Chapter Seventy-Five
Asher
My head keeps dropping. Not all the way. The chain pulls tight, my torso jerks, and I force myself awake. Each time, my reaction slows.
My shoulders stopped burning not long after they left me here, the cuffs positioned so far from the table’s edge they hold my arms almost straight out in front of me.
Most of my upper body is hollow now. Detached.
The shaking comes and goes without warning, a faint vibration under my skin I can’t control.
Everything after they left has blurred into light and silence and the steady throb of the gash in my side.
The bleeding has slowed again. Maybe stopped. I can’t tell in this position. I could feel the warmth of it soaking into the bandage for a while. Now, it’s cool and sticky. Heavy. Each breath tugs at the jagged edges of the wound, despite the compression wrap.
Thinking takes more effort than it should. Counting is easier. The scratches on the table are still mostly clear. Number fourteen is deeper than the rest. Number thirty-seven looks like a lightning bolt.
I see Raine whenever I blink. The way she goes still when she’s working out a problem. Her hand on mine. The light in her eyes as she takes her first sip of coffee in the morning.
She’s still out there. Still fighting. If Northbridge came through, she’ll be building the second packet by now. That steadies me.
My vision narrows for a second, darkness closing in at the edges. I use Raine’s breathing trick. Four beats in. Hold. Six beats out. It helps. My job is to stay conscious. Keep them doubting. Keep them focused on me, not Ellen or Tessa or anyone else.
The camera hums faintly. I curl my toes in my boots, then flex my calves. My thighs. My glutes.
They’ll come back in with something new soon. If they’re following the handbook, this next round will start with patience. Understanding. Sympathy. Anger is easier to deal with. Anger doesn’t leave long silences. Patience does.
Interrogation 101 - Never Fill the Silence
Interrogation 201 - Fewer Words, Fewer Mistakes
Interrogation 301 - Protect What Matters
If I get out of this—if Raine and I do get that future together, I could teach a Master Class on the subject. That thought boosts me until the door bangs open.
Two men stomp into the room, their expressions hard and angry.
The shorter of the two sets a darkened tablet on the table and takes a seat. The other paces behind me.
How unoriginal. Chad and Mark’s understudies are here for the overnight shift. GSD must make all these guys watch the same training video.
“Get his fucking hands out of my face, Jay,” the man in the chair says.
Jay slams his key into the lock, twists, and in one violent pull, hauls the sliding rings until they hit the stop inches from my torso. Blood rushes back into muscles starved for it. Pins and needles race from my fingers all the way to my shoulders.
“Rough night, gentlemen?”
Jay lands a sharp punch to my left side, right over the bandage.
My vision goes white, and I grab the rings so I don’t pitch over onto the floor. Blood wells hot under the gauze. I struggle to sit up, but my body is so fatigued, I start slipping by degrees.
“You think you’re a comedian now?” Jay grabs my arm and slams me against the back of the chair.
“No,” I gasp. “Just…reading…the room.”
The seated man leans forward, glaring at me. “How did you know Raine Calder was receiving treatment at the Centralia facility? Who told you?”
“Finally. A new…question. Was…getting bored…of the old ones.” My throat aches with every word. If I thought they were still playing by the rules, I’d stay quiet until they brought in another bottle of water. But they’re off book in a big way, which tells me something’s happened.
Raine happened.
“Who told you?” Jay snaps from behind me.
My thoughts take too long to come together. If I say nothing, they assume Raine has help and might decide I’m no longer useful. But the truth…they’ll burn time verifying it. And it still gives them nothing.
“No one.” My voice holds. Barely. “I was there for someone else. Wrong place. Wrong time. Story of my life.”
The man across from me frowns. “You expect us to believe you pulled the wrong person out of Coherent Path and didn’t care?”
Jay snorts. “He’s fucking with you, Phil.” Snatching the tablet from the table, he taps the screen, then slides it in front of me. “Calder showed up on a security camera at Tacoma Memorial Hospital two hours ago.”
I blink hard. Raine stands perfectly still. No hat. No disguise. Wearing…my coat? This has to be another deep fake. But the corners of the image are clear. No strange light artifacts. No angles that don’t belong.
Under the coat, she’s wearing her hoodie. Her leggings. The shoes I bought her. I can still see the bruises fading at her jawline. And her left hand…her thumb brushes her index finger.
Fuck. This is real. Is she hurt? She knows they’re watching the hospitals. She wouldn’t go unless she had no choice.
