14. Ember
EMBER
THIS TIME - REUBEN AND THE DARK
Mission control in the lofty heights of Sabre’s HQ is bustling with energy today. The entire Intelligence Department has gathered to pour over monitors, laptops and live drone feeds, keeping us all up to date on the Falcon Team’s movements.
For hired skins, Madden’s surviving men held up well against questioning. I hear it took Axel entering the detention level to join the interrogation to yield any intel. He’s still supposed to be taking it easy. But with a little encouragement, he was able to get the information we need.
A location.
Fucking bingo.
Of all places, the traffickers revealed a holding space used to receive products smuggled in from abroad before they’re transported to prospective buyers. I’m thankful the warehouse isn’t in Liverpool this time. Southport—a seaside town nearby—holds its own geographic advantage.
“What is he doing here?” Axel visibly tenses in his seat.
Through the ajar door, Gunnar sidles in with a blank expression. “Good morning to you too.”
“Fuck off. We are not playing friendly now.”
“Ax,” Warner cautions.
“No! That plea deal is a fucking joke.”
At the head of the table, Kade and Hudson trade matching grim looks. They made the executive decision to proceed with Gunnar’s release. His paperwork was signed off in the nick of time for him to join our raid.
Standing to pour coffee, Hudson sighs heavily. “Take a seat, Gunnar. We’re getting started.”
“Why thank you, Director.” He flashes a smug grin around the room. “Hello, everyone.”
I rub my temples, trying to dampen my splitting headache. “Gunnar.”
“Yes, Ember?”
“Watch yourself. Just find a seat, and shut the hell up, okay?”
“You’re so welcoming.”
“Just as welcoming as a bullet to the gut, I’d imagine.”
If my skull weren’t pounding something fierce, I might sink my own fist into his face. Not even my daily dose of medication has reduced the agony tearing through my soft brain tissue, one pulsating hit at a time.
“Motherfucker.” Hyland clenches his jaw.
Accepting Blaine was one thing. Yet Gunnar’s appearance shattered the trust Axel built with his teammates. Plus, it almost killed him. I know Hyland won’t accept that so easily.
Legs trembling like spaghetti strands, I weakly cross to the meeting table, leaving Blaine to linger in his corner. He overlooks the whole room from a good vantage point, ever the patient observer, scanning for his opportunity to strike.
Axel startles when I clasp his shoulders from behind, eventually relaxing into my touch. I lightly massage the tight knots of tension that cripple his muscles.
“I hate this.” He cranes his neck to look up at me.
“Trust me, I know. We don’t have a choice.”
“I don’t trust him, dimples.”
“None of us trusted Blaine at first, and look where we ended up. I’m not saying you should kiss and make up. Let’s at least avoid open hostilities, though, okay?”
Teeth audibly grinding, he nods once.
“Thank you.”
“If he provokes me…”
“I know. He’ll behave.”
“Right,” Axel chuffs.
The live feeds from the body cams each member of the Falcon Team wear show a busy manufacturing district in proximity to the coast. Weird. It’s not exactly the deserted streets and empty lots we’re used to seeing in this seedy trade, but maybe that’s the point.
“Madden has had forty-eight hours to clean house.” Hyland braces his elbows on the table, glaring hard. “What are we expecting to find?”
“Anything,” Kade affirms.
Between Fox and Rayna, Warner studies the feed. “His men protected this location for a reason. Madden knows we’re gunning for him, but even he can’t move major operations that fast.”
Glancing at Blaine’s steely face fails to reveal whether he agrees. Since being captured and hauled into the swimming pool, he’s been deadly quiet. Calculating, even. I hope he isn’t blaming himself or Raye for our identities being uncovered.
Kade leans in to spread his palms on the table. “Archer, report.”
“Copy.” His voice emanates from multiple laptop speakers. “We’re approaching the meat-packing plant from the west side. There are a lot of civilians.”
“Hiding inside a legitimate business?” Warner mumbles to himself.
Lip curled in a snarl, Hyland fists his dirty-blonde locks. “Reckless.”
“Or ingenious.” Gunnar doesn’t lift his gaze from his nails.
Everyone turns to look at him. He doesn’t seem in the least fazed by multiple unfriendly stares, absently nibbling the corner of his thumbnail.
“You’re petrified of collateral damage even though we’re certain Madden has cleared out.” Gunnar’s shrug is oh-so casual. “Just imagine the protection he had while operating from this premises.”
“Human protection.” Blaine speaks for the first time.
“Precisely. What better way to safeguard against a government-funded agency like Sabre Security?”
“Because we’re accountable,” Hudson growls. “Fucking hell.”
Disregarding his nails, Gunnar nods. “That about sums it up.”
