18. Killian #2
I twist the pliers a fraction of a millimeter more.
"Please," he screams. "Ross will kill me."
"Ross isn't here," I reply. "I am. And what I'll do to you makes death seem like a kindness."
I twist again.
"I don't know anything," he screams, the words tumbling out in a desperate, sobbing rush. "Don't... please..."
"Let's try again, shall we? Where is the Order moving her to?"
The begging stops. He stares at the floor between our boots. His mouth works, but whatever answer is in his head paralyzes his vocal cords.
I drop the pliers and pull the knife from my boot.
His eyes go wide. I slice through the tactical fabric of his pants, exposing the wound on his leg. It’s angry and swollen, a mess of torn muscle and pooling fluid.
“You know, the human body is a remarkable thing. Nerve endings cluster around injuries. They become hypersensitive. A brush of a finger can feel like fire. Kai, can you imagine what this," I show him the blade, "feels like?”
Kai snickers, knowing exactly what I'm going to do.
The kid's eyes track the blade as I press the tip of the blade into the edge of the entry point in his thigh.
The nerve endings are already exposed and screaming. I don’t have to go deep, I find the edge of the bullet shard and grate the metal against it.
His body arches, a garbled howl tearing from his throat. His nervous system redlines. I keep my gaze locked on the wound, leaning my weight into the steel scraping against his bone.
"You think Ross will reward your loyalty?" I lean in closer. "He sent you on a suicide mission. He expected you to die here. You're nothing to him. I'm not going to ask you again."
He cracks. His body goes completely slack against the zip-ties, his chest violently heaving as spit and blood run unchecked down his chin.
"I'm just extraction!" he chokes out. "We had orders to deliver her to the handoff point! Then they would move her again!"
"Where?"
"Pier 17! Warehouse at the docks! But she won't be there now! They move high-value assets as soon as the transfer is verified."
My jaw tightens. Pier 17. It’s a start.
"Who was signing off on the transfer?"
"Vincent Keller. That's all I know, I swear!"
“What are they planning for her?” I demand, grabbing his throat.
“Some kind of interrogation,” he gasps against my grip. “Special facility for high-value assets. Break them down, rebuild them.”
“The Madhouse?”
His face goes white. Actually fucking white, like all the blood just drained straight out.
Fuck.
Part of me hoped it was bullshit. Urban legend. Something Ross made up to keep his people terrified and loyal. But this kid’s reaction, the way his whole body goes rigid, the way his breathing speeds up, the fresh terror in his eyes that’s worse than anything I’ve done to him tonight. That’s real.
The fucking Madhouse exists. Ross built himself a playpen for breaking minds. And Ellie’s there.
“Where?”
“I don’t know!” The words come out strangled. “Nobody knows except his inner circle! They don’t tell us shit, it’s all classified.”
I believe him. The terror in his eyes is real.
I release his throat. It fits with what I know of Julian’s methods. Compartmentalization. Need-to-know basis. The foot soldiers never see the full picture.
“Thank you.” I stand, wiping blood from my hands. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Relief floods his face. Pathetic. “You’ll let me go?”
I look at him.
“I said I’d make it quick.” The knife is already in my hand. “Never said shit about letting you go.”
Understanding hits him the same second the blade does. Straight through the carotid. He jerks and twitches before he makes a wet choking sound. Then his head drops forward, his chin hitting his chest as the life drains out of him.
The arterial spray pulses three more times against his vest. Two. One. Nothing.
Kai tosses a rag at my chest. I catch it without looking, using the rough fabric to scrub the steel clean. When I turn, I find Gabe watching me from the doorway with an unreadable expression.
“Gather everyone in the dining room,” I say, sliding the knife back into my boot. “We need to plan.”
“Is this who you are now?” Gabriel’s voice is quiet. “Is this who you want to be for her?”
Now I meet his eyes.
“This is who I’ve always been, Gabe. She just made me forget for a while.”
And that's the truth of it. The man Ellie kisses, the one she's starting to trust? He's the facade. This blood-soaked killer standing in the ruins? This is real.
