The stairs lead down into the dark. They’re blocks of solid concrete, yellowed and corroded from years of wear and perfectly hidden away. The walls are metal, reflecting the same look of the mines. It’s out of place, like a piece of that infrastructure stolen and placed inside the school. It’s nothing like the building that sat above it. This is older. Decades older.

Castor finds a switch and the room blazes with a bright white light. It floods the room, illuminating rows of cabinets and cots inside. At the base of the far wall is a lone empty desk and above it is a symbol I’ve only seen once before—a small flower set inside of a crest.

“No fucking way,” Baron says, his eyes wide.

I look back at the two of them and their expressions are all I need to confirm it.

The bunker.

Baron laughs in astonishment, running a hand through his hair. “We found it, Si.” He pats Castor on the back, sighing contentedly. “Finally.”

They get to work, both moving swiftly through the bunker. They upturn beds and cabinets and benches, tearing everything to pieces.

I stay back, watching them work. I don’t know what they’re looking for or how to find it. Something valuable that Acacia possessed. Something that Alastor was willing to die to protect. Something we absolutely can use to our advantage.

I creep over towards the desk, doing my best to stay out of their line of fire as papers and cots are being tossed haphazardly. I run my hands along the wood, feeling the grooves under my fingers.

I slide the drawer open and sift through it. There’s nothing in it but military records, medical reports. It’s all a part of Acacia’s facade, but nothing that would indicate anything important.

I take out another stack and toss them on the table, but something draws my attention—black lines circling a small manila folder. I push the other folders away and find the Codex’s symbol stamped on the outside. I stare at it, brows pushed together. It’s the same folder Bane gave me in Juneau, but this one is fuller. Older.

The pages crinkle as I open it, the pages worn and cracked but the words on them are written clearly—two names printed in clear black ink:

I stare at the files and the photos attached. They’re much bolder in color and each one details several of the two men with families, Baron with a frail elderly man holding a hunting rifle and a white curved blade. On Castor’s, the same photo carried with him, only the faces aren’t scratched out. A boy stands next to him, and a mother with a burgundy scarf wrapped around her neck.

I flip through the photos and then my heart drops. More pictures of them with Bane and Alastor taking aim on a group of crying people. Men, women, children, all on their knees with their faces twisted in terror. Baron’s face is upturned in a sadistic grin and Castor stands with his back to the camera, his face covered by that scarf, and on their shoulders is a patch with the same symbol of the crested flower. The symbol of Acacia.

Castor’s file has been sifted through multiple times, fingerprints smudged and worn on the pages and at the bottom is a single word written in bold red ink.

CANDIDATE

The paper falls from my hands. All the sound in the room seems to dim until all I can hear and see are those files of the two men, the ones who I thought were here to fight against Acacia.

I feel them watching me from across the room—that fucking feeling that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end even when Castor wraps his hand around mine, the letter opener that somehow found its way into my fist.

“Easy, Helena,” he whispers.

That voice in my head is screaming. The one telling me to jam it into his eye and run. Was anything they said true? Is this just another way for them to fuck with my head?

They don’t advance on me and it creates a sickly feeling of safety in my chest. I don’t want to feel safe. I can’t feel safe. I want answers. All of them.

“You have five seconds to explain,” I whisper.

He sighs.

“I would hope we wouldn’t need to. It’s not exactly a surprise, is it?”

I whip around, raising the knife high above my head, but it doesn’t come down. Baron grasps it by the blade until Castor speaks up.

“Let her go, Arik.” His gaze flicks to me, those same dead eyes staring at me seemingly undeterred by the knife above his head. “If she wants to kill us, she has every right to.”

Baron looks at Castor like he’s lost his mind, but he does as he’s told, letting go of the blade and taking a step back. Neither of them move and the blade sits like a weight in my hand, frozen above my hand with beads of blood on the edge from where Baron grasped it.

My eyes are burning from my wild stare and my chest refuses to rise and fall, like if I blink or breathe or move even an inch, they’ll attack and I’ll die in this bunker, and another part of me aches from it. He says I should’ve known but the truth is I didn’t. I trusted them.

I shove my arm into Castor’s chest, pushing him far against the wall and pointing the tip of the letter opener against his neck.

“You fucking worked with Acacia!” I hiss. “Give me a single reason why I shouldn’t!”

Castor looks down at me, his voice calm and even.

“I can’t.”

I press the blade deeper into his skin, the tanned lines deepening with a single drop of blood. I don’t push it further. I won’t, not until I have my answers.

