Chapter Seventy-Seven
Asher
Everything hurts. A deep, dragging ache that’s settled into bone. There’s a low, constant roar under my skin that hasn’t let up in hours.
My back is one long line of heat, my knees throb with every tiny shift in weight, and my side pulses in a slow, steady rhythm, a reminder that the injury is still working against me.
I don’t know how long it’s been since the video. Hours.
The medic yanked the IV minutes after Voss left.
Barely spent five seconds in the room. Three times since, nameless GSD guards have come in to reposition me.
Pulling my arms fully straight across the table.
Standing me up with my wrists cuffed at shoulder height.
And this last time, forcing me to kneel on the floor, my heels pressed to the wall, wrists secured to the hasp two feet in front of me.
I collapsed within minutes. Didn’t matter. Now the guard watches from the corner, arms crossed. If I move—if I fall—he jerks me back onto my knees and snaps at me to stay still.
My fingers won’t stop twitching. I flex them to keep the blood moving, but circulation is losing the fight here.
Without any water, my throat is dry enough, breathing hurts. Swallowing feels like grinding salt into a wound.
The door opens, and Voss steps into the room. “Please return Mr. Locke to the chair.” The politeness in his voice grates on my last functioning nerve.
The guard releases the chain, and I collapse.
My core is shot, muscles unable to fire to stabilize me.
He drags me upright, and my body detonates from the knees down.
There’s no warning. No gradual burn. No pins and needles as sensation returns.
Just a sudden, brutal surge that tears through both legs at once.
My kneecaps feel like they’re being pried apart with a crowbar. The muscles in my calves seize—hard—and the ache in my feet turns into the agony of stepping on a live wire.
The sound leaves me before I can lock it down. A rough, low exhale that catches in my throat.
The burn keeps climbing. Into my thighs now. I force my legs to support me through sheer will and stubbornness. I’ve already given Voss too much. He can’t have any more.
The bastard who created this whole fucking nightmare of a program leans back in the chair, watching me. “Good,” he murmurs, a self-satisfied smirk curving his thin lips. “Pain has a way of clarifying things. Narrowing priorities and all.”
The guard drops me into the chair, locking my wrists to the sliding rings and leaving my forearms braced against metal. Voss uncaps a bottle of water, setting it within reach of my cuffed hands.
“You should hydrate.” He says it like someone might comment on the weather.
I don’t reach for it right away. Not because I don’t want it. Because I don’t want him to see how much.
“Agent Calder responded to the video.”
The words take longer than they should to sink in. I wrap my hands around the bottle, lift it to my lips, and take a deep pull.
“She’s polite,” I rasp.
“Not this time.” He withdraws a slip of paper from his coat pocket and slides it toward me. “She was very clear.”
The room is quiet enough, my pulse thrums in my ears. I take another sip of water.
Then I focus on the paper.
It takes several seconds for the words to settle into place. My brain lags, each line landing slower than the last.
His condition is noted.
I read it again. Slower. One section at a time because that’s all my brain can process.
More coming. Personal.
Her affidavit. The photos.
Release Mason Locke.
Voss is talking. I ignore him.
You’ve never dealt with someone who escaped your program before. Someone who didn’t break. Someone you scheduled for disposal and lost.
There she is. That’s Raine.
I suggest you follow my lead on how this ends.
Something cracks open in my chest. Not violently. Quietly. Light seeping into darkness. The room comes back into focus. Voss has stopped talking. He’s watching me. Looking for the reaction. The flinch. The thing he can use. I give him nothing.
“Agent Calder has made her priorities clear. You are no longer among them.” He folds his hands in front of him, and I want to punch that smug look from his face.
Raine’s coming. She’s telling me she caught my JV reference. That she has a plan.
And Voss? He thinks she’s abandoned me. He actually believes that. What an arrogant, self-absorbed dumbass. Tragic, really.
“The only currency you have left in this room is information.” He leans forward, almost like he’s letting me in on a secret. “I’d encourage you to spend it wisely.”
I stare back down at the message. Let him watch me do it. A spasm runs through my fingers, the pins and needles sharpening before they fade into background noise. It takes more energy than I’d like to extend them, but I pull the paper toward me slowly, curling it against my chest as Voss looks on.
A moment later, he pushes back from the table and leaves the room.
What comes next won’t be pretty. I’m not sharp enough to parry words anymore, and if they believe she’s abandoned me, they’ll dial up the pain to get me to talk—to give them anything they can use to find her.
But I can handle pain.
I read her message again. And again. Until it’s burned into my soul.
Follow my lead.
I’m in, Raine. From the first time you said the words, I was in.
Finish this.