This is what it takes to get her back.
Ellie’s oak table is buried under weapons and grit.
The place where we ate dinner forty-eight hours ago is now a staging area for a war.
Jackson is pulling neighborhood CCTV feeds for license plates, Kai is tracking the satellite signature of the Pier 17 transport, and the air is still thick with the smell of the explosion.
Gabriel, Jackson, and Kai gather around as I lay out what we know.
“The kid gave up Pier 17,” I say. “Keller is running the transfer.”
Jackson rubs his eyes, the fatigue finally starting to show. “That’s a hole, Killian. Ross owns the cameras and the cops in that district. If we go in there without an invite, those private security teams will have us pinned before we hit the sea-wall.”
“He won't keep her there,” Kai says, tossing the bloody rag onto the table. “The Madhouse is a black site, either a vessel or a remote facility. Keller needs a deep-water berth and zero witnesses. Pier 17 is the only spot in the harbor that gives him both. Can you see the private berth?”
“The feed is dead. Encrypted and air-gapped,” Jackson mutters, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the table.
“But I can try the fuel logs. If a non-commercial ship topped up on fuel in the last two hours, it’ll be in the dock house system.
They’re too lazy to scrub the billing records until the end of the shift. ”
“Do it,” I say. “Kai, I need a name. Someone had to clear the crane or the forklift for a high-priority delivery. Who’s the foreman at Seventeen? I want to know who Keller paid to look the other way.”
"This isn't much to go on,” Gabriel says, wincing as he shifts in his chair.
“It’s enough.” I pull up satellite imagery of the docks on a tablet. “We find Keller, we find Ross. We find Ross, we find Ellie.”
“I hope for everyone’s sake you’re right,” Gabe says, his eyes fixed on the ruined remains of the kitchen wall.
“We hit Pier 17 tonight,” I say, tracing a route through the north end of the docks. “If the boat hasn't left the berth, we catch them during the switch. If it has, we find the foreman. We find the records Keller hasn't had time to burn. Jackson, you and I are on point for the breach.”
I look at Gabe.
“You’re on comms. That side is going to slow you down in a firefight.
Stay here and coordinate the feeds. Kai, I need you to tap those Moretti contacts,” I continue.
“Vinny Knives still owes you for that bullet you dug out of his nephew. Those bastards have eyes all over the harbor district. If Keller has been moving equipment through Seventeen, Vinny’s people will know which warehouse is his staging ground. ”
“Done.” Kai is already on his burner.
“I want Keller’s transport identified in thirty minutes,” I tell Jackson. “I don’t care which port authority logs you have to burn through to find it.”
Jackson nods, his fingers already back on the keys.
The house goes quiet again, the only sound the hum of the tablets and the wind whistling through the hole in the kitchen wall.
I stay at the table for a moment, looking at the blood on my hands.
I need a minute. Just one fucking minute before I slip back into tactical mode and plan an assault on a man who taught me everything I know about killing.
Glass grinds under my boots with every step as I trudge through the house. The bedroom Ellie and I shared is half-gone. One wall blown out, night air pouring in. Everything is ash and char and destruction.
Something blue catches my eye. Fabric, half-buried under drywall.
I crouch, pulling it free. Her sleep shirt.
I press it to my face, and it still smells like her. I breathe it in until my lungs hurt.
She was wearing this when she crawled into my lap on the couch, half-asleep, warm, and trusting. When she fell asleep against my chest.
I shove the fabric into my pocket, unable to leave it here in the wreckage.
I’ll become everything she fears, just to make sure she never has to be afraid again. If saving her life means losing her love, I’ll pay that price every single time. As long as she’s alive enough to hate me for it, it’s worth it.
I head back to the others. Kai and Jackson stop talking the second I walk in.
“Gear up,” I say, checking the magazine of my Glock. “We hit Pier 17 in thirty minutes.”
Because no one sees me coming.
Not until I’m already inside.
Not until it’s too fucking late.