Page 36

THIRTY-SIX

Blaze

Blood drips from my split lip. The coppery tang fills my mouth, mixing with bile and desperation. My ribs scream with every breath, broken bones grinding together beneath bruised flesh. The Zip Ties bite deeper into my wrists, plastic edges sawing through layers of skin, leaving them raw and bloody.

My fingers have gone numb, tingling in that unsettling way that tells me if this keeps up, I might lose them. I focus on the pain; let it keep me present. I can’t afford to drift away.

Another blow lands, this one against my ribs. Stars explode behind my eyes, pain radiating through my body like a thousand shards of glass. The room tilts sideways, reality blurring at the edges, the fluorescent light overhead flickering as if it’s struggling too.

“Ready to talk yet, hero?” Bruiser’s breath is hot against my face, reeking of cigarettes and sadistic pleasure. His eyes narrow, dark pits filled with nothing but malice and greed. He enjoys this. He lives for this moment, the power he holds over me.

The question hangs in the air, unanswered. I let the silence grow thick between us, then blood bubbles between my lips, spilling out as I spit at his feet. The anger in his eyes is satisfying, a small victory that warms me in this freezing, dark place.

His response is immediate—brass knuckles slamming into my solar plexus. Air rushes from my lungs in a strangled gasp, a dry wheeze that only seems to spur him on.

Before I can recover, another hit connects with my jaw. My head snaps to the side, the crack of bone echoing through the empty room, followed by the taste of copper flooding my mouth. I choke on it, forcing myself to swallow, the tang cutting through the haze clouding my thoughts.

“Getting tired yet?” Smiley circles behind me, his footsteps a predatory rhythm on the concrete.

The way he moves makes my skin crawl, the anticipation of the next blow hanging over me like an executioner’s blade. He leans down, voice sliding over me like oil.

“All this pain could end,” he says. “Just tell us what we want to know.”

My head drops forward, chin touching my chest. Each breath sends shards of agony through my broken ribs, splinters of pain that blur the lines of time.

The fluorescent light above flickers, casting strange shadows that dance across the blood-stained floor, and I focus on that flickering, on the way the shadows twist and turn. It’s almost hypnotic, a rhythm I try to match my breathing to.

Time stretches, elastic and unpredictable.

Has it been hours?

Days?

The pain blurs everything together, a symphony of agony with no beginning and no end. I can no longer tell where one bruise ends and another begins; it all melts into one monstrous, pulsing ache.

Jenny will know something’s wrong by now. The missed check-in at the safe house will trigger protocols. But California is hours away, and every second drags, pulling me further into the depths of this nightmare. My team is coming, but distance is a cruel master. I have to hold on, have to stay conscious, stay aware.

Thoughts of Ember twists my gut worse than any physical blow.

Where is she?

What are they doing to her?

The uncertainty is its own kind of torture, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. The image of her scared, hurt, alone… It’s unbearable. I grit my teeth, feeling the tears sting my eyes, hating myself for the weakness. I can’t break.

Not for myself, not for her.

I have to hold on.

Bruiser’s fist connects with my temple, and the world spins, colors bleeding together in a nauseating whirl. Pain, sharp and sudden, snaps me back from the edge of unconsciousness. I force my eyes open, blinking through the haze.

“Boss says we can’t kill you.” Smiley continues to taunt me, dragging the blade of a knife along my arm. The cold steel drags against my skin before it bites deep. “Didn’t say anything about permanent damage though.”

The knife bites into flesh, the burn of it immediate and scalding. A line of fire traces down my bicep, warm blood trickling, following the curve of muscle. I let out a low groan, clenching my teeth as the pain lances through me. They want me to scream, want me to beg, but I won’t give them the satisfaction. Not now, not ever.

Focus.

Breathe.

The tracker embedded beneath my shoulder blade is Guardian’s insurance policy. Mitzy will find me. She always does. She’s relentless, and her drones have saved our asses more times than I can count.

If I can hold out long enough, they’ll come. The thought becomes a lifeline, something to cling to as another punch lands, sending me reeling.

Another punch.

Another kick.

My body jerks against the restraints, an unwilling dance of pain and defiance. Every muscle screams, every nerve alight, but I hold on to that thought, that hope.

Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, taunting me, tempting me to slip away into oblivion. Consciousness becomes a slippery thing, threatening to slide away with each new burst of agony. My thoughts fracture, splintering as the pain crescendos, and I wonder if this is it, if this is the time I don’t come back.

A glint of movement catches my eye—something small, almost imperceptible. At first, it seems like another trick of my battered mind, another hallucination brought on by pain and exhaustion. But there, hovering near the ceiling vent—a tiny mechanical form flits through the grate.

Hope surges, sharp and bright as lightning, cutting through the darkness threatening to swallow me.

Mitzy’s drones. The advance scouts of Guardian’s cavalry. My breath hitches, the pain momentarily forgotten, replaced by the electric thrill of hope. They’re close. They’ve found me.

The tiny machine hovers, its presence invisible to my tormentors. They continue their brutal work, oblivious to the technological spy witnessing their cruelty. It moves slowly, deliberately, its camera trained on me.

I bite down on my lip, holding back a relieved laugh. Not yet. Not now. I can’t let them see.

“What’s so funny, tough guy?” Bruiser grabs my hair, yanking my head back. Pain radiates through my skull, but the sight of that tiny drone, the promise it carries, keeps me steady. A trickle of blood runs down my chin, warm against my cold skin.

Laughter bubbles up again, raw and broken. They don’t understand. Can’t comprehend what’s coming. They think they’re invincible, that no one will find this hidden hole they’ve dragged me into.

My team will find me.

Another blow lands. Then another. The pain is distant now, secondary to the surge of anticipation coursing through my veins. Every hit, every kick is just another second bought, another step closer to freedom. I can take it. I can take anything if it means they’re coming for me.

Hold on, Ember. I’m coming for you.

The tiny drone disappears back into the vent, its mission complete. I watch it go, the small glint of metal fading into the darkness. Soon, this room will become a killing ground.

The door slams shut behind Bruiser and Smiley, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Silence descends, broken only by the steady drip of blood from my chin to the concrete floor and the ragged sound of my breathing. My body throbs in time with my heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of their handiwork.

Movement catches my attention—a flicker from the corner of my vision. Another drone, different from the first. This one approaches with purpose, hovering near my face. Before I can process its intent, it darts toward my ear.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming.

Cold metal against sensitive flesh, the whir of tiny mechanics burrows into my ear canal. Bile rises in my throat as the drone works its way deeper. My muscles strain against the restraints, every instinct screaming to shake the intrusion free.

“Easy, Blaze.” Mitzy’s voice whispers directly into my brain, clear as day. “We’ve got eyes on you. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Are you able to respond?”

One blink.

The effort makes my swollen eye throb.

“Good. Multiple hostiles in the building. We’re examining entry points.”

“Blaze,” Mitzy’s voice, now tight with concern. “We’re having trouble locating Ember.

Are you aware of her location?”

Two blinks. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. The Zip Ties bite deeper as my wrists strain against them.

“We’ll find her.” Mitzy’s tone leaves no room for doubt. “But we need you focused. Can you hold it together?”

The rage burns hot and bright, threatening to consume everything. Ember could be anywhere, suffering God knows what. The need to tear this place apart with my bare hands overwhelms rational thought.

One blink, but it’s a lie.

They know it too.

“Listen to me.” Mitzy’s voice carries an edge of desperation. “We’ve got drones sweeping every possible location. You’ll be the first to know the minute we get a hit on her position, but if you lose it now, you’re no good to her. Understand?”

The truth of her words cuts through the red haze of fury. One blink, steadier this time.

Footsteps approach in the hallway. Heavy boots, multiple sets.

“They’re coming back,” Mitzy warns. “Hold position. We’re working on?—”

The door crashes open. Bruiser and Smiley return, a new energy in their movements.

“Miss us, hero?” Bruiser’s brass knuckles glint under the fluorescent lights.

The rage simmers beneath my skin, barely contained. Each blow they land fuels the inferno building inside me. But I hold it in check, storing it like a weapon.

“Something’s different about him.” Smiley circles behind my chair. “Look at his eyes.”

“Good.” Bruiser laughs, landing another hit to my ribs. “I like it when they have some fight left.”

Let them think it’s defiance. Let them believe it’s stubborn resistance.

They don’t understand what’s coming.

The tiny drone shifts in my ear canal, a constant reminder that help is near. But without Ember…

Another hit lands. Then another. I take them all, banking the pain, feeding it to the rage that grows with each passing second.