“Not as easy as it looks, is it?” Castor prods. “Being angry with no one to blame, no one to kill.” He spreads his arms invitingly, extending his neck out to me. “You want to kill someone? Go on, then. You have my permission.”

For the first time, I see a shift in his eyes. It’s not the same glimmer in Baron’s eyes when he tortured me or the mask of sympathy he gave me when he manipulated me. He’s not taunting me to kill him. He’s begging for it.

“I don’t need your permission,” I spit, withdrawing the blade.

He throws me another glare, before that mask is back and all that’s left are his blackened eyes.

“Because you won’t do it,” he bawks. “You haven’t killed us yet, and you won’t. You want to know why?”

I don’t answer.

“Because you don’t want to,” Baron finishes. He stands between me and Castor, flashing a toothy smile at me. “You want Alastor, not us. You want to know why. You want to know how Acacia’s best killers turned into their greatest threat.” He extends his palm out to me. “So what’ll it be, doll?”

There’s still a part of me that wants to jab the blade into his hand for being right. It’s annoying as fuck when they can call my bluff, but the anger isn’t as strong anymore. It almost feels like pity, and that’s just as bad.

I don’t fight him when he takes the letter opener from my hands, and I don’t move when he sets it on the desk and peels Castor away from the wall underneath the bright lights in the center of the room.

Baron offers Castor a questioning glace, an unspoken conversation between the both of them, but Castor doesn’t reciprocate. He keeps his eyes locked on me as he reaches up to his neck and slowly unwraps the burgundy scarf.

At first I don’t see anything. My brows push together in confusion as I look at his bare neck. I’ve seen him without his scarf before, only once when he took me back to his room. I only saw the lotus tattoo on the back of his neck, but then Baron joins him and they both turn, carefully peeling their shirts away from their skin, and that’s when I catch the identical burn scars on both men.

Baron’s left arm is completely marred, the burns covering every inch of it and even stretching to his chest and back where a distorted skeletal smile tattoo covers his back. On his other arm is marked in intricate black ink. Hourglasses and skulls sit on a black mass of smoke etched into his skin and in the center is a cloaked figure, his head bowed and a scythe in both of its hands. Death.

Castor is worse. I’d seen the burn marring his entire back before, and I’d even caught the beginnings of ink on the large leafless tree that’s been distorted from the fire. The chains interlink both arms together, weaving up to his neck where they both sport identical white tattoos.

Castor turns his head, calling back to me. “You assumed we were soldiers because of this, but you were wrong.”

I squint through the harsh light, unsure of what he means. But then I see that the tattoos aren’t tattoos at all. They’re scars.

“What…what is this?”

“Bane likes to keep track of his property,” Baron answers.

I blink. “But you never said—”

“Oh, we did,” Castor spits, disgusted. “I told you before, Helena, I’ve been stuck in this hell for a very long time.”

That has to be a lie. He said the same thing that night, weeks ago, but it was a ruse to get information. It had to be, right?

Castor turns and takes my hand, pulling me under the light so I can see them both. My eyes rake over his body, staring at the faint lines and scars on his chest and arms that I hadn’t seen before, but it’s when my eyes travel up to his throat that makes me sick.

Around his neck is a jagged line, wrapping around his throat to the back of his nape. I’ve seen that scar before in my friends that were strung up on enemy lines.

Barbed wire.

“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth to stop the bile that threatens to come up.

“Acacia rarely takes volunteers,” Castor says, stepping out of the light. “Four years. That’s how long I served Acacia before I even met Arik, and another before we escaped. Some were like you, thought they were hunting down terrorists, enemies of the state. Some didn’t care who they killed as long as they got paid.”

He nods to the stacks of papers strewn about the desk.

“Bane finds people he can manipulate and control. People who stepped out of line were handled, usually by people who took a little too much pleasure in it.”

I take a step back, mortified. “Who would enjoy that?”

“I did.”

Baron’s words pierce through the air, forcing us into silence.

What?

When my eyes find his, they’re dark—those same empty pits that Castor had trademarked so well.

“I knew what Acacia was from the beginning,” he says, his voice dark. “That’s why I joined. I liked it. I enjoyed making people suffer. I didn’t give a fuck who I killed, what they did, how much they begged and screamed. They were dead the moment Acacia gave the word. Men, women, children. I skinned someones cat and hung it on their door because I enjoyed seeing my targets break down over a fucking pet.”

I gag, my eyes darting to Castor like this is just another tactic to scare me, but his eyes are glazed over. He’s looking through me like glass the more he talks.

