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The torture escalates. Waterboarding leaves me sputtering and choking, fighting the primal panic of drowning. Smiley works pressure points with surgical precision, sending bolts of paralyzing pain through my body.
Through it all, I hold onto Ember. I picture her safe, free from this nightmare. The image becomes my lifeline, my reason to endure.
Hours blur together in a haze of pain and fleeting moments of lucidity. My throat is raw from screaming. Every breath is an exercise in agony.
Finally, mercifully, they stop. Bruiser grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back.
“This is just the beginning,” he snarls. “Next time, we won’t be so gentle.”
As they leave, I slump in my restraints, utterly spent. Every inch of my body throbs, but a spark of defiance still burns in the deepest recesses of my mind.
I will not break.
The door creaks open, and Wolfe saunters in, looking infuriatingly pristine. I struggle to focus on him through swollen eyes, my body a map of pain and exhaustion.
“My, my.” Wolfe circles me. “You are resilient, aren’t you? But then again, so is our dear Ember. Must be why you two get along so well.”
At the mention of Ember’s name, I tense involuntarily. Wolfe’s eyes gleam, noticing my reaction.
“Did she ever tell you about her childhood, Mr. Hawkins? About the homes that failed her, the system that cast her aside? The fires she set?” Wolfe’s voice is soft, almost sympathetic. “Such a shame. All that potential, wasted on the streets.”
I say nothing, but my mind races. What is Wolfe getting at?
“You know, she was meant for greater things,” Wolfe continues, idly examining a bloodstained tool. “We had plans for her. Quite lucrative ones. Until that unfortunate incident with that last fire.”
The pieces start to click into place: Ember’s story about saving those kids and how she disappeared afterward. A sick feeling settles in my gut as I realize what Wolfe implies.
“Oh yes,” Wolfe says, reading my expression. “She cost us dearly that night. Not just in merchandise but in exposure. We had to restructure certain operations.”
Part of me burns with curiosity, wanting to know more about Ember’s past, but a stronger part recoils at learning her secrets this way from this monster.
Wolfe leans in close, his breath hot on my ear. “And now, after all these years, she falls right back into our lap. Fate has a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”
My body trembles, a combination of pain, exhaustion, and barely contained rage. Wolfe’s words paint a picture I don’t want to see—Ember as a commodity, a “product” to be sold.
“You’re lying,” I rasp out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Wolfe’s laugh is cold and humorless. “Oh, Mr. Hawkins. Why would I bother? The truth is so much more—delicious.”
Whenever he says my name, something tightens in my chest, and my fingers curl involuntarily into fists. My jaw clenches, grinding my teeth together, and the urge to slam my knuckles into his throat is almost unbearable. It’s deliberate—the smug emphasis, the twisted smile stretching across his face as he draws out each syllable. He’s toying with me, savoring my reaction.
I shift my weight forward, leaning in, nostrils flaring as I take a slow breath.
Wolfe’s eyes flick down, catching the subtle movement, and his smirk widens, the bastard. My knuckles crack under the strain, and the only thing keeping me from driving my fist into his smug face is the thought of Ember waiting on the other side of this. I won’t let him make me lose control. Not now.
But damn if he isn’t making it hard.
He signals to Bruiser, who approaches with a cattle prod. The device crackles ominously.
“Now,” Wolfe says, his tone hardening. “Let’s try this again. Your team. Their capabilities. I want details.”
The prod connects with my ribs, sending electricity arcing through my body. I convulse, and a scream rips from my raw throat.
“Come now,” Wolfe coaxes as the current subsides. “Surely Ember’s life is worth a few simple answers?”
In my pain-addled state, I almost reply. Names and locations dance on the tip of my tongue, but I catch myself at the last second, biting down hard enough to draw blood.
Wolfe studies me, a predatory gleam in his eye. “You’re close, aren’t you? So close to breaking. Why prolong this? Why suffer for people who won’t even know of your sacrifice?”