Chapter 10 #2
I twist, ramming my hip into his jaw hard enough to make his teeth clack, and his grip loosens. I slip free and hit the concrete with a thud that rattles my brain, scrambling to get my feet under me while the world tilts.
He recovers faster.
A heavy knee on my sternum pins me to the floor and drives the air from my lungs in a silent gasp. His weight settles, and while he’s careful not to crush, it’s more than enough to hold me still.
I freeze, chest heaving, and every instinct screaming as I stare at my captor.
He’s tall, and broader than any human has the right to be, with coppery hair falling across a face set in hard lines.
Scars cover the right side of his neck and lick up his chin and cheek in a pink, pitted pattern that’s mostly covered by a thick, neatly trimmed beard.
Brown eyes narrow with pure contempt as his knee presses harder.
“Let me go,” I order, as I reach for the remnants of power churning in my stomach.
His weight shifts, and he starts to lift while I get ready to run.
Rough fabric drops over my head and turns everything black. It startles me enough to make me lose my grip on my magic, and the pressure on my chest doubles down.
“No, no. None of that,” a second voice chimes in, lighter and amused, like he’s enjoying the show. “We know all about your little mind worm tricks.”
“Mind worm?!” I gasp, and as I draw in a desperate inhale, cloth sucks into my mouth and turns the hood into an effective gag. It chokes me and muffles my words, and sends a jolt of panic through my veins as I try to catch my breath.
The man scoffs as though he’s offended. “Yeah. That freaky mind-control thing your kind can do. Dom told us all about it, but I call it a mind worm because that sounds more, like, gross, ya know? Really paints the picture.”
“What the fuck?!” I rasp into the hood, the words garbled and frantic around the fabric.
“Can’t worm our brains if you can’t see us,” he sing-songs cheerfully.
“That’s enough, Sakane,” the redhead barks. He eases his weight enough to allow me a ragged breath. “Why were those soldiers chasing you?”
“Gotta be my dashing good looks,” I wheeze through a cough. “Jealousy’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
He pushes right back down on my sternum as more air punches from my lungs. “Keep talking shit,” he warns. “See where it gets you.”
“Probably the morgue,” I admit breathlessly, “but at least I’ll die as I lived. Pretty and mouthy… my legacy.”
He pats me down with a growl, his hands rough as they smack up and down my frame. When he finds the folded papers tucked under my waistband, he yanks up my chestpiece.
“If you wanted to feel me up, you could’ve at least taken me for dinner first,” I rasp.
“I’m pretty easy, actually. Fuck on the first date if you buy me dessert.
Doesn’t even have to be fancy, just get me a donut and all this could be yours.
Hell, get the kind with sprinkles and I spread like butter. ”
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Papers rustle violently as he flips through them. “What are these?”
“So… that’s a no on dessert then?”
He pushes his weight onto his knee, grinding down until stars burst in my vision and air whistles out of me.
“We watched you stroll into that building like you owned the place,” he hisses, leaning in so close his coffee breath burns my nostrils, even through the hood. “Ten minutes later, half the damn army was scrambling after you. Why?”
“Stalking me already, pretty boy?” I choke out, forcing the words through the pain. “That’s hot.”
“I’m going to fucking murder you.”
“Get in line,” I mutter, the fight leaching out of me.
“What do we do with him?” Sakane asks around what sounds suspiciously like chewing, then the crinkle of a wrapper confirms it.
These two are infinitely better odds than the soldiers I was running from, so I force my body to sag against the floor.
It’s not surrender, just a calculated pause.
My magic is drained and my energy isn't far behind, but while I’m not free, I’m not staring down a firing squad.
That’s something.
The redhead pauses. “We take him to Dom. As tempting as it would be to throw him back out and watch the soldiers scoop him up, he has information. We need answers first.”
Air floods my lungs as the knee lifts. Relief lasts half a second, just long enough for rough hands to haul me upright and sling me over his shoulder again.
He grunts under the extra weight, adjusting his grip on my thighs. “Fucking hell, you’re heavier than you look.”
“Flatterer,” I mutter into the fabric over my face. “You should feel me after pasta night.”
I shift, trying to get comfortable with his shoulder digging into my stomach.
“I can walk, you know,” I complain.
He snorts. “We saw how fast you run. Not a chance.”
Frustrated, I growl but force myself to go deadweight. It’s the pettiest rebellion I can manage, but makes me feel marginally better.
The redhead shifts me higher on his shoulder and starts moving with steady, purposeful strides that echo faintly off concrete. We’re underground now, or at least somewhere enclosed. The air is damp, with a faint tang of must and old stone.
It makes sense. They can’t parade a hooded captive through daylight.