“When I outgrew normal targets, I became a handler. I made sure contractors followed orders, that they eliminated who they asked, when they asked, how they asked. If they refused, if they were soft on the targets, if they spoke to anyone about their contract, I took care of it.” Baron crosses his arms, taking me in like he’d expected me to vomit from it. And I nearly do, because I can picture it perfectly—Baron settling on top of his subordinates, cackling while he rips their skin from their body, drinking in their screams like a teenager with alcohol.

Castor blinks rapidly, his head jolting back to the present as Baron touches his shoulder.

I chew on my lip, not sure if I want to ask, but the questions come out before I have a chance to stop them.

“So what changed?” I ask.

“Bane went too far,” Castor mutters.

Baron and I both turn to him, his eyes wide like he hadn’t expected us to watch him.

Castor sighs, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath in a language I don’t understand.

“We were ordered to level a city,” he says after a moment.

“Bane gathered several contractor groups to initiate a military corps,” Baron explains. “The same crowd you ran with, a lot of them were recruited for this raid. He instructed us to detonate several bombs around the city and blow it to hell. Most of us knew it was a contract, but there were a lot of rookies there, people who thought it was some type of black ops mission. People like your father.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath. His muscle tense and his hand wraps around his white blade. “I was ordered to paint it as a raid, that a terrorist cell was rooted deep within a city of 700,000 people. A lot of people refused. Most people, actually. The rookies, some of the contractors thought it would draw too much attention or that it was unnecessary.”

“So you killed them,” I finish.

Baron shakes his head.

“That would’ve been a very costly mistake.” His grip tightens around the handle until his knuckles are as white as his blade. His voice grows tighter and tighter as he speaks, and even as Castor tries to intervene, he stops him, flashing him a dangerous look. “My job wasn’t to kill contractors, it was to keep them in line. The useful ones were sent away to Brownstone for reconditioning. Most of the rookies…they hadn’t proved their worth as a contractor yet, so they were used for training.”

My brows push together. Training? That’s it? Bane punished hundreds of people by sending them back to basic, instead of snapping their necks like he so eagerly wanted to do before?

Castor shakes his head, seeming to understand my confusion.

“Live tissue training.”

“They were dissected,” Baron adds. “The contractors who hadn’t refused were rewarded by performing transplants and amputations on them. Unmedicated.”

My jaw falls open. Just when I think it can’t get worse, they manage to prove me wrong.

“They can’t,” I say, horrified. “That’s illegal.”

“So is killing people for money.”

A silence hangs in the air, and suddenly it feels putrid and thick. It’s impossible to swallow down, and every short inhale feels like death settling in my lungs.

Then I look at Baron and Castor. They were there, I realize. If they’re here telling me this, then they were there, and they’re still alive.

“What about you?” I ask. “Did you get reconditioning?”

His answer is curt, disgusted. “No.”

“But you refused too. Why didn’t Bane do the same to you?”

“You saw why”

Then I remember the file and the word stamped at the bottom of Castor’s.

“He was Bane’s favorite,” Baron explains. “He took a…special interest in him, which meant I did too.” He hesitates, his eyes drawn to Castor in a fleeting moment of concern. “Silas, we don’t need to–”

“Tell her,” Castor insists, crossing his arms. “She wants to know, so tell her.”

Baron sighs, his eyes falling to the floor in defeat. “A hundred people refused. The ones sent to Brownstone, or the ones who were tortured, Bane sent for their families. He wanted Castor to send a message. That was his punishment.”

Families? What does that mean?

Then it hits me and so does a new wave of nausea that I’m unable to stop this time. I spit onto the floor, bile spilling at my feet while they both watch, a glassy look in their eyes.

“They all watched,” Castor says calmly. “Every single person who refused, I killed them all. And when it was over, Bane told me what would happen to mine if I ever challenged his authority again.”

Baron steps forward, his hand sliding his blade from its sheath.

“I tolerated a lot of bullshit in the years I worked for Acacia. I killed families myself, but that was fucking vile. Silas was my friend. I wasn’t going to entertain Bane’s assertion of power over people he perceived as a threat. We tried to warn the city, and the moment we stepped onto the shore?” He shows off his marred arm like a prize.

I swallow hard, the words dry on my tongue. What can I say to them? Sorry you killed thousands of people, I thought you were just douchebags by choice?

I almost want to stab myself for that.

“There were worse things that could happen. You don’t leave Acacia.” Castor bows his head, his eyes trailing the concrete lines on the floor.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

“Then let me explain it to you.” Castor’s hand shoots out, grabbing me by the throat and pushing me against the wall.

