Chapter Fourteen

Stryker

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Stryker paced the bar like a tiger in a cage as the flashing lights from police cruisers lit up the area. John had been missing for over sixty minutes.

The minute John had left the bar to go to his room, Rick had found Stryker and told him what had happened. He'd rushed up to the apartment but John was already gone. He'd cursed at Rick for letting him go until Brick told him firmly to calm down.

Stryker knew it wasn't Rick's fault; it was John being stubborn that had caused the situation. He'd have a few choice words to say to his lover when they found him. Because he had to believe they would find him alive and well or he'd go crazy.

The police were searching every inch of the county for John but so far, no success. He and Spencer remained at the apartment looking for clues about who'd taken John, though they figured it was the Noah Project group. Probably no surprises there.

Stryker stared at the open suitcase sitting on the bed. It was obvious that John had been caught off guard by whoever had taken him, and the cap from a hypodermic needle they'd found on the floor was damning evidence.

The first thing they'd done was fingerprint the doors and windows. All entry points were tested, and the fingerprints ran through Spencer's equipment. The man was a genius, and Stryker was counting on him to come up with a name, but it would take time. Time they didn't have. With every passing minute, they could be taking John farther and farther away.

He fought to control his anger and think logically, or else he'd be useless, but the hole in the pit of his stomach was growing larger by the minute. He had to find John; there was no other option.

***

John

He came to with bongos pounding inside his head. He'd woken up on the floor of a room without windows and only one door, which was no doubt locked. He stared around hazily, wishing now he'd never gone to his apartment alone. Stryker was going to freak when he found out, rip him a new arsehole.

Shit. It was too late for what-ifs. There had to be a way out of here, and he wouldn't stop until he found it because there was no way he was sticking around to find out what plans the Noah Group had for him.

He listened for any noise to give him an indication of where he might be. A highway, a dog barking, anything, but he was met with a very disturbing silence.

Where the hellam I?

There was comfort in knowing Stryker and the team wouldn't stop until they'd found him. He had to hold out until they got here. Whereverherewas. John wished he knew what was on the other side of the door. Then it hit him.

"Shit, this is the perfect time to see what I can do. "

He concentrated on the door and the wall on that side of the room, hoping to see something or someone and get a better idea of his position. Slowly, an image began to appear. A long hallway in front of him reminded him of an office building with cubicles on either side.

As far as he could see, no one was around. There was no guard stationed outside his door or person to be seen. He turned to another wall and concentrated again, finding a storage room on one side and another office on the other. It looked as if he was still in an urban area, not some godforsaken place in the hills where men with axes roamed. John had seen those gory films and they never ended well.

He went to the door, and as he'd suspected, it was locked. So, not going out that way. He concentrated on the wall separating him from the storage room. Standard two-by-fours and drywall construction separated him from the next room. If he could somehow get through the drywall, he was small enough to fit between the gap of the two-by-fours and get into the other room where, hopefully, the door was unlocked. It was worth a try. He couldn't just sit here and wait for shit to happen to him. It was time to make a stand.

He did a quick check, finding his inhaler still in his pocket in case he needed it from the physical exertion it would take to get through the wall. He laid down on his back and braced his feet against the drywall before pulling back and driving the soles of his shoes into the exact spot between two of the two-by-fours.

The drywall cracked, sending a jolt of pain up his legs. Thankfully, it wasn't very thick—it seemed someone had been stingy with the building work and subpar drywalling, likely to cut costs. Lucky for him.

He looked over at the locked door, concentrated, and scanned past it to see if anyone was coming down the hallway on the other side. He waited a minute, and when nobody appeared, he kicked the wall with the soles of his shoes again, wishing he was wearing his steel-toe work boots instead of runners.

After a few minutes, John managed to break a sizable piece of drywall off his side of the wall, and was now working on the backside of the drywall of the storage room. With his ability, he knew he at least wasn't hitting anything solid or electrical. His eyes glued on the doorway, keeping watch, he continued smashing at the drywall until he'd made a big enough hole for him to crawl through.

With one final look out into the hallway, John squeezed himself through the gap he'd created and into the storage room. He had to stop for a moment and use his inhaler. He was having difficulty breathing between the exertion and the drywall dust he'd created. His legs and feet were on fire. With a quick prayer to all the gods he could think of, he tried the storage room door. Eureka! It unlocked and he gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps his luck had changed.

He limped out into the hallway, relieved he didn't have to worry someone was hiding around the next corner because his gift helped him. Nobody was around, which was strange. As he passed the cubicles, filled with generic desks and telephones, there were no personal items, pictures, coffee cups, or files to indicate office workers used them.

Maybe he was in an abandoned office building, but why would phones still be here? John picked up one of the receivers but the line was dead. He decided not to stick around, hoping to find one that worked. He was better off finding a way out.

There were elevators at the far end of the cavernous room, but he knew better than to use them. The noise from the elevator might alert somebody of his escape. John scanned the area and saw an exit sign on the other side of the floor leading to a staircase.Thatwould be his way out.