Wherever they’re taking me, it’s deeper into the shadows, and for now, I’m along for the ride.
Momentary acceptance, I remind myself.
It gets me out of the military’s hands while I buy time and listen. I need to figure out how to turn this around while I regain my strength.
The second an opportunity shows up, I’ll be gone.
They walk in silence for what I judge to be about fifteen minutes.
The man carrying me shows no sign of tiring, even with my full weight slung across his shoulder and my deliberate attempts to make myself heavier.
We pause before his footsteps turn cautious on a metal stairwell.
A key scrapes in a lock, and another door swings open.
Murmured voices grow clearer as the air shifts to something more comfortable. It’s cooler, with the low whir of fans and brighter light filtering through the hood.
“Hey, Cato—” someone starts, then cuts off at the sight of me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Not now,” the guy carrying me says curtly. “Where’s Dom?”
“Uh… in the conference room.”
“So many cooler names we could use,” Sakane complains from beside me. “Command center. Ops hub. Even headquarters sounds a little badass.”
“It’s a big empty room with a table,” Cato responds. “We have meetings there. It’s a fucking conference room.”
“Party pooper,” Sakane mutters.
Cato snorts. “Call it whatever you want, man. Just don’t expect me to salute your little bun when you walk in like you’re leading the revolution.”
“This bun is iconic,” Sakane argues. “It’s got presence.”
“Yeah,” Cato deadpans. “Presence. That thing is so tight it's cutting off circulation to your brain.”
Sakane gasps, and there's a smacking sound from where he walks beside Cato. “You take that back. The bun is sacred.”
Cato chuckles like he's ready to argue more, but we pass through a door and the chatter around us swells. Murmurs turn into alarmed whispers, building into a rising tide of confusion and curses in every variation of ‘what the fuck.’
“Are you at least making my ass look good if it’s on display for everyone?” I grumble.
Cato ignores me entirely, then knocks on a door.
“Hey, Dom? We’ve got a situation out here? Kinda need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, alright, come on in,” the voice calls from inside.
My eye flares inside the hood.
The door opens and the same voice sharpens. “What the actual fuck, Cato? That’s a soldier over your shoulder.”
“It is,” Cato agrees.
My heart ratchets in my chest at the familiar irritated scoff that follows.
“Alright, let me rephrase,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Why do you have a soldier in our headquarters?”
“At least someone is using that word,” Sakane grumbles.
“We were watching the scheduling office,” Cato explains, “and this asshole charged out with half the damn military on his heels. He had these stuffed in his pants—schedules for next week's shipments.”
Papers rustle from my side where Sakane stands, and I grow hyper-aware of the embarrassing way Cato has me slung over his shoulder like a rag doll.
“Why were they chasing him?”
“Dunno,” Cato answers with a grunt as I try to shift, but he only grips me tighter. “We asked but he isn’t exactly playing nice. Thought maybe you could get more out of him.”
“Don’t look him in the eyes, boss,” Sakane adds conspiratorially. “It’s one of those with the mind worms.”
“A Cavese?”
Cato nods, then drops me to my feet. I stagger, grabbing his arm for balance before rough hands yank the hood off my head. Light floods in and I wince against the sudden brightness until my vision clears.
The world’s most stunning hazel eyes stare back at me, and shock slacks his face like he’s seen a ghost. I swallow, and he does the same. Four years apart and we’re still mirrored, reacting before thought can catch up.
We might be as good as strangers now, but our bodies and souls are old friends. They reach for each other, unable to stand one doing something the other can’t match, so we follow and mimic.
Every buried emotion erupts from its cage, shattering the walls I built to contain them. They rip through me and tear open the wound I’ve carried ever since that damning day. Hiding the pain becomes impossible, so I stop trying and let it loose.
It feels like dying, like losing him all over again.
He sees it.
I know he does, because he feels it too.
I see it in the raw pain playing across those eyes I know by heart. Surprise and shock morph into a blip of relief, then turn into a sadness that slices straight through every defense I’ve put in place over these past four years. Longing forms in those hazel depths, but it doesn’t last.
It could never last with what I did to him.
Heartbreak and pain take its place, only to be vanquished by anger that turns the warmth cold and harsh.
His face smooths into a mask, a hiding place somewhere safe from the danger outside.
Me.
He hides from me.
My legs buckle beneath the weight of the realization and I waver.
Instinct or reflex, he reaches for me like he just can’t help it, but his arm drops limp when I regain my footing.
Neither of us blinks, and I’m suffocating under his scrutiny.
My breath quivers as I push it out, forcing myself to break the choking silence.
“Hey, Bash,” I whisper.