I gag from the force, and my eyes pinch shut, fear climbing up to my crushed throat, but instead of the familiar black dotting my vision, his grip loosens just enough for me to suck in a strangled breath.

“Open your eyes, Helena,” Castor orders.

I don’t listen at first. I don’t want to watch them kill me, to see that dead look in his deep brown eyes as he chokes me to death. But then one of them reaches out, the back of his hand caressing my cheek and the ragged silver scratching along my skin.

My eyes peek open and I notice the ring on Baron’s index. Castor holds up his hand, showing off an identical one. The rings are poorly made, clearly melted and molded to fit their signature star.

Baron lifts his hand, turning it so I can clearly see both. “We expected Bane to hunt us down, to kill everyone we cared about and he gave us this instead.” He wiggles the ring off his finger, showing it off in the bright light. “Bane congratulated us for our bravery, said we deserved it. He televised it and thousands of people thanked us for taking down terrorists in Libya.”

I laugh in astonishment. “He gave you credit?”

The word makes Castor flinch, that red anger flashing in his eyes as his lips curl into a sneer. “It was asinine and disrespectful to everything we tried to do. He did this on purpose, to discredit us.” His hand tightens painfully for a moment and then he releases me, watching me with a frightening coldness as I suck in air. “I’m not his dog and I won’t be bribed with chest candy or disrespected by being televised as the face of his ‘mission’.”

“Everyone cheered,” Baron spits. “They cheered for the women and children Bane murdered. They played the bombing on tv. Every single contractor involved stood by and let it happen. They killed hundreds of thousands of people and laughed. There was no target, Helena. It was a show of power.” He points upstairs, his voice raising to a scream. “Those kids were innocent! They were murdered for being seen with us. They cut off a child’s head to send a goddamn message. That is why they deserve to die. Those kids are why they all deserve to die. Every single one of them!”

His chest is heaving with rage, the veins in his neck bulging as he struggles to force himself off the ledge. The murder in his eyes is real, and I almost hate myself for understanding it.

More questions settle on my tongue, taunting his anger, daring it.

Don’t ask, Helena. Don’t do it.

“You killed people too.”

Baron doesn’t miss a beat.

“We deserve to die too,” he seethes. “If you think for one second that eradicating these psychopathic motherfuckers off the face of the earth makes us exempt from getting the same punishment, then you’re wrong. We killed plenty of innocent people, ripped out their ribcages, raped their children, hung their pets, and if someone had the opportunity to stop us and give us the same deaths we’ve given everyone else, then they better not fucking miss!”

“We’re no different from them, doll.” Castor’s voice is calm and his steps are measured as he cages me in. “We were just the first to escape, and now Bane will pay for it.”

Baron takes Castor’s side, their bare skin pressing hot against mine. “Still want to kill us, doll? Take your shot. We don’t want to fucking live. We just want Acacia gone with us.”

I can’t. Goddammit, I can’t. All I wanted when I stepped foot in these mountains was to kill them. Find Alastor and kill him too, and now they’re giving me a free shot and I can’t fucking do it.

“You can’t kill them all,” I stutter. “You’re outnumbered.”

“Maybe,” Baron shrugs. “But we can drag down as many as we can before they kill us too.”

“We’ve killed thousands of people without a second thought, and we’ll kill thousands more before we’re done. Anyone who touches anyone or anything we care about. That includes you, doll.” Castor’s eyes rake over my body in a dark hungry look. “Two hundred contractors outside that door and we killed every last one because you cried for help.”

“Only Silas and I are allowed to hurt you,” Baron murmurs in my ear. His hand falls to my chest, encasing the scar on my sternum. “Anyone else that even thinks about putting a hand on you dies. Every. Single. One.”

I shut my eyes as his hands wander. They fall down the curve of my breasts, tracing the space between them with a smirk on his face even as I bite my lip to suppress the moans.

“We killed Bane,” Baron whispers.

“We killed his contractors,” Castor says in my other ear.

They both lean in, grinding their hips onto my leg so I can feel their quickly hardening cocks under their clothes.

“And we’ll fuck you over Alastor’s body while he bleeds out.”

I can’t tell who is saying what now, each roll of their hips completely stealing any formidable thought from my mind, and forcing any words to come out as indiscernible stutters.

“Go on Helena,” Baron purrs. “Tell us exactly how much it turns you on.”

A hand trails along the curve of my neck, down my shoulders and the curve of my body.

