6. Jared

SIX

I'm joltedback to consciousness like someone's given me a shot of epinephrine. Except, it wasn't anything quite so humane—it was a slap across the face.

I groan and as my head lolls listlessly, my training kicks in, jumpstarting my brain. Everything snaps into sharp focus as I automatically start cataloging everything I sense.

Any injuries? Nothing incapacitating.

Where am I? Tied to a chair. Large room. Maybe an hour or two from where they captured us.

How many assailants? At least one in the room. There were three in the van.

Probable weapons? Nothing I can get my hands on at the moment. Not when my hands are zip-tied to the sides of the metal chair. But there's light shining in my eyes, and from the angle of the light, there are two sources, both mounted on portable tripods.

As the information filters in, one single word flashes bright in my mind—Logan.

Fuck. Logan. I need to get out of this fucking chair, find Logan, and escape.

Breathe.

After the long, exhausting day I had at work, I was so excited for our date. The one scheduled meeting with the Marshal turned into an entire day briefing their team on everything I know about Alonzo Adams. The promise of seeing Logan again had been the only thing keeping me going all day.

I didn't notice anything wrong at first. That was my first mistake. I was too focused on myself, too eager to seek comfort from him that I didn't pick up on any of the warning signs.

Logan wasn't himself. There was no sign of his usual energy, his contagious exuberance. He was somber. Almost sad. When he said there was something wrong, it triggered my crisis response mode, but by then it was too late.

The assailants came out of nowhere. Two men, wearing black. I was still assessing what Logan meant when the dark van pulled to a stop on the street next to us.

It happened so fast, there was no time to react. We were bundled into the back of the van, restrained, and knocked unconscious in mere seconds.

There's only one person who could do this. The timing erases any shred of doubt. It's Alonzo Adams.

And now the madman has Logan. Oh god, Logan. My sweet, innocent Logan.

Breathe.

I force my eyes open against the bright lights, a snarl at the ready. "What have you done with Logan, you psychopathic prick?"

Nothing at first. No shuffling of feet or rustle of clothes. Barely the sound of breathing.

"Come out where I can see you, you coward!"

A sigh. A very put-upon one. "Now, now, that's no way to speak to your captor, is it?"

That voice. It sends tendrils of fear slithering through me, seeking out every weakness and burrowing deeper inside. I hate that voice. I didn't think I'd ever have to hear it again. Even now, knowing it's Alonzo Adams standing in the shadow, I'm not prepared for the chill it sends through me.

It's coming from the right, somewhere behind the lights, and I train my gaze in that direction.

"Let him go. He has nothing to do with this!" My heart hammers against my ribs. I need to stay calm, stay in control, but the thought of this monster putting his hands on Logan, standing in the same room, breathing the same air... it sends me into a barely repressible rage.

"Hmm, you are correct about that, Special Agent Jared Sable." He spits out the word "special" like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Then Alonzo fucking Adams steps into the light and I get my first glimpse of the bastard in four years.

He's thinner than he used to be, almost gaunt. The skin around his eyes and jaw is wrinkled and loose, making it seem like his face is melting off his skull. His hair is stringy and gray, longer than it used to be, with a receding hairline.

He looks like a skeleton come to life, and yet there's something even more sinister about him now than I remember. His edges are sharper, his barbs are longer, and there's a manic energy emanating from him that's palpable.

Alonzo Adams was dangerous before he went to prison. And prison has only made him more deadly.

"It's true. Your Logan has nothing to do with me." Alonzo's voice has the same maddening lilt I remember, almost like he's singing—or taunting. "But unfortunately for Logan, he has everything to do with you."

Against my better judgment, I strain at my bindings. Unsurprisingly, they don't budge and all I accomplish is deepen the cuts the zip ties have gouged into my skin. Still, the urge to hurl myself at the lunatic and smash his face in with my fists is overwhelming.

Breathe.

"Don't you fucking touch him. This is between you and me. Leave him the fuck out of it."

Alonzo laughs—a blood-curdling sound—and strolls casually across the room. "You are in no position to be making demands, old friend." The last word comes out with a distinct sneer.

Friend. Alonzo and I were never friends. The very idea makes my stomach turn.

When I was undercover, my mission was to get close to Alonzo, gain his trust, and learn his secrets. I was very good at my job. So good, in fact, he invited me to his compound several times and even introduced me to his wife and son—Elena and Manuel.

That wasn't something Alonzo did lightly. Only his highest lieutenants were granted access to his home and family. That says a lot about how well I did my job, and how spectacularly I failed in the end.

He blames me for Elena and Manuel's deaths. That might be the only thing we'll ever agree on, because hell, I blame myself too.

Elena was a kind woman and Manuel was a sweet boy.

She thought her husband was an upstanding businessman. I didn't believe it at first, but over the course of multiple conversations over cocktails by the pool, I became convinced Elena didn't have the first clue just how despicable the man who shared her bed was.

Manuel had only been eight years old. His ninth birthday had been two weeks away and his parents had planned an extravagant party for him. He was a quiet kid who preferred to curl up with a book rather than play with any of the expensive toys Alonzo showered him with.