He checked the door leading out into the stairwell; finding it empty, he limped over, opened it, and started his trek down the stairs. At least with his gift, nobody could sneak up on him from behind things. Maybe his unique ability wasn't bad after all, though he would have preferred extra strength or speed. Or even invisibility. That might have been cool.

John noted he was on the tenth floor by the number painted on the wall in the stairwell.I'ma long way up. He was convinced though that if he managed to get out of the building, he could try to find help and somehow reach Stryker.

I won't fail you.

***

Stryker

Stryker's phone rang, and he answered it quickly. "Stryker."

"We found a guy driving down one of Marshall's back roads coming in from the county over," Brick reported.

"Who is he?" Stryker asked.

"We don't know, but he's asking for you."

"Asking for me? What the hell."

"We'll meet you at the station. We're on our way."

Stryker looked over at Spencer. "We need to go."

When they got to the station, Stryker barely waited for the car to stop before he exited the passenger door and headed into the police station.

Brick and Roman were waiting for him, along with Elias and two of his deputies.

"Where is he?" Stryker asked.

"He's locked up in a cell this way," Elias said as he headed for the back of the building.

Stryker and the rest of the team followed behind. The moment he walked through the locked door and saw the man, he lost it.

"You fucker. What the hell are you doing here? Do you have anything to do with John's kidnapping?" Stryker demanded as he charged the bars.

The man inside the cell stepped back out of reach and smiled wide. "Hello, brother. It's good to see you again."

"You have a brother?" Brick asked, eyes wide.

"This piece of shit isn't my brother." Stryker sneered. "He should be locked up somewhere with padded rooms."

"Care to explain?" Brick asked.

"The bastard's crazy as they come," Stryker said.

"Oh brother, you wound me when you talk like that." The prisoner smirked.

Stryker shook his head in disgust. "This fucker here is Raymond Witherson. When my mother remarried, the guy had a son, exhibit A right here. He was away at a boarding school; a rich asshole who didn't take too kindly to someone as basic as me being in the picture."

"You never talk about your family," Roman said.

"You never told them about me?" Raymond sneered.

"Why would I, you crazy fuck. My mother chose her rich new husband over me, which wasn't so bad until I met my psychotic so-called stepbrother here. Who wasn't away at boarding school but more of a reform retreat for troubled youths."

"Great," Elias grumbled.

"I was eighteen then, so her decision expedited what I'd already planned and moved it into reality. I signed up and shipped out," Stryker explained. "I shouldn't have been shocked, given she wasn't a family type of person. The group home she was in cured her of that."

"Where does this asshole come into play?" Elias asked.

"That mission I went on, and the reason I didn't join the team here in Fire Lake right after getting out of the Navy, is sitting in that cell."

"You said you had a problem to take care of." Brick frowned.

"Yes. Him." Stryker jerked a thumb at the man behind the bars. "My mom outlived her new husband. It'd been decades since I'd seen or spoken with her. I'm told she regretted her decision to abandon me and, in her way, thought to make it up to me."

"Make it up to you?" Brick asked.

"Tell them, brother. Tell them how you stole what's mine," Raymond said through gritted teeth.

Stryker looked at the pathetic excuse for a human. "Trust fund baby over here has been in and out of trouble his entire life."

"Assaults, robbery, trespassing, theft, impersonation, forgery, just to name a few," Spencer stated from behind his laptop. "Those are only the highlights."

"Real upstanding citizen," Elias growled.

"I wouldn't have been forced to do those things if my father had given me what was mine." Raymond slammed a hand against the bars.

"That's it, blame everyone else for your shit," Styker said in disgust. "In the end, Raymond's father left his fortune to my mother, who in turn left the bulk of her fortune to me in her will when she died last year."

"I'm sorry your mother died," Roman said softly.

"The bitch took my money," Raymond said. "That money is mine, and I want it back."

"So that's where you went, to deal with your mother's estate and this idiot in the cell," Brick stated.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Roman asked.

"Yeah, I wanted to dig up old history about how I wasn't good enough for my mother's new life or how she chose this other guy over her son. Those aren't conversations I want to bring to the table."

"I get it," Brick said as he placed his hand on Stryker's shoulder. "We all have skeletons hanging in our closets, but we could have helped you. We're family; we stick together."

"Isn't this so very touching," Raymond spat. "But if you ever want to see your lover boy again, you'll hand over what's rightfully mine."

Stryker spun around so fast that the asshole didn't have time to back up to a safe distance. He reached through the bars, taking hold of Raymond's neck in his one hand.

"You took John? Where is he? What did you do with him?"

Raymond tried to break Stryker's hold to no avail, and Stryker continued to squeeze tighter and tighter.

"Where is he?" Stryker demanded.

"Let him go," Brick said calmly. "If you kill him, we'll never find out where John is."

Stryker hated that Brick was right. He released Raymond and shoved him to the ground. The asshole was fortunate there were bars between the two of them.

"Where is John?" Brick asked.

Raymond's coughing turned into hysterical laughter. "Give me what I want, and I'll tell you where he is."

"Call Gunner and Conor," Brick ordered. "We need Conor's help."