“You like killers, baby?” Castor taunts.

They’re fucking crazy. They’ve killed thousands of people, and we’re standing in its proof, twenty feet below the ground, and I can’t stop moaning each time Baron reaches between my torn shirt and rolls my nipples between his fingers.

They both pull away suddenly and a chuckle echoes in the dead air around us.

“Go on then,” he taunts. “Show us how you like to play.”

Something in me snaps. Maybe I am fucked in the head. Maybe I’m just as angry as them, maybe I want to fight, to hit them and to scream and to get everything they can throw at me. So I do it, and everything I’ve held back in me comes out full force as I grasp Castor by the shoulders and drive my foot straight into Baron’s chest, throwing my weight and forcing both men to the ground before I press my lips against Castor’s.

His hands are immediately on my hips, spreading my legs apart until I’m straddling him. A low growl escapes from his lips when I suck his lip between my teeth, the copper flooding my tongue. His muscles tense with restraint. He’s forcing himself to stay still, even as his mouth fights with mine. When a moan escapes my lips, his hips buck against mine possessively and he wrenches my head, flipping me on my back until he’s on top of me.

“I knew you were there,” he growls between kisses. “Vicious little thing, acting like Bane’s helpless doll, but you’re not, are you?”

Baron rips my hands above my head, pinning them as Castor’s mouth trails along my neck, sucking and biting while I cry out in pleasured pain.

“Bane held you back because he was scared of you,” Baron growls in my ear. “He broke you and we put you back together.”

Castor rips away from me and my shirt is torn away, a gasp following with it as the cold air stings my skin. Then, he’s back, taking one of my breasts into his hand while his mouth finds the other, rolling my quickly hardening nipples with his tongue.

Baron’s mouth meets mine from above, sucking my lip between his teeth in a rough kiss, and he doesn’t stop, he only laughs when the pleasure sends a bolt straight between my legs.

“Lie to me again,” he mumbles against my lips. “Do it!” He pulls back, his palm cracking against my cheek.

I cry out, the sting mingling with the quivering pleasure as Castor alternates between my breasts, sucking and pinching them both with his fingers and tongue.

“Lie to me again, bitch,” Baron growls. He forces my head up to meet his, his body tense and vibrating with poorly controlled restraint. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

My hips buck against Castor’s, demanding more. God, it’s so good, and I don’t care if that’s wrong. I want more than just revenge. I want them.

I don’t answer him. I only give him a smile that creates a darkness in his eyes and a feral grin that mirrors mine.

“Attagirl.” His mouth is back on me, hot and needy. He doesn’t stop or let me come up for air when his tongue shoves in my mouth. He forces me to take it and it makes my hips grind harder and harder until Castor lets go of my abused nipples and yanks my pants down in one single movement.

“You looked so good covered in blood,” Baron taunts, laughing as I gasp when Castor’s hand dives between my legs, coating his fingers in my wetness. “On your knees waiting for us to take you.”

“Are you going to fight us?” Castor coos.

I bite down another moan when his finger dips inside, teasing my entrance painfully. I grind my hips, begging to have him inside me, but he doesn’t, not yet.

“Beg,” Castor demands.

I whine, my hands tensing against Baron’s hold.

“Please,” I whisper.

Baron snickers, releasing my hands.

“Too easy.” He slides off his pants quickly, pulling out his cock.

When I look back, Castor’s already naked, his hand stroking his cock desperately. I swallow hard, watching as precum leaks from the engorged tip.

Before I can move, Baron pushes me to my hands and knees, shoving his cock inside of me in one single thrust.

I cry out, the stretch painful and that only makes me need it more. He’s not gentle, gripping my hips as he pounds into me with a desperate urgency.

“Take it,” he says, his voice tight as he thrusts again. “Fucking take it while Castor fucks your face.”

Castor doesn’t waste any time either, grabbing my chin and parting my lips painfully with his massive cock. I force my lips wider, moaning as Castor pushes deep into my mouth, the tip deep into my throat before he fucks me with just as much force.

“No more talking,” Castor whispers, his head tossed back in a moan. “You fought and you lost, and now you get to moan for us.”

I’m lost to the pleasure, a slave to their movements as Baron fucks me, sending me deeper on Castor’s cock, pushing me back and forth between the two.

Baron grunts with his thrusts, his balls slapping against my clit in a way that has me crying out against Castor’s cock.

“Fuck Helena,” Baron groans. He slaps my ass, moaning when I yelp and my legs tense. “Squealing like a damn dog,” he says with a pleasured laugh. “Is that what you are, Helena? Are you our needy little bitch?”

