Page 31

THIRTY-ONE

Blaze

The door creaks open again, and I school my features into impassivity, but as Wolfe enters, a flicker of interest flashes in his cold eyes. He studies me closely, head tilted slightly as if reassessing a puzzle.

“Well, well,” he murmurs, a cruel smile on his lips. “Our little chat about Ms. Winters has given you something to consider. How fascinating.”

I say nothing, but it’s too late. Wolfe saw something in my expression, some telltale sign of Ember’s importance.

I handed him a weapon to use against me.

Wolfe circles me slowly, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete—the sound grates on my nerves.

“You know, Mr. Hawkins,” he begins, his voice deceptively casual. “I’ve done my homework on you. You were quite the troubled youth.”

I keep my face impassive, but my heart rate picks up. What does he know?

“Fort Wayne, Indiana,” Wolfe continues, stopping directly in front of me. “Not exactly a nurturing environment for a young boy, was it? Especially with a father like yours.”

The mention of my hometown, of my father, sends a jolt through me. I clench my jaw, fighting to maintain my composure.

Wolfe’s eyes gleam, sensing he’s struck a nerve. “John Hawkins. Quite the piece of work. Three DUIs, multiple domestic disturbance calls. Tell me, how old were you the first time he broke your arm?”

My breath catches. That night flashes through my mind—the sound of shattering glass, my mother’s screams, the sickening crack as my arm twisted unnaturally in his grip.

I was seven.

“You’re not the only one who’s faced adversity, you know,” Wolfe says, his tone almost sympathetic. “We have more in common than you might think. Both of us, shaped by the cruelties of those who should have protected us, a father who hurt you. A father who abandoned me.”

I recognize the tactic for what it is—a ploy to create a false sense of kinship and lower my defenses, but the knowledge doesn’t stop the memories from flooding back.

“You put three of your classmates in the hospital. Quite the fighter, even then. They claimed it was unprovoked, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we?” Wolfe continues, watching my reaction closely.

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.”

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?”

He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Give me what I want, and this all stops. You’ll be free. Ember will be safe. Isn’t that what you want?”

For a moment, the offer is tempting. So tempting, but Ember’s face flashes in my mind—strong, defiant, a survivor. I think of my team and the trust they’ve placed in me.

I meet Wolfe’s gaze, summoning every ounce of defiance left in my battered body.

“Go to hell,” I spit, blood and saliva splattering his immaculate shirt.

Wolfe’s expression darkens. He steps back, straightening his jacket.

“Very well,” he says, voice cold as ice. “Remember this moment, Mr. Hawkins. Remember that you chose this.”

As he sneers at me, a grim certainty settles in my chest—the worst is still ahead.

I say nothing, watching him warily through swollen eyes.

“It’s quite simple, really,” Wolfe repeats himself. “You give me the information I want about your team—their capabilities, methods, and weaknesses—and in return, I grant you your freedom.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in. “And, of course, I ensure Ms. Winters’ safety. She walks away, unharmed.”

The offer hangs in the air, tempting in its simplicity. For a moment, I imagine it—walking out of here, Ember safe by my side, but the tactical part of my brain, honed by years of training and experience, recognizes the trap.

“You must realize,” Wolfe says, his tone almost pitying, “that resistance is futile. You will break eventually. Everyone does. Why suffer needlessly when you could end this now?”

I meet his gaze, summoning what little strength I have left. “Because some things are worth suffering for.”

Wolfe’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “Nobility is overrated, Mr. Hawkins. And often fatal.” He straightens his jacket, composing himself. “I’ll give you some time to reconsider. To truly weigh the consequences of your choice.”

He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Remember, your stubbornness doesn’t just affect you. Ms. Winters’ fate hangs in the balance as well.”

The door closes behind him with an ominous click. I slump in my restraints, every breath a symphony of pain. My mind races, trying to find a way out of this impossible situation.

Minutes pass, or hours. Time loses all meaning. Just as I’m about to slip into unconsciousness, the door opens again.

A guard enters, wheeling in a small TV on a cart. Without a word, he sets it up and turns it on. The screen flickers to life, static resolving into a grainy image that makes my blood run cold.

Ember.

She’s in a room like mine, curled up in the corner. Her face is a mask of terror as the door opens and Wolfe enters, that predatory smile on his face.

A cold realization hits me, almost knocking the breath out of me. Wolfe’s been playing us both, ping-ponging between me and Ember, using every ounce of fear and desperation he can squeeze out of us. My stomach twists, bile rising as I watch him approach her, that same sick satisfaction on his face.

The guard’s cold and emotionless voice cuts through my horror. “The boss says to remember this while you consider his offer.”

The room seems to tilt, my vision narrowing to a tunnel focused solely on Ember’s terrified face. Rage is a living, breathing thing beneath my skin, but I force myself to stay still.

I can’t afford to react. Not yet.

Wolfe wants me to break, to give in. But I can’t. I won’t. Not while Ember is still counting on me.

The guard leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. I’m alone with the image of Ember, vulnerable and afraid, with Wolfe circling her like a shark scenting blood.

Rage and fear war within me. The need to protect Ember clashes violently with my duty to my team. I strain against my restraints, knowing it’s useless but unable to stop myself.

As I watch Wolfe approach Ember, her eyes widen with fear. The image burns into my mind.