When the time comes, there won’t be enough left of them to identify.

Mitzy’s voice cuts through the pain. “Hold on, Blaze. Just hold on.”

I do. For now. For Ember.

But God help them all if we don’t find her soon.

Because when these restraints come off, hell’s coming with me.

Through cracked lips and broken teeth, I smile, the movement pulling at torn skin. Let them think the pain has finally broken me. Let them believe they’ve won. Let them revel in their false victory, savor every moment of their cruelty.

The cavalry is coming.

And hell’s coming with them.

The tiny drone in my ear canal vibrates. Mitzy’s voice cuts through the haze of pain, sharp and urgent. “ We’ve found basement access. Structural weak point in the northeast corner. Two minutes to breach. ”

My muscles coil tight despite the restraints. Blood drips faster now, anticipation making my heart race.

“ Multiple tangos on approach to your position, ” Mitzy warns. “ Thirty seconds. ”

The door opens. Bruiser and Smiley return, brass knuckles gleaming under fluorescent lights. Their grins promise fresh torment.

“Ready for more, hero?” Bruiser raises his fist.

The first tremor runs through the building—subtle, barely noticeable. The guards don’t react, but I count the seconds silently.

Ten.

Bruiser’s fist connects with my jaw.

Nine.

Smiley circles behind me, knife dragging across my shoulders.

Eight.

“Something funny?” Bruiser grabs my hair, yanking my head back.

Seven.

The floor vibrates—stronger now. Still, they don’t notice.

Six.

“He’s lost it,” Bruiser laughs. “Finally broke him.”

Five.

The drone pulses once. Get ready.

Four.

My muscles tense, preparing.

Three.

“Any last words, tough guy?” Bruiser draws back his fist.

Two.

The lights flicker.

One.

An explosion rocks the building’s foundation. Concrete dust rains from the ceiling. The door blasts inward hinges screaming. Six Rufi units bound into the room through the smoke, their metal paws silent against the floor. Red targeting lasers dance across Bruiser and Smiley before they can reach their weapons.

“Don’t.” Mac’s voice promises violence as he steps through the smoke, rifle trained on Bruiser. “Give me a reason.”

Bruiser moves. Bad choice.

The Rufi closest to him strikes, mechanical jaws clamping down on his gun arm. Bone crunches. His scream cuts off as Charlie’s boot connects with his jaw.

Brett and Jon sweep in, fire and fury, death incarnate. Bruiser’s buddy pisses himself, the stench mixing with gunpowder and fear.

Jon’s knife makes quick work of my restraints. Blood rushes back to my limbs. Fire races through abused muscles. Every nerve ending screams to life.

“Ember?” The word tears from my raw throat.

“Penthouse.” Jenny throws me a tactical vest. “Wolfe’s got her. But there’s more.”

My fingers work the vest straps. Broken ribs protest. A rifle settles into my hands, familiar and deadly.

“She made a deal.” Jenny’s words cut deep. “Traded herself for your freedom.”

The truth hits harder than torture. Mac shoves two magazines into my hands. The metal is cold against my palm.

“Bullshit.” The rifle comes alive against my shoulder.

“To save you,” Charlie whispers.

The rage builds. Hot. Savage. All-consuming.

“Blaze.” Brett steps forward. “You’re in no shape?—”

“Don’t.” One word. A thousand promises of violence.

Jenny signals the Rufis. Their sensors map the building. “Thirty-two hostiles. Heavy resistance ahead.”

“Formation Delta-Three.” Blood drips from reopened wounds. “Rufis take point.”

We move. Swift. Silent. Deadly.

The stairwell erupts. Muzzle flashes strobe in the darkness. Bullets ping off the concrete. Two Rufis leap, their weapons systems lighting up the confined space. Bodies tumble down the stairs, leaving crimson trails.

Third floor. Resistance light. Four hostiles. The team flows like water around obstacles. Mac takes two with precise headshots. Charlie eliminates the others.

Fifth floor hits harder. Shotgun blast nearly takes Brett’s head off. The Rufi unit beside him launches, mechanical legs propelling it into the shooter’s chest. Bone shatters. Arterial spray paints the walls.

Floor by floor we climb. Each level brings new threats. New bodies to stack.