I nod eagerly, and it’s rewarded with another painful slap.

“Fuck…fights like a soldier and takes cock like a whore.” Baron angles his hips, grinding against that spot that makes my hands clench against the cold concrete.

“Ride it,” Baron orders. “Ride my cock…fuck, just like that baby.”

Castor pulls out of my mouth, replacing his cock with his mouth before I have a chance to breathe. He growls into my mouth, his tongue invading as his fingers find my clit, rubbing slow agonizing circles.

“You want us to mark you, baby?” he asks. “Want us to ruin you? Make everyone know who you belong to?”

I moan, nodding deliriously. That coil in my gut is winding tighter and tighter with Baron’s combined thrust with Castor’s fingers.

But Castor stops right as I’m on the edge, pulling back the same time as Baron as they both flip me around so I’m facing Baron’s cock instead.

He slaps my cheek with it, the sound wet from my pussy.

“Open,” he demands, and I obey without protest, my lips parting invitingly and my eyes locked on his as he plunges into me, filling my mouth with a groan.

I moan against him, my fingers dancing across my clit as he fucks my throat with a brutal force that has my mind spinning. I’m lost, completely gone to the pleasure and the feeling of him inside me and Castor’s hands roaming along my back before he sinks inside me, grinning as my eyes roll back when he stretches me even further.

“Don’t come yet, baby,” Castor hums. “Nice and slow. Be my good girl and take all of me.”

He grinds into me once more before pulling out. I whine, pushing my hips to meet his cock, and Baron grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Ah ah ah,” he moans. He gives me another hard thrust into my throat, sucking in a breath when I gag. “Eyes on me.”

I look up at him through my lashes, a tear sliding down my cheek when he makes another coordinated thrust that makes me gag. I lose myself in the rhythm again, moaning softly around his cock when I feel Castor again. I push my ass back, angling my hips to get him back inside me but instead, his hands find both sides of my ass, spreading my cheeks wide and nudging his slick cock between them.

I gasp, my eyes bugging when I realize what he’s about to do. I crawl away from him, but Baron bucks his hips with force, moving my body back further against Castor’s cock. I yelp when I feel the tip prod at my ass, taunting me with its entry. I look up at Baron, the tears in my eyes now from fear and he only grins, thrusting harder into me when I try to pull away.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growls, thrusting deeper into my throat. “We both saw you come all over my gun. You’ll come on his cock too.”

“No,” I mumble around his cock, but he only laughs, taking a fistful of my hair and starts thrusting into my face rapidly. I gag and choke, my hands flying to his thighs to push him off, but it only spurs him on.

When I feel Castor’s cock pressing more insistently on my ass, I push away, forcing Baron’s cock deeper into my throat. He’s only deterred for a moment before his hands find my hips, and force me back onto his cock. He rubs the head of his cock over my asshole, still slick with my juices before he slowly starts to press inside.

My eyes squeeze shut, a pained moan falling from my lips as he splits me open. If I thought he had split my pussy apart when he fucked me, that’s nothing compared to what it’s like having him in my ass. He’s stretching me and I can feel my ass fighting it, trying to force him out even as he forces that first inch of his cock past the tight ring of my ass. Slowly, agonizingly, he’s filling me, pushing back a little and then thrusting in another inch. My grip on Baron’s thighs are clawed now, digging harder into his skin until the imprints of my nails leave small lines of blood behind.

With one last painful thrust, Castor forces his cock into me, and he lets out a loud moan.

“Fuck, Arik,” he groans. “she really is an ass slut. Look at you, taking a cock in your ass like a good girl.” He draws back out and when he thrusts back in, my mind fucking shatters. The pain is intoxicating, mixing with the drawls of pleasure that I can’t fight no matter how hard I try. He withdraws to the tip each time, sinking back into me in a lazy rhythm.

I reach between my legs, finding my clit throbbing and desperate for that release and it only intensifies the burning in my gut.

Castor places a hand on my back, testing me with a harder thrust. “Keep rubbing your clit, baby. You can take me. Look at how well you’re already doing.”

His thrusts pick up pace until he’s fucking me with reckless abandon, pounding into me with as much force as Baron is in my throat. I rub my clit furiously, dipping three fingers into my pussy and grinding against the spot before I spread the wetness on my clit.

“Do you want to come, Helena?” Baron asks, his thrusts quickening. “Does the pain make you want more?”

I nod, moving back against Castor, seeking every inch of pleasure I can find.

