21. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Jacob
As I walk to main admin, I try to shake off the image of Quinn in her cage, snuggled up in my dressing gown. She’s too bloody cute, and it’s threatening to make me do something stupid. I almost took pity on her and let her orgasm. Only staring at my box of ruined stuff helped me stay strong.
Because fuck, she took my cock like a champ. I’d been prepared to abort the mission if she really wasn’t coping, but a few circles around her clit had her back on track. I’ll teach her to crave pain. In a few weeks, she’ll be begging me for it.
Now, though, I need to wipe her from my mind and focus on the real problem. The fucker who’s about to wish he managed to kill me.
I head straight for detention, and my jaw tightens when I see Brackis standing beside Kendrick. Of course that useless bastard would have to stick his oar in. He holds up a hand as I approach, all self-important bluster. “We’ve got it handled, sir. No need for you to get involved.”
“Like fuck there isn’t.” He starts speaking again, but I cut him off, turning to Kendrick. “Where’s the prisoner? I’ll commence questioning immediately.”
“As I said, sir, we’ve—”
“Was I talking to you?”
Brackis’s mouth flaps like a fish as I address Kendrick, pulling a respectful tone from somewhere. “I’ve convinced the heads of terrorist cells to speak. With respect, I’m the best choice for this.”
Kendrick looks between us, his face tight. Three in the morning, and he’s immaculate in a business suit. Does he own any other clothes?
“After meeting the prisoner, I don’t think convincing him to speak will be an issue. But I agree your skills suit this task, Jacob. You may conduct the interview.”
I manage to resist smirking at Brackis, but only just. He’s a small man, and I shouldn’t lower myself to his level. I’ve always hated mercenaries. I believed in what I was doing in the Specials and left when I couldn’t follow the orders in good conscience anymore.
Mercenaries sell themselves to the highest bidder, and it’s repulsive to me. I’ve done terrible things, but I’ve always tried to keep to my own code.
Though the girl locked in a cage, probably fast asleep, might disagree.
I follow Kendrick into the basement. Was it really only two days ago I spoke to Quinn down here? Since she arrived, everything has exploded into jagged color. I can’t imagine going back to life without her.
Shit, Jacob. Head in the game.
The prisoner is locked in the same cell they had Quinn in. A couple of Gilda soldiers move aside, letting me study him through the one-way glass. He’s slumped in his seat, his posture one of defeat, not defiance. I did a number on his face—broken nose, two black eyes, and a bandage wrapped around his head.
Does he know he’s a dead man? A professional would have a good idea, but I’m not sure this man fits that bill. Skinny frame, ratty clothes, sallow white skin, bad teeth. How did he even get into the hotel? He must have bribed someone to leave the fire escape open. Or someone else did the bribing.
I push the door open and stride in, squeezing into the seat across from him. They have him shackled hand and foot, but he jerks back as far as he can when he recognizes me, mumbling, “Hey, man. I’m real sorry. It was just business.”
I shrug as if getting shot at is no big deal and gesture to one of the young soldiers. “Can I get a bottle of water in here? Thanks.”
We study each other in silence as the soldier brings the drink. I spin the top off and hand it to the man. “What’s your name?”
“Barry. Barry Fern.” He takes a long swig, coughs, then drinks again. His hands shake as he sets it down, and I don’t think it’s just from fear. I’d bet my fucking house this man is in withdrawal.
“How old are you, Barry? Where are you from?”
His eyes skitter around the cell, and he presses his shaky hands to the metal table. Sweat coats his face even though it’s cold in here. “Thirty-three, sir. And I’m from South Carolina. Should never a’ left. I’m real sorry, sir. Real sorry.”
His desperation scratches on my nerves. Nasty shit like this is part of my old life, not the new one I’ve worked so hard to carve out. My theory that this guy is a religious nutjob who hates me fades fast. The deferential politeness just doesn’t fit.
“We’re all businessmen here, Barry. Don’t sweat it. But mate, you need to tell me what happened, okay? These guys here? They’re serious. Why’d you do it?”
He looks down at his hands, picking at a spot. The backs of his hands are covered in them. “Friend of a friend messaged me last night, said someone wanted a job done real urgent. Offered me $10K.”
Ten thousand dollars for a last-minute hit on a fairly high-profile and dangerous target? For that kind of bargain basement rate, what level of professionalism was whoever hired him expecting? The timing slots into place. Right when my keynote presentation was announced.
“And this friend of a friend, where did he hear about the job?”
Barry shrugs. “The dark web, I’m guessin’. I don’t get into none of that shit. But he does, and he gives me jobs sometimes.”
Probably taking a substantial cut himself. The middlemen aren’t of any interest, though I’ll instruct the Gilda to drag them in anyway. I doubt they’ll know much more than this bottom-feeder.
There’s a picture forming in my mind of the man behind the hit who has made himself my enemy. He’s highly computer literate. Enough to organize a sophisticated flaming of me online and access the dark web. But he lacks true underground connections. No one who had them would use someone like Barry for a hit, even at the last minute.
He has access to funds, but the cheap price offered for the hit tells me they’re not bottomless. Maybe he knew this was a long shot and didn’t want to commit too much of his resource pool to it. Or maybe he never expected it to succeed and just wanted to rattle me.
Tomorrow, I need to work with Hadrian, sort through what his bots have found, and get his help searching the dark web. IT has never been my strong point. I’m more interested in decoding humans.
I offer Barry a reassuring smile. “Thanks for this, mate. I’m going to send in one of my associates now. I need you to be helpful and tell him everything you can about the guys who gave you this job. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure, boss. Anything you need.” He’s eager now, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that isn’t there. I almost feel bad for the guy. Maybe he didn’t have someone hard and steady like Grandad keeping him on the straight path.
“Good, mate. Good.”
I stand to leave. Barry stammers, “And after that, you’ll let me go?”
I hate lying. I hate it, but sometimes, I have to do it. “Course we will. So long as you cooperate.”
I feel dirty saying it. Liar. Quinn called me that, too. Why? It niggles at me as I rap the door to leave.
Don’t worry. It’s just another test.
The moment comes back to me in a rush, and all at once, everything makes sense. Bloody girls’ night. One of them must have told her about the tracker, and of course she put two and two together.
Shit. I broke her trust.
I don’t often feel guilty, but it hits me now, a thick, black wave of it. She’s supposed to be able to rely on me. If I’m not keeping up my end of the bargain, why the fuck should she?
Her actions take on a different color. Still disrespectful and worthy of punishment but brought on by upset, not spite. She’s a firecracker and overreacted. Were my punishments too harsh? Maybe. I’ll tackle that question in the morning.
As I close the door behind me, I ignore Brackis and address Kendrick directly. “He’ll tell you anything you want but doesn’t know much. Bring his associates in. We’ll question them too, but I don’t think they’ll be any use either. This hit was ordered on the dark web, so maybe Hadrian will be able to help. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
Kendrick nods. “Good work in there.”
I go to leave, then something occurs to me. “Can you put security on my grandad’s house? Someone’s got it in for me. I don’t want them going after him.”
At the thought of it, pure red rage surges up. If that bastard dares—
My phone rings, and a cannonball drops into my stomach. It’ll be bad news. What other news is there after three in the morning? It’s going to be bad news about Grandad. I just know it.
I smile when I see Quinn’s name, cool relief sweeping my veins. She’s probably bored or busting for a pee. She downed the water way too fast. I should have warned her. I step away from Kendrick. “This better be good.”
There’s a long silence, then a tight gasp and Quinn’s strained voice. “My heart. Come, please. I need help.”