Eighth floor—ambush. Flashbang blinds us. The Rufis’ thermal vision compensates. Their targeting systems find enemies in the chaos. The hallway becomes a charnel house.

My body screams with each movement. Torture wounds reopen. Blood soaks through my vest. The pain feeds the fury.

Twelfth floor tests us. Heavy machine gun fire pins us down. Jon takes a round in the thigh. Brett wraps it with a StatSeal bandage, and Jon soldiers on.

“Covering fire!” The words tear from my throat.

The team responds. Bullets saturate the enemy position. Three Rufis bound forward, drawing fire. The other three flank wide.

Charlie drags Jon to cover. He’s bleeding through the bandage. Her hands are slick with his blood as she works a tourniquet. Mac and Brett push forward, their rifles never stopping.

The machine gun falls silent. Its operator stares with sightless eyes, throat torn out by mechanical jaws.

“Clear!”

Sixteenth floor nearly breaks us. Full tactical team lies in wait. Charlie takes a round in her vest. The impact throws her back. Brett catches her before she hits the ground.

“Multiple threats!” Jenny’s voice crackles through comms. “Watch your six!”

The Rufis move like liquid death. Their targeting systems find weak points in body armor. Joints. Gaps. Soft tissue.

Screams echo. Blood sprays. Brass shells rain down on marble floors.

My magazine runs dry. Muscle memory takes over. The empty mag drops. A fresh one seats home.

Keep moving. Keep killing. Keep climbing.

Twentieth floor brings close combat. My rifle jams. No time to clear it.

The first attacker rushes me. His knife slashes air where I was. My combat knife clears my sheath. Blade meets flesh. Blood flows.

A second hostile tackles me from behind. Pain explodes through broken ribs. The world goes red.

Roll. Strike. The knife finds his femoral artery. Hot blood coats my hands.

More come. Always more.

Hands grab my vest. Head butt breaks a nose. Elbow strike crushes a throat. Each movement brings fresh agony.

A Rufi unit bounds past, taking down two hostiles. Its mechanical jaws crush bone and armor alike.

“Twenty-second floor!” Jenny’s warning comes sharp and urgent. “Heavy weapons!”

“Rufis, breach and clear!” Blood runs into my eyes. “Everyone else, watch your six!”

The mechanical hounds surge forward. Their frames absorb the first wave of fire. Smoke grenades fill the hall.

We move through the chaos like avenging spirits. Each shot finds its mark. Every strike brings death.

Close quarters turn lethal. No room for rifles now. Combat knives flash in fluorescent light.

My blade opens throats. Punctures lungs. Severs arteries. The rage guides every thrust.

A hostile gets lucky. His knife slides between my ribs. Fresh pain blooms.

Grab his wrist. Twist. Bones snap. Drive my blade up under his jaw. Through the roof of his mouth. Into his brain.

“Penthouse level.” Jenny’s voice cuts through the battle haze. “Wolfe’s got a chopper inbound.”

Bodies litter the hallway behind us. Blood makes the floor treacherous. Shell casings clatter under our boots.

The team forms up.

What’s left of us.

Jon’s limping. Blood soaks his trousers. Charlie favors her left side. Mac bleeds from multiple wounds.

Jenny’s untouched.

Six Rufi units are still operational. Their frames show damage, but their targeting systems remain true.

One floor separates me from Ember.

From Wolfe.

My body is a mass of pain and fury. Nothing else matters now.

“On my mark.” Blood drips steadily from my knife hand. “Breach and clear. No prisoners.”

The words hang in the air. Heavy with promise.

Dark with purpose.

Time stretches. Contracts.

“Mark.”

The world explodes into violence.

The Rufis breach first. Explosive charges demolish the penthouse doors. Smoke and debris fill the air.

We flow through the breach like death. Each of us a weapon. Each movement bringing destruction.

The first wave of guards dies before they can raise their weapons. Rufi units tear through flesh and bone. Our bullets find vital organs.

More guards emerge from side rooms. The fighting turns vicious. Personal.

A shotgun blast shreds a Rufi unit. Its dying targeting system paints three hostiles. They don’t survive the next breath.

Every room becomes a killing ground. We clear them methodically. Professionally. Until only Wolfe’s office remains.

My heart pounds against broken ribs. Blood runs freely now. The knife in my hand drips red.

One door left.

Ember waits beyond it.

The rage burns white-hot.

Time to end this.