Everything in me wants to fight. Flip the goddamn table, find a way out of these cuffs, and break Phil and Jay’s fucking necks.
“She means a lot to you,” Phil says. It’s not a question.
Shit. I gave them too much. Did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do.
Lose control. “You know she’s unstable, Locke.
Clearly she’s getting worse if she’s being this careless.
If you tell us where she is, we’ll bring her in.
Keep her safe so she doesn’t get herself killed. ”
I lock down my expression. GSD isn’t getting their hands on Raine if I have anything to say about it. But cuffed to this table, exhausted, and bleeding, my ability to do anything is slipping away.
Jay gets right in my face. “Centralia went up in flames ten minutes after this photo was taken.”
The news lands somewhere behind my sternum. I keep it there for later, for when I can focus on Raine’s brilliance. Remember her arms around me. Her lips on mine.
Turning my gaze to the angry fucker invading my personal space, I let my lips curve slightly. “She’s thorough. Always has been. Always will be.”
“How’d she do it?” Jay starts pacing again. He’s going to wear a hole in the floor if he keeps this up.
I lift my hands slightly in a shrug, flexing my fingers to get a modicum of circulation back. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. I’ve been staring at these walls for hours.”
“Did she extract anyone? Take any files?” This from Phil, who’s apparently finally gotten with the program.
I stare at Phil for a long moment. Then slide my gaze to the wall. They don’t get anything else from me. Not yet.
Jay’s steps shorten. Tighter. Faster. Good. That means he’s losing patience. Impatient assholes make mistakes.
“We have people looking for her, Mr. Locke,” Phil says. “Every minute you don’t talk to us is another minute she’s out there alone.”
Whatever patience Jay’s losing, Phil is collecting with interest.
“Who else knew about the Centralia facility?” Jay grabs a fistful of my hair and bends my head back until I can barely swallow. “Someone’s been helping her, and we need a fucking name.”
I blink at him, expression placid, body as relaxed as I can manage after more than twelve hours in this chair.
Jay loosens his grip, and I roll my head from side to side. Then return my focus to the scratches on the table.
Across from me, Phil’s hands are curled into fists, and he’s shaking. Well, shit. “Get him up. This is going nowhere.”
Here we go. This is the part where I stop thinking about anything but getting through the next few minutes. However many it takes.
My job is to give her time.
Jay frees my wrists from the rings welded to the table. The chain scrapes over the surface, leaving me at least one new scratch to count.
I could fight, but I have no idea what’s outside that door. Or if it’s even unlocked. So I let Jay pull me to my feet. My vision goes sideways from the sudden drop in blood pressure, and I almost go down. “Wall. Now,” Jay shouts.
“Fine. I’m a wall.” I don’t move, locking my knees.
“For fuck’s sake.” Phil shoves his chair back, and the two of them muscle me over to the back wall. “Start listening to us, Locke. Or this gets very bad, very fast.”
“Threats this early? You’re better than that, Phil.” I look for what I missed in all the hours I’ve been sitting at that table. Shit. There it is. A hasp embedded in the ceiling with a thick chain attached.
Jay wrenches my arms high above my head, locking the cuffs to the chain, then using some demented pulley system to force me up onto my toes. The position leaves my cheek pressed to the cold concrete and my back to the room.
The burn in my shoulders starts immediately. I close my eyes, conserving as much of my energy as I can.
It doesn’t help. My arms are already trembling. Within minutes, the strain will hit my back, my core, and my legs too.
“How’d she do it, Locke?” Jay asks. “She’s working with someone else—besides you. Who is it?”
I pin my gaze to a tiny crack in the wall. Raine knows what she’s doing. My job is to give her time.
“And here we thought you were the only one she trusted,” Phil says. “Clearly, we were wrong. Question is…when did you find out? Just now?”
I clench my jaw, count an inhale. An exhale. There’s only one way Raine could have destroyed the black site.
Northbridge.
I keep my expression neutral, but inside, I’m cheering like an idiot. Raine did it. She fucking did it.
Jay wraps his fingers around my bicep tightly enough he arrests the tremor in the muscle. I should thank him for that.
“What was she after?” he asks.
Phil crowds in behind me. “Was she after personnel records? Financials?”
They don’t know. Excellent.
I count another breath. Spasms tighten the muscles of my upper back. My fingers are going numb.
“Did she tell you she was going to destroy the Centralia site?” Jay tightens his grip.
Sweat rolls down my spine. My toes are cramping now. Without shoelaces, my feet slide in the boots and strain my arches.