Castor responds with another harsh thrust that makes me want to scream, and this time he doesn’t stop, his thrusts painful and erratic. It’s pulsing inside me, syncing to the beat of my heart and I rub my clit to that rhythm, completely lost to the pleasure.

“Good fucking girl,” Baron praises, his voice hoarse. “Fuck us both, doll. I’ll fuck your throat until you can’t fucking speak. Come here.” He forces my head deep, pressing my nose against his stomach as he grinds against me.

I yelp, my body tensing around them both, spiraling closer to the edge I’m desperate to fall over.

“Fuck, yes, Helena,” Baron breathes, his thrusts turning shallow and sloppy. “Swallow me down. Come on, little whore. You can do it. Make me come.” Baron shudders, the sound of his voice making my body tense as cum spills down my throat in thick ropes.

I swallow him down, the sensation of both of them pushing me over the edge. I come, my body clenching around them as pleasure crashes over me and darkness dots at my vision.

Castor grunts from behind me and with a harsh thrust, he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses again inside my ass and ropes of cum spill inside me, filling every inch of me until I can feel it dripping down my legs. He keeps thrusting until I can feel him start to soften and only then do they both pull out of me, leaving me sweating and gasping for breath.

Baron watches me, panting. “I love that look,” he laughs breathily. He shuffles on his pants, finding my discarded clothes on the floor and handing them back to me.

I don’t bother standing. I slip my legs into them, wincing as the movement jostles pain throughout me.

“Take it easy,” Castor says, pulling his clothes back on. “Your leg is still healing.”

“It’s not my leg that’s sore,” I mumble.

Castor’s lips quirk up at the edges, no doubt a little proud at the sentiment. He extends his hand toward me, and I take it, climbing painfully to my feet.

I let out a breath, glancing around the room as the situation finally comes back to me amongst the haze of pleasure.

“None of the files I went through had anything significant on Acacia,” I say. “Just contractors.”

“Well, Bane was as clever as he was paranoid,” Baron says with a roll of his eyes. “It wouldn’t be easily found.”

“What about a flashdrive?”

Castor shakes his head. “Too easily traced. It would be a physical copy, something he could archive.”

I glance around the room. It’s in shambles compared to when we came in here. All the cabinets are upturned, papers strewn everywhere and beds ripped to shreds.

“There’s nowhere else this could be. Maybe Alastor already found it.”

“It’s here,” Castor says with certainty. “If he had it, he would’ve killed us already. We’ll go over it again.” He points over to an empty armory.

I don’t have the heart to tell Castor that maybe Alastor already won, or maybe the files never existed to begin with. He’s tearing the place apart, breaking chair legs like they’d be hiding in there. I look anyway, if nothing else than to give him peace of mind.

The cabinet is bare—a small metal case meant to hide rifles that had been cleared out decades ago. I run my hands along the edges, tracing the lines of dust inside it. It’s kept in a thick line, covering every inch of the cabinet, left to right, up and—

My eyes catch a gap in the dust. On the right side of the cabinet, the corners look like they’ve been wiped clean. The dust hasn’t even touched it.

Why would someone only touch one side of an armory.

I run my fingers along the gap, tracing the clear line where the dust should be. They catch when I run over the top of the cabinet and with a soft tug, the entire panel comes loose.

“Castor?” I call over my shoulder. “I think I found something.”

He crosses the room quickly, both men crowding around the cabinet as I move the heavy panel away from the wall. My heart is pounding with adrenaline, and I can’t hide the smile on my face. This is it. Acacia’s downfall. It’ll finally be over.

When I move the panel away, we don’t find files or a secret safe hidden into the wall. Instead, we find rows of hooks lining the cabinet top to bottom, and on each hook are dozens of dog tags.

“What the hell?” I say under my breath. I pick up the tags, each one with a different name on them. Oscar Briggs. Allie Doyle. Elijah Cohen. Damien Riley.

“I know some of these people,” I say, scanning through the tags. I save the ones from the people I knew, sifting through them rapidly. There’s hundreds here. Thousands, all with different names. I shake my head confused. “I don’t understand. Why would they–”

I look up at the two men, their faces cast down and almost ashamed. Then I realize, and my heart drops.

“No…” I say, clutching the tags tightly. “No, I knew these people.”

“I told you, doll,” Castor says, softly. “We were the first to leave Acacia. They don’t discharge contractors.”