I’ll admit, it’s a dirty tactic but clever. The layers of corruption required to hide such a sick secret within a functional business doesn’t bear thinking about. Not to mention using a meat production facility of all places.
To sell… people.
Yeah, I hate irony too.
The drones overhead provide air support while Archer and his men penetrate the facility. It’s easy. Almost too easy. No hired muscle defends the stronghold, and as they clear each busy floor with their warrant raised like a white flag, it’s evident Madden’s operation has indeed split.
“Find the plant manager.” Head ducked, Kade rubs between his brows. “I want to establish exactly what they knew about Madden’s stake in the company and when he departed.”
“Copy that,” Archer replies.
“Be discreet. We don’t need a media circus.”
“Understood, standby.”
Disappointment soils my tongue, causing my stomach to revolt in time to the misery in my skull. I turn to face the wall, focused on taking a shaky breath. We know he’s in the country. Grasping hold of such a slithery entity adds a whole other level of complexity.
Fuck this, I don’t care if Blaine’s stewing in his rage or not. Crossing the room in a rush, I stride into his personal space, forcing him to respond. After a short hesitation, his sinewy arms constrict around me.
“I want to scream,” I admit into his chest.
“At this rate, I may join you.”
“What are we missing? He’s always one step ahead of us.”
“We still hurt his operation. The raid wasn’t a total waste of time.”
“But it isn’t enough!”
Through our tight hug, Blaine must be able to feel how viciously I’m trembling. I clamp my eyes shut to fight off the floating specks that cross my vision, bringing a greyscale haze. Not now. I’m too busy for my condition to rear its ugly head.
Precious oxygen seems to escape through my fingertips. My knees knock together, growing weaker by the millisecond. I lean heavily into Blaine, overcome by the intense ringing that slices through my eardrums.
“Ember?”
“H-Headache.”
“You need to sit down, sweetheart. We’re going to be here for a while.”
“It’s okay, I can stand.”
Pulling free from his arms proves to be a mistake. Without Blaine’s support to hold me upright, the carpeted floor rushes up to meet me. If I could feel anything but an assault of pins and needles in my extremities, I might react to unceremoniously face planting.
All I’m able to grit out is a pained keen from the dagger that hitting the floor drives into my brain. My line of sight grows staticky with encroaching waves, carrying dizziness in huge tides. The black and white spots flash in a stomach-twisting beat.
“Ember!”
“Someone grab her!”
A cacophony of startled voices cut through the approaching fog. All over, I’m quickly turning numb.
“No,” I whimper, tongue floppy and useless. “N-Not now.”
“Move! Go!”
I’m vaguely aware of the ceiling blurring overhead. Did I land on my back? Not a single nerve cell will respond to feed spatial information to my malfunctioning brainstem. Like this, I’m as helpless as a newborn baby.
Fingers spasming, the involuntary twitches escalate at fast speed. Blaine’s face hovering over mine is barely visible when the first convulsion hits, and my entire vision whites out. Through the fog swirling around my brain, I think I hear my name being called.
Then there’s nothing.
An inky, bottomless ocean of pure black.
Floating here is akin to tasting peace. Nothing but desolate nothingness. No pain. No emotion. Not a single voice or distraction to pull me from a deep, dark slumber where nobody can awaken me.
Unknown faces flash across the lifeless cinema screen that stretches all around me. Sweet, glistening blue eyes. A timid smile. Pink-stained cheeks. Do I know… Oh, Gracie. All youthful and beautiful in her innocence.
Another convulsion, and the scene changes. Pure black rainclouds part, unveiling a fresh face. This time, it’s older. Lined with the odd line and sun-kissed freckles. Willow. Her smile radiates such strength.
I want to free you both.
But I can’t do it from here.
White orbs break through the vapour, bringing more flashes. Face after face. Images of women I thought I’d forgotten. Victims from the cages that once surrounded mine. Drawn, ghostly and consumed by hopelessness. The same women I left behind, failing to break the chains of their bondage.
When the floaters converge to form a bright lightning bolt racing through the darkness, specks of vision return. The white, popcorn-style ceiling. Humming lights. Multiple worried faces moving in a confusing fuzz.
An agonizingly sharp sting radiates through me, bringing awareness from head to toe. Oh, hell, that hurts. Every cell howls as if I’ve been wired to a live car battery then left to fry alive. Maybe that agonised keening sound is coming from me.
I failed them all.
I’m still fucking failing them.
Wildfire scorches my veins in time to the sensation of being lifted. I must cry out because the movement halts. Why do my cheeks hurt? It’s like a vat of free-pouring acid is sliding over my skin.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Someone’s gruff whispers filter in. “Don’t cry, red. You’re safe.”