Chapter 35 #2
He turns the computer back around in a rush, clearly flustered to think he might've gotten a batch of bad information.
"What's her name?"
Fuck me.
"It wouldn't be in the paper yet. She only died last night."
His eyes find mine once again, and I see the moment his decision is cemented in stone. The outcome would be the same even if I had access to a name and a fake story he could read online for himself.
My fate is sealed.
"Bobby, listen," I begin, trying to convince myself that there's still a way out of this.
I've been in some tight fucking spots while undercover, but I can't recall a single one that made me feel like my life was over, and it was only a matter of time before the man who held that decision in his hand pulled the trigger.
Honestly, it was a good fucking run. I've made a difference in my lifetime, and not many people can say that.
The conference room doors open, and when I look over my shoulder to see the three biggest fucking goons Bobby has under his command walk inside, snarls on their faces, I know that I'll wish for death long before it ever comes.
"The worst fucking part about all of this is that Lyle is your fucking cousin."
I won't blow our cover, no matter how bad shit gets. I can't go to my fucking grave knowing that I betrayed the man I've always loved.
"You have two fucking options," Bobby begins.
"Let me guess?" I ask in a bored tone as I turn my back on the brutal-looking men to give their leader my attention. "Pain and more pain?"
His smile is slow. "You seem to know a lot about how I operate, but no. You can denounce what you think you are, tell me that you were confused, that you were manipulated into doing things you didn't choose."
He places a hand over his heart, sincerity in his tone that doesn't match his recent actions.
"You can take back your power by ridding the world of your abuser."
"Or option two?" I ask, boredom dripping from my words.
"I did that," he confides. "Killed both my mother and father."
Yep, that confession is fucking proof there's no chance I'll leave this compound alive.
"Daddy touched you in your no-no spots, and you killed him because you liked it?"
He narrows his eyes, and he has better control over his emotions than he did earlier when talking about transporting trafficked little girls.
I sense the goons behind me shuffling closer, but they pause when Bobby snaps his eyes up at them, the silent command followed immediately.
"Option two is that you choose to die, gay and proud, right alongside your lover."
I tilt my head a little and stare at him for a long beat. I know he wants me to choose option one. He wants me to betray Zeus. It justifies his own actions if what he said about his parents is true.
What it doesn't do is leave me alive.
There's literally no way to survive this.
"Can I have a little time to think about it?" I ask, praying these idiots are confident enough in the security of their compound that they let me go back to the cabin so I can contact Casper.
Maybe there's still a chance Zeus hasn't been confronted yet, and they can intercept him.
It would really suck if we both had to die over this.
"Sure," Bobby says.
He smiles when I can't hide the shock on my face, but in the next breath, I'm literally snatched from the chair by two of the three goons and dragged from the room, Bobby's laughter following us all the way down the hallway.
Anyone who sees me being dragged through the compound won’t offer to help.
Every person I look at turns their head and scurries away as if they might be next if they interfere.
Several men don't even spare us a passing glance, as if what's happening to me is so common around here that it's no longer a new sight to them.
Despite knowing there's no reason to keep looking around and committing the layout to memory, my mind keeps doing exactly what I was sent here to do.
I file away every turn, every symbol on the buildings we pass.
Maybe it's my mind's way of helping me out because hysteria isn't going to save me either.
Things quickly grow unfamiliar. These guys are taking me to a place I haven't had access to. The third goon takes a few steps ahead, getting the door to a building unlocked quickly enough that the guys dragging me don't even have to pause.
I wince in pain when my feet thump against each step as they carry me down a flight of stairs. Of course, these bastards would serve their justice in a fucking basement bunker of some kind. I guess knowing what's going to happen to someone and actually hearing it are two very different things.
I fight against them when they drop me into a chair and attempt to tie me up, but my two fists against their four meaty ones are no use.
I smile, the taste of blood pooling in my mouth.
"Why are you so fucking happy?" one guy asks, getting so low and in my face that I can smell the fucking macaroni salad he had for lunch on his breath.
I spit a mouthful of blood in his face, fully expecting him to rage his anger at the insult out on me.
He stands, using a hand to swipe at the blood. He stares at the redness marking his palm for a long second before giving me a disbelieving look.
I know what he's going to say before the homophobic shit comes out of his mouth.
"Guess you have AIDS now, motherfucker." I spit another mouthful of blood at his feet, chuckling maniacally when he jumps back.
The fucking stereotype that anyone who isn't heterosexual has AIDS chaps my ass.
"Did he spit on you?" one of the other goons asks as he looks down at the man's blood-stained hand with the same horror the guy it's marking is.
When the guy looks at him, the new arrival takes a step back as if he's contagious, and there's nothing fucking worse than the threat of contraction.
"Go fucking wash," the third guy snaps. "Hurry."
I don't give them a fucking science lesson, I simply smile a bloody smile at them, daring any of them to get within range.
"Okay," one says. "We can play that fucking game."
They disappear into another room, and I do the only thing I can. I fight against my restraints and take in every single fucking detail I can on the off chance that I'll ever see the light of day again.
When they come back into the room, looking like characters from a pandemic outbreak movie, I realize they're better prepared than I expected.
"First, we're going to beat every fucking ounce of information out of you," one says as he steps forward, breath fogging up the plastic on his PPE hood.
"Then," the second one continues, holding up a fucking syringe filled with a horrific amount of golden liquid. "We're going to shoot you up."
"That's where the real fun begins," the third one says, only it's not the goon I had spit on speaking.
Scott's voice echoes around the room, and when I look in his direction, my left eye is already swelling from fighting against them. I realize that things can actually get much worse.
"Fuck," I mutter.
So much for dying with dignity.