I turn away, pulling out more. Alexander Hahn, I remember him being shipped off in a helicopter during my first year of service. Enzo Grant, sent away on medical leave after his leg was blown off by a mine. I visited him in the hospital on leave. He was supposed to make a full recovery.

“These were my friends,” I say, my voice breaking. “I knew them, I spoke to them a few weeks ago. Bane said…they were supposed to be on medical leave.”

Baron doesn’t fight me. He only places a hand on my shoulder, his voice soft and pained. “I’m sorry.”

“Why would he do this?” I ask. “He would just kill them when he was done with them? Like they were nothing?”

“Contractors aren’t people, Helena,” Baron says. “Bane doesn’t think like we do. They were just tools to him, and when they got damaged, he threw them away.”

I pull out another row, sifting through them even as my vision blurs with tears. My eyes catch another familiar name and I pull it out.

John Kinsley

The other tags drop at my feet. I stare at it, the words reading like a knife to my throat. I graze the metal with my thumb, waiting for it to disappear like another hallucination, but it doesn’t. It’s solid.

“Dad…” My lip quivers as I hold it to my chest, a quiet sob escaping from my lips. “He died because of this? Because he refused to hurt anyone?”

They don’t answer, sharing an uncomfortable look with each other.

My eyes lift to meet theirs. “Right?”

Baron’s jaw tenses, discomfort settling in his face. “He didn’t refuse, Helena. He led the raid.”

“WHAT?!”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Castor says quickly. “If he refused, you and your mother would’ve been killed. He was trying to keep you safe.”

I bend down, coiling in myself to force it out of my memory. It’s not true. He was a good man.

Baron rushes over to me, his arms wrapping around me and trying to pull me up.

“Please believe us, Helena. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t touch me!” I push him, turning away from the two men. I look at the tags again and again, waiting for the words to change, for this reality to stop, to wake up from this nightmare, but the words are stone in my hands, cold and unforgiving. It’s real.

Anger takes the place of agony and I throw the tags across the room, clutching my head as I scream.

“NO!” I throw the armory to the ground, the tags scattering, but I don’t care. I rip away the cots, turning them upside and breaking chairs. I scream until my lungs are raw. He was a murderer, the man I mourned and wanted so badly to be like.

He died a murderer.

I throw the room into disarray, screaming and crying even as Castor pulls me into a hug with Baron. They stroke my hair, whispering into my ear but I can’t hear them. I can’t hear anything above the pounding of my heart.

I fall to my knees sobbing and they fall with me, sweeping my legs up until I’m cradled between the both of them.

“He’s a coward!” I shout through the tears. “He should’ve stayed home! He left us! He didn’t need to protect us. We could’ve hidden.” My voice cracks, the words choking up in my throat as my voice lowers to a whisper. “We needed him.”

They just hold me as I cry, not speaking or arguing. They just hold me, Castor stroking my head as I bury my head into Baron’s chest.

“I want them dead.” I sniffle. “I want all of them dead.”

“I know, doll.” Castor whispers, his thumb caressing my jaw soothingly. “I know.”

I shake my head, burying myself further into Baron’s chest. “You knew him. You tried to tell me.”

Baron nods from above me, sighing softly into my head as he sets his chin on top of my head. “John was a better man than all of us. He wanted to keep you away from Bane.”

My eyes lift, finding his eyes. They’re softer now. Sad. Everything clicks in an instant, puzzle pieces drawing together like magnets and forming a picture I could never have imagined in my mind. And all it does is leave a gaping hole in my chest.

“I want to come with you,” I say, pulling away from them both. I sit myself on the ground in front of them, my legs criss-crossed as I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I want to help you find Alastor. Please.”

The word makes them smile. Castor reaches around, collapsing a necklace around me. The cool metal falls against my chest in a soft clink. My dad’s tags.

“We need to regroup first. We all need rest and medical attention.”

“What about the files?” I ask.

“Alastor,” Baron says. “If he doesn’t have them, we will have to track Acacia a different way.”

“How?”

“Fury. They can help.”

The name brings me back to the present. I’d seen them in the incomplete Codex files Bane gave me, but they weren’t in the ones here. No mention of them or even a picture. I thought Alastor was protecting his identity so he could kill me, but Alastor isn’t with the Codex.

So if Alastor isn’t Fury, who is?

Metal screeches as the hatch opens and a figure strides down the stairs. They’re completely covered in black armor, sporting an identical metal helmet with glowing green eyes. Then, they stop and their helmet detaches with a hiss. I watch as their hair falls free in a black fishtail braid around their half shaved head and her brown eyes meet mine.

“Sara?”