Chalmer's blood splashed onto the concrete, half running down the drain by her feet while the rest spread in a pool towards me.

Jones' drainpipe joined the chorus of his screams as he struggled, his body violently jerking. "Eli! Help me! Eli, please!"

What could I say that would stop Sam? There was a reason he led the Donelli family. If he decided on something, nothing could get in his way.

I closed my eyes, sighing heavily through my nose. I should care more, I should do something, but Jones was getting an easy way out.

Sam gave a harsh laugh. "Say it again, go on. Tell me how much you want to live."

Jones' terrified shouts would do nothing, and maybe a part of him knew that, but it didn't stop him trying.

Sam's lips curled in disgust after a minute of begging and pleading, and it was clear when he grew bored. Just a squeeze of his finger. That's all it took to end Jones' life. His last word was a roar of "No" before the silent puff of a bullet flew through his head, and it was done. Not a single flinch from the men around me - we'd all seen too much death to be moved any more.

The agency had trained us religiously on what to do when our cover was blown, but how was I ever meant to prepare for pain? Even if I'd been beaten like this before, fought Caleb and others in the ring for a year, it didn't make the agony of their punches and kicks any less. It was the same for a bullet. And all because they were shipping drugs and wanted to keep making money.

My plan to pretend to be scared flew out of the window as I met Sam with a hard glare. If he shot me, I wouldn't fight. Donelli talked about facing people like a man, but I stopped being a man the day my wife died.

"Come out," Sam called, his voice bouncing around the loading bays. "I know you're there."

All my determination faltered, because one of the two people who made me come undone emerged from the shadows.

Our eyes locked, and his pure fury gave me strength.

His shoulders back, head held high, getting ready to face off anyone who came near him in that arrogant way of his. Like the true heir of the Donelli empire.

"What the fuck is going on?" he said quietly, his gaze fixed on me. "Eli, what the hell did you do?"