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I remember that day with painful clarity. The taunts, the shoves, the years of pent-up rage finally exploding. It was the incident that led to my first stint in juvenile detention.
Wolfe leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We’re not so different, you and I. Both forged in fire, both intimately acquainted with the darker side of human nature.”
“We are nothing alike.” I meet his gaze, pouring every ounce of contempt into my stare. A low growl rumbles in the back of my throat.
“No? Both of us rose above our circumstances, didn’t we? Both found ways to channel our—talents. We’ve both killed other men. The only real difference is which side of the law we operate on.”
“There’s a world of difference,” I spit out. “I protect people. You destroy them.”
“Yet, we’re still both killers.” Wolfe straightens, adjusting his cuffs. “Such a simplistic worldview. I expected more nuance from someone with your background.” He sighs theatrically. “Perhaps I overestimated you.”
I say nothing, refusing to be baited. Wolfe’s attempts to draw parallels between us, to create some twisted bond over shared trauma, only solidify my resolve. Whatever darkness I’ve faced, whatever demons I’ve battled, they led me to protect others, not exploit them.
Wolfe studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugs, the gesture almost elegant in its dismissiveness. “Very well. If you insist on clinging to your misguided sense of moral superiority, who am I to dissuade you?”
He turns to leave, pausing at the door. “Do think on what I’ve said, Mr. Hawkins. You may find that embracing your true nature is far more liberating than you imagine.”
Wolfe’s hand hovers over the doorknob, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. A cold smile spreads across his face. “But perhaps you need more persuasion to see things clearly?”
He snaps his fingers sharply. The door swings open, and it’s Bruiser again. He and the same man from before push a cart laden with an assortment of tools that make my blood run cold.
“Gentlemen,” Wolfe says, his tone casual as if he’s introducing dinner guests, “our friend here still needs some help expanding his perspective. Do be thorough.”
I steel myself, drawing on years of training and the burning need to protect Ember. Whatever comes next, I’ll endure. I have to.
Bruiser looms over me, his meaty hands wrapping around a bucket. Without warning, he upends it, sending icy water cascading over my head. I gasp involuntarily, the shock stealing my breath. Water drips into my eyes and runs down my spine, soaking me to the bone.
“Let’s see how tough you are now, pretty boy,” Bruiser growls.
Smiley approaches, something glinting in his hand. Electrodes. My muscles tense involuntarily.
The first shock hits like a freight train. Every nerve ending explodes in white-hot agony. My body arches against the restraints, a strangled cry tearing from my throat. The pain recedes, leaving me gasping, only to return with even greater intensity.
I retreat into my mind, desperately clinging to the techniques drilled into me during SERE training.
Name, rank, serial number. Focus on your breathing. Find an anchor.
Ember’s face flashes in my mind. Her determined eyes, the curve of her smile. I latch onto the image, using it as a shield against the pain.
Bruiser’s fist slams into my solar plexus, driving the air from my lungs. As I struggle to breathe, Smiley’s fingers dig into the pressure point at the base of my skull. The world whites out, pain radiating through every fiber of my being.
Inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four.
I cling to the rhythm, using it to ride out the waves of agony.
“Where’s your team?” Bruiser demands, landing another blow to my ribs. Something cracks audibly.
I say nothing, focusing instead on memories of Ember.
Smiley presses the electrodes to my thigh. Electricity courses through me, setting every nerve ending on fire. My muscles spasm uncontrollably. I bite down hard, tasting blood as I nearly sever my tongue.
Compartmentalize. Separate your mind from your body.
I imagine building a wall between my consciousness and the pain, brick by agonizing brick.
“He ain’t talkin’,” Bruiser grunts, frustration evident in his voice.
Smiley’s eyes glint with malice. “Oh, he’ll talk. They all do, eventually.”