They weren't supposed to be at the compound that day. They were supposed to be away visiting Elena's parents. All these years later, I'm still not clear why that visit had been canceled. None of our sources had indicated a change in plans. We had no reason to suspect they would be there. If I'd known…

I push the thought aside. It won't help me now. It'll only distract me.

I've spent years ruminating over "what ifs". What if they weren't outside by the pool? What if the compound guard hadn't opened fire first? What if they'd been able to run to shelter more quickly? None of it matters now. I can't change the past. I did the best I could with the information I had. Maybe I'm at fault, maybe I'm not. Either way, I have to continue living my life.

I've come to terms with it. But clearly, Alonzo hasn't.

Breathe.

"Tell me, Agent Sable." Alonzo motions to someone standing in the shadows and one of his men brings out a chair. He sets it off to one side and Alonzo sits down, leaning back, crossing his legs. "How have you been these past four years? Are you taking care of yourself? Mental health and work-life balance and all that? I'm told the FBI takes those things very seriously these days."

He's goading me, baiting me, trying to rile me up and keep me off balance. I can't let him get the better of me. I can't let him get the upper hand. "Fuck you."

"Hmm. Yes, well, you certainly did that, didn't you?" His voice has lost all traces of humor, leaving behind a cold, calculating edge. "And now it's time for me to return the favor."

Before I can contemplate what he means by that, never mind respond, the door opens. The metal-on-metal screech is loud and piercing enough that even Alonzo winces in discomfort. I can't see the door from where they've placed me, but it sounds heavy and solid. Combined with the concrete floor and the way our voices echo off the walls, I'm guessing they've put me in some kind of containment room. Probably in an industrial facility of some sort.

"Please, don't hurt me. Please, I haven't done anything. I don't know anything. Please."

Whatever calm and control I've managed to shore up in the short time since I've been awake is completely obliterated by the sound of Logan's voice. I roar in anger.

How dare he? How dare he go anywhere near Logan? How dare he bring Logan into this? Logan's innocent. He shouldn't be here.

I lunge from the chair only to have the zip ties cut painfully into my wrists. I go nowhere. I rage anyway.

My Logan. In the clutches of a madman like Alonzo Adams. This can't be happening. It's worse than my worst nightmare. Even in my darkest dreams, I never imagined anything as horrifying as this.

Alonzo will destroy Logan. He'll rip Logan apart, inch by inch, until nothing remains except tatters. He'll make me watch every second of it and he'll holler in delight at our pain.

I can't let that happen. I won't.

"Don't touch him, you fuckers! Let him go!"

"Jay?" Alonzo's man pushes Logan into the light and shoves him to his knees. He lands on the concrete, hard enough to make a sickening crack, and topples over with a sobbing cry.

"Logan! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"

It's hard for me to assess for injuries from so far away. There's some blood running down the side of his face and a bruise starting to form at his temple. His coat is gone and his clothes are ripped and dirty. He's favoring his left shoulder, but there are no obvious injuries I can see.

It's a bittersweet relief. Logan might not be hurt at the moment, but that just means Alonzo can hurt him more later.

"Jay?" The fear in Logan's voice is palpable. But there's something else mixed in there too. He's looking up at me with a frown, like he's surprised to see me here. Like he's confused. His gaze drops to my wrists and ankles that are tied to the chair, then up to my face. "You… why… I don't…"

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a heart-wrenching sob. The sound kills me. I hate it. I can't bear to see Logan hurt or in pain. Especially when it's because of me.

"It's okay, babe. Everything's going to be okay. I'll get us out of here." Which means I need to get a grip on myself first. Calm. Control. Breathe.

Alonzo hasn't moved from his chair, he's barely twitched. His gaze is sharp and conniving as he takes in the scene playing out in front of him. He's making calculations, reevaluating his options, adjusting his approach. It doesn't bode well for me and Logan.

"I wouldn't make promises you can't keep, Agent Sable." His voice, his expression, everything about him is so devoid of humanity, so full of evil.

Breathe.

"You fucking psychopath. You won't get away with this. I'm going to lock you in the deepest darkest hole where no one will find you, no one will care what happens to you, and you'll never see the light of day again. I'll throw you in there myself and toss the key into the middle of the ocean. If it's the last fucking thing I do, I'll make sure you pay for this."

So much for calm and control.

Alonzo sneers. "I believe you've tried that once before. It didn't work."

"Fuck you!"

Alonzo lets out a dramatic sigh. "You know, that insult isn't nearly as offensive as you seem to think it is. That's what happens when you issue too many threats and aren't able to follow through on them."

He's taunting me, playing with me. I shouldn't engage, shouldn't respond. It'll only give him more fuel, it'll only feed his twisted, fucked up impulses. But I can't help it. I can't sit back and do nothing while he's got Logan in his clutches.

"The Marshals are hunting you as we speak. Did you think they'd let you walk away? You're delusional. I told them everything I know. Every location you might hide out in. Every associate who may help you. They'll track you down, and when they do, you're going to wish you died in that raid."

Alonzo's conceited smile drops from his face. "Trust me, old friend, I already do."