Page 12 of Into Hell: Prelude (Holding Cell: Return to the Island)

A m I interrupting?” Cian asked quietly, peeking uncertainly into his father’s office.

The room was warmly lit; its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books and framed family photos.

“I can come back later if you're busy,” he hesitantly added, noticing the familiar figures of Brennan, Zachary, and Saint seated comfortably in plush armchairs.

“Not at all, son,” Ardan replied, his turquoise eyes gleaming warmly.

He sat behind a large, mahogany desk cluttered with papers and a steaming cup of coffee.

“I always have time for you.” He gestured amiably towards the other three men, who each carried an air of relaxed authority.

“Your uncles and I were just discussing the additional security plans for the summer party.”

Cian relaxed a bit before nervously licking his lips. “Actually, I’m glad three members of the security team are here, because we need assistance.”

“We?” Ardan’s smile widened, his curiosity piqued, as he noticed Evon, who was partially hidden behind the older boy, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Who’s your friend?”

“I found him rummaging through the dumpsters behind the kitchens,” Cian said, a tinge of sympathy in his voice.

He glanced at his watch, a subtle reminder of time's ever-pressing march.

“I should return to my duties now. I'll leave you two to talk.” With that, the young man moved behind the polished oak desk, its surface gleaming under the soft lighting, and enveloped Ardan in a warm hug that spoke volumes of their bond.

“See you later at home, Pater. I love you.”

“I love you, too, son,” Ardan replied, his voice rich with affection and warmth.

“Have a wonderful day and take care. We’ll chat later this evening.

” As Cian departed, the office door closed with a gentle click, leaving a quiet stillness in the room.

Ardan then turned his attention to the teenager standing before him. “How can we assist you?”

The other three men stood as the teenager stepped forward, his movements tentative and cautious. He extended his hand toward Ardan, the gesture slightly trembling. Clearing his throat, he introduced himself, his voice a mix of anxiety and hope. “Hi, my name’s Evon…”

“Wait…” Ardan frowned, his eyes widening a bit.

He pointed at the boy. “You're…” His brow pinched tighter.

“… Arman Bedrossian's son, the one who's been missing.” His puzzlement deepened.

“How did you end up here? Your father has been searching everywhere for you. He even enlisted my help to find you.”

Evon swallowed nervously, his throat tight with anxiety. “It… It’s a long story,” he mumbled, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. “I need your help; my older brother might be in danger, and I… I didn’t know who else to go to.”

Ardan’s brows furrowed, the confusion clear in his voice. “Your... older brother? Your father asked me to help find you ; what does he have to do with this?”

Evon hesitated, a tremor in his whispered words as he lowered his eyes, hiding the storm of emotions swirling within them.

“I... I'm just a decoy,” he confessed, his voice barely above a breath.

“My purpose is to distract our father from the bigger issue.” He paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog, then looked up at the four grown men before him.

Their calm gazes were like anchors, encouraging him to continue.

“He is studying to be a social worker specializing in child abuse and has discovered a new trafficking ring.”

Ardan flinched at the gravity of the boy’s revelation. “What trafficking ring?” he asked. “Here in Chicago? New York City?”

“I’m not sure,” Evon admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty, “and I don’t believe Garen is either. He only referenced a transport when he discussed his intent to go undercover with Hayrik.” His eyes flickered with worry.

Brennan eyed the kid, his gaze narrowing. “Who's this Hayrik?”

Evon, standing stiffly beside them, clarified with a slight tremor in his voice, swallowing hard as if trying to push down the tension in the air. “Hayrik means father in Armenian,” he explained. “We don't often use 'dad,' 'papa,' or similar terms.”

“I see,” Brennan nodded.

A slight frown creased Ardan's brow as he addressed the teen, his voice steady and probing. “Why did you go along with your brother's risky plan?” he asked, his eyes searching the young face before him, seeking understanding amidst the confusion.

“We… We’re brothers. This was important to him.

We support each other.” Evon replied immediately, his voice rising with conviction.

“And… it was the only way I could shake off my annoying bodyguards who bully me when Hayrik…when dad isn’t around.

” His words were tinged with frustration and a hint of rebellion.

“Mm.” Ardan nodded, his expression thoughtful.

“I understand your loyalty and support of your brother, but it isn’t being disloyal to inform your father of his perilous plans.

Sometimes, you have to do what is in their best interest, regardless of whether they agree.

What your brother is doing is extremely dangerous, even for a seasoned agent.

You should not keep this from your father. ”

Evon looked uncertain, as if suddenly re-evaluating his decision to go along with his brother’s plans. “But… I promised him…”

“Is he important to you?” Ardan asked.

“Of course,” Evon whispered. “I love him.”

“Of course, you do,” Ardan murmured. “And you were right to be worried about him. We will do what we can to help you, but you should have gone to your father first. And we can’t proceed without bringing him into it.”

Evon fidgeted anxiously. “He’ll be angry.”

“And rightfully so,” Ardan said. “What your brother did was reckless and dangerous.”

“What was his plan for getting back out again?” Saint asked. “Do you have a way of contacting him?” His face was stern, almost judgmental. “If he took a phone or a device of any kind with him, they will find it, and the consequences won’t be pretty.”

Ardan held up his hand, silencing Saint. His focus remained on Evon. “Saint’s question is valid. Did he have a plan for getting out? A way to contact anyone?”

