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The former soldier, based on his tattoos, kicked me in the side. He’d taken turns beating me up with the other two men in the large, empty floor-to-ceiling concrete space. “You sure you want to be alone with him?”
I forced myself to smile, showing my mouth full of blood, letting Novak know he wouldn’t be able to break me. “Yeah, you sure about that?”
The other two soldiers, and I used that term motherfucking loosely, hooked their arms under my armpits, dragging me across the wet concrete, creating a trail of my blood.
Novak reached into his pocket for a remote and killed the cameras in the room. The fact he seemed to be treating this as a legitimate operation and an on-the-books interrogation of a suspect made me wonder if these other men actually thought they were “mercenaries for a just cause.”
I spit out blood and thankfully no teeth, while the two men hauled me to my knees. They needed a third to get my dead weight onto the chair. I’d been stripped down to only my dress pants. No shoes. No shirt. No problem. Had my dark humor stayed as a thought, or did I say it out loud? I wasn’t even sure.
Two men held me down in the chair while the third reworked the ropes to secure me, binding my wrists and ankles. This would’ve been the perfect time for an escape, but now that I finally had Novak there, I let them overpower me, anxious for a one-on-one with him. I needed answers, and he was the only one in the room who could provide them.
“Unless you want to bolt the chair to the concrete,” I taunted, pushing the balls of my feet against the ground, tipping back the chair, “you’re making it way too easy to get loose and kill your boss.” I spat out more blood, letting the front chair legs fall back into place.
Novak pointed to the only door in the empty space, a quiet order for the others to leave.
From what I could gather, between when my jet had arrived in Zurich and now, I’d more than likely been taken to an underground bunker. Though I’d been drugged after we’d let his people ambush our SUVs en route to the hotel in Switzerland, I doubted the plane ride had been longer than four or five hours.
Thanks to Sydney’s father and his new-age technology he’d provided Gwen before she’d joined us in Scotland, there was an undetectable tracker injected under my skin. A conspiracy theorist’s wet dream. One day, people could be easily monitored and tracked without anyone knowing about it, all under the guise of what looked like a shot. The government’s version of tagging sharks, then throwing them back into the ocean.
Did I agree with that? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Did I need it to save my ass now, knowing the government’s eyes in the sky would’ve more than likely lost me at some point after the ambush in Switzerland? Also, abso-fucking-lutely.
Because it was still a highly classified prototype, unlike the kind of tracker that’d been planted in Diana’s glasses, the Novaks weren’t yet aware it existed.
“You’ve been a thorn in my family’s side for too damn long,” Novak cut to it once we were finally alone. That was what I wanted, but it was a stupid idea on his part. He began rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, his voice menacing as he added, “This ends now.”
I echoed back his last words, injecting sarcasm in my tone to screw with him. “You see, the thing about feuds is that I’d have to know I was even in one. Do you think I give a damn about you or your family? I barely remembered your name until this week.” Men like him were usually arrogant and narcissistic, and I’d use that to my advantage to get in his head. Reverse interrogate the prick without him realizing it.
Novak loosened the knot of his black tie and rolled his shoulders back, preparing for whatever beatdown he’d planned.
I sized up my opponent as he slipped on brass knuckles, striding my way with his ice-blue eyes laser-focused on me. He flicked his skinny black tie over his shoulder as he stood before me, scrutinizing me right back.
“Wondering if you could take me in a fair fight, aren’t you?”
He kept quiet and smiled, showcasing his flawless white teeth. He could be the poster boy for a dental commercial or a Calvin Klein ad.
I wasn’t one to judge a book by its cover and assume he couldn’t hold his own because of his polished appearance. No, this man hit the gym. Probably practiced martial arts. Clearly knew his way around firearms. By my estimates, he had something to prove to both himself and his father. He was itching to see if his skills in a controlled setting would translate in the real world. The fact he’d been hunting me for years, and he finally had his chance at a face-to-face with me . . .
I had to remind myself why I was there, though. I needed intel about who else he worked with to protect both Diana and the mission. Killing him would have to come later.
Finally breaking the staring contest we had going on, he asked, “How are we going to do this, Dominick?”
“Hell, I was hoping you’d tell me.” I spat out more blood and grinned.
He set his fist against his palm, eyes on my bare feet, which were wet from the cold shower his men had so politely given me for thirty minutes straight.
Novak abruptly struck me across the face, sending my cheek to the side, blood flying with it.
Biting down on my back teeth, I slowly swiveled my head to find his eyes and shot him a menacing glare. “Best you got?” He really had no clue how much pain I could tolerate. “Come on now, take the knuckles off, be a real man and strike me with your fist. Risk breaking your hand on my jaw.”
“I’m not worried about my hand, Dominick.” He eyed the brass knuckles. “Only interested in breaking your jaw,” he added before striking me across the face, then sending a second strike to my abdomen, his speed and force confirming this man boxed on the side.
“Where’s Diana? She wasn’t in the car, but my men clocked her at the airport with you. Tell me, and I take the knuckles off.”
“Why do you want her? To corner the market on cold fusion as energy? Or are you afraid she can stop an EMP weapon? I bet the Chinese would love to know your family was responsible for breaking into their research center.” I smirked. “I have a feeling they wouldn’t use brass knuckles when they tie you up.”
Without hesitation, he hit me again. That time hard enough to knock most men unconscious. Searing, hot pain beneath my eye, as if my flesh had been split open, had my muscles locking tight to resist showing him he’d hurt me.
More blows to the stomach sent my chair skidding backward a good foot.
