CHAPTER 25 #2
Alaric hangs in the dark. His arms are numb.
His shoulders are on fire. The pain has become a white noise, a constant hum that drowns out thought.
He has lost track of time. How long has he been here?
Hours? Days? Thorne comes and goes. He asks questions.
He uses the pliers. He uses the waterboarding cloth.
Alaric hasn't said a word. Not a code. Not a number. He just hums. Rachmaninoff.
"Still stubborn," Thorne sighs, walking into the room. He is holding a coffee cup. He looks fresh, rested. "I admire it, really. Most men would have sold their mothers by now."
"I... don't have... a mother," Alaric croaks.
"Pity." Thorne sips his coffee. "My tech team is trying to brute-force your servers. It’s taking time, but we’ll get in. Eventually, the money will be mine. The land will be mine."
He leans in close. "And do you know what the best part is? When I find Elodie... I’m going to keep her. Not as an asset. As a pet. I hear she’s quite... spirited. I think I’ll have my men break that spirit first."
Alaric lifts his head. Rage, hot and molten, floods his veins, momentarily overpowering the pain. "You touch her," Alaric whispers, "and I will tear your throat out with my teeth."
Thorne laughs. "Look at you. You’re meat on a hook, Graves. You can't even wipe your own face."
BOOM.
The building shakes. Dust falls from the ceiling. Thorne stumbles, spilling his coffee. "What the hell was that?"
The lights flicker. Then die. Pitch blackness. Emergency red lights pulse on, bathing the torture chamber in the color of blood.
Gunfire erupts upstairs. RAT-TAT-TAT. Explosions. Screams. It sounds like a war zone.
Thorne grabs his radio. "Report! What is happening?"
"Breach!" a voice screams over the static. "Front gate! Someone drove a semi-truck through the wall! We have hostiles in the lobby! Multiple shooters! They’re wearing... Jesus, they’re wearing our gear!"
"Hold them back!" Thorne yells. "Protect the Asset!"
"We can't! They cut the power! They have night vision! It’s a slaughter!"
Another explosion. Closer this time. The floor vibrates.
Alaric smiles. His split lip cracks open, bleeding fresh red. He knows that sound. He knows that chaos. It isn't the police. It isn't the FBI.
"She came," Alaric whispers.
Thorne turns to him, eyes wide with panic. "Who? Who came?"
"The Widow," Alaric says, his voice gaining strength. "She came to collect."
The door to the torture chamber bursts open. A guard rushes in. "Sir! We have to move! The perimeter is gone! They’re in the stairwell!"
"Get him down!" Thorne orders, pointing at Alaric. "We use him as a shield!"
The guard rushes to the chains. He fumbles with the keys. BANG. The guard's head snaps back. He drops.
Thorne spins around. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the red emergency lights and the smoke. A figure in black tactical gear. Slender. Lethal. Raven hair braided tight. Holding an HK416 rifle.
It’s her. Elodie.
She steps into the room. She doesn't look at Thorne. She looks at Alaric. She sees the chains. She sees the blood. She sees the ruin of him. Her face doesn't crumble. It hardens into granite.
"Step away from him," she says. Her voice is ice.
Thorne grabs Alaric. He pulls a gun and presses it to Alaric’s temple. "Drop the rifle!" Thorne screams. "Drop it or I paint the wall with his brains!"
Alaric looks at Elodie. He sees the rifle in her hands. He sees the way she holds it. Perfectly balanced. Elbows unlocked. Finger on the trigger guard. She isn't his student anymore. She is his equal.
"Do it," Alaric says to her. "Take the shot."
"Shut up!" Thorne yells, pressing the gun harder. "Drop it, bitch! I own this city! I own you!"
Elodie stares at Thorne. "You own nothing," she says.
She doesn't drop the rifle. She raises it. Breathe in. Breathe out. The silence between the notes.
Thorne is using Alaric as a human shield. Only a sliver of his head is visible behind Alaric’s ear. It is a one-in-a-million shot. If she misses by an inch, she kills Alaric.
"Trust the music," Alaric whispers.
Elodie squeezes the trigger.
CRACK.
The bullet flies. It grazes Alaric’s ear—a sting of heat. It hits Thorne in the left eye. The Senator’s head snaps back. The gun falls from his hand. He collapses backward, dead before he hits the floor.
Alaric sags in the chains, his legs giving way. Elodie drops the rifle. She runs to him. "Keys!" she yells at Nyx, who appears in the doorway behind her. "Get me the keys!"
Nyx rushes forward, grabbing the keys from the dead guard. She unlocks the shackles. Alaric falls. Elodie catches him. She wraps her arms around him, lowering him gently to the blood-stained floor. She buries her face in his neck. She is shaking.
"I got you," she sobs. "I got you."
Alaric leans his head against her shoulder. He smells the smoke on her. The gunpowder. "Nice shot," he wheezes.
She pulls back, tears streaming down her face, cutting through the soot. "I aimed for the silence," she says.
He reaches up with his battered hand and touches her face. "Let's go home, Elodie."
"We don't have a home," she says, helping him up. "You burned it down."
"Then we'll build a new one," he says. "On top of their bones."
They walk out of the torture chamber. Past Thorne’s body. Past the dead guards. Into the smoke-filled corridor.
The war is not over. The Syndicate is vast. But tonight... tonight belongs to the duet.