Evon cleared his throat nervously. “He…” His eyes darted uncertainly to Saint. “He did take a phone.”

When Saint started to jump back in, Ardan halted him again with his hand.

“This phone,” Evon went on, his voice subdued.

“It’s a prototype given to Garen by the inventor; it’s very thin and can't be detected beneath his clothes.” The teenager elaborated that the device was incredibly slim and compact, reminiscent of the sophisticated intercept microphones used by the FBI and police forces, yet it was completely wire-free.

Its discreet design allowed it to be easily adhered to the skin with just a piece of duct tape, rendering it almost invisible during a cursory body search.

The creator suggested Garen attach it to his chest, as this area often escapes scrutiny in such inspections.

Saint shot a stiff look at Brennen and Zachary, his face tight. Arden understood his reaction, but there was nothing to gain by going off on the kid. Saint knew that as well, but it didn’t stop him.

“These are sex traffickers, kid,” Saint snapped. “At some point, they’re going to strip down the merchandise and inspect them. Unless the phone is literally fucking invisible , they’re going to find it.”

“Saint.” Ardan silenced him yet again and addressed Evon, “He is right. Did your brother consider this?”

Evon chewed his lower lip. “I don’t think he planned on being in there that long. He just wanted to find out where they were taking the… merchandise… and then get out.”

“Get out how?” Saint demanded. “Call a fucking cab with his special phone?”

“Saint, please,” Ardan said sternly. “I got this.” He exhaled and asked Evon, “How did he plan to get out?”

“The phone…” Evon faltered, half expecting Saint to come at him again. “… it has a special tracking device installed. When he got his information, he would let me know, and the cavalry would come get him by tracking the phone.”

“Are you fucking—” Saint huffed and turned away, hand pressed firmly over his mouth, as if trying to suppress his frustration with this simplistic and desperately flawed plan.

“What?” Evon frowned, confused.

“ What?” Saint spun back around and would have gotten in the kid’s face if not for Ardan blocking him. “Nothing— nothing— is that easy, ever. ” He stabbed a finger at Evon. “It was a stupid, immature plan. That’s why teenagers don’t run these operations .”

“Saint,” Ardan ordered. “Step back.” He understood his brother-in-law, and the man wasn’t angry at Evon, or even his brother, really—but at the fact that yet another kid was in the hands of traffickers, and this one put himself there deliberately.

His frustration stemmed from his fear for the boy—rather than the kid’s own recklessness.

Deep concern etched Evon’s face. “Someone can get him out… right?”

Ardan exchanged looks with his brothers, then reached for his phone, which was resting on the polished wooden desk, and dialed a number. In a hushed tone, he asked the person on the other end to come to his office.

When Ardan replaced the receiver, he motioned for Evon to take a seat in one of the plush chairs.

Ardan discreetly observed the boy. The young man appeared weary and tense, his posture slightly hunched as if burdened by a secret.

This prompted Ardan to consider that Evon might be holding something back.

Ardan considered his previous encounter with Evon's father, Arman Bedrossian.

Ardan prided himself on his keen ability to judge character, and during the brief time he spent with the Chicago gangster, he had sized him up as a devoted and caring father, genuinely concerned about his son.

In truth, Ardan thought the man was simply consumed with worry, a sentiment that lingered like an echo in his mind.

Arman's eyes and voice were a window into sheer despair and fear—that of a father whose children had been abruptly snatched away. For Ardan, that anguish was all too familiar; just months prior, Alexander Kane had held his sons, nephew, and their friends captive on that dreadful, hellish island.

The creak of the office door brought Ardan back to the present. Bedrossian’s younger son stood there, pleading for help to retrieve his brother, or perhaps orchestrating a cruel joke. For the kid’s sake, Ardan hoped it was the former.

Arden turned to the door when Tarquin’s son, Julien—a computer genius like his father—entered with a puzzled expression.

Ardan smiled and gestured toward one of the empty chairs in the dimly lit room, briefly explaining the reason for Julien's presence. The room was filled with an air of anticipation as Julien listened intently to Ardan, nodding occasionally, his brow furrowed in deep concentration while his gaze remained fixed on his phone’s screen.

As Ardan finished, Julien began peppering Evon with questions regarding his brother’s tracking device. Evon’s answers led Julien to swiftly tap his phone, his fingers moving summarily over the screen with urgency and resolve.

Julien's face clouded with displeasure at what appeared on the screen; he clenched his lips and paused, fingers hovering over the device.

After a brief hesitation, he resumed tapping with slow, deliberate movements.

Sometimes, his lips moved as if he were speaking, but no sound came out. He abruptly exhaled a hushed, “ Yes.”

“What?” Ardan asked with reserved hope. “Did you find something?”

Evon leaned toward Julien, fists clenched anxiously, breath shallow.

“I…” Julien frowned, his brow furrowing hard, pinching the skin between his eyes. “Wait…”

“What?” Saint pressed, his frustration showing through.

“I had it… for a second,” Julien mumbled, tense, as he stared at the phone. “But then I lost it.”

Arden stared at him, sensing more to come. “Julien…”

The young man raised his head, and deep anxiety etched his face. The look in his eyes put Ardan on instant alert. When he showed Arden his phone, the man exchanged a troubled look with the other men in the room.

“Shit,” Arden whispered, tension gripping him as he reached for the phone on his desk. About time he grabbed the receiver, the phone rang.