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Damien scoffed. “You’re thinking too small. And that’s why you’ll never win.”
Tank’s jaw clenched at the man’s challenge. Black Tower would win. They had to.
The Syndicate had been taking and abusing power for too long. Hurting innocent people in their quest for… for what? That was the question that never left him. They were always reacting, one step behind. Because for all the time Black Tower spent fighting the Syndicate, it was like cutting one head off a hydra. They had to figure out the end game and put an end to it.
Questions burned in his chest, but Tank didn’t move a muscle. He trusted Marshall unequivocally. His partner was a former Army Intelligence Officer and an expert in human psychology. Sometimes, it was like he was reading your mind and a little freaky. But he knew just what to say to convince someone to sway their decision one way or the other.
Tank was glad Marshall used those powers for the good guys, because he would never want to be sitting across the table as an adversary of Marshall Kelley. Which is exactly where Strickland’s greedy decisions had brought him.
“I bet the Syndicate wasn’t too happy about your little accident over in Lecanto. National coverage…” Marshall clicked his tongue and gave his head a shake. A flicker of fear betrayed Strickland’s efforts to appear tough and unfazed.
Tank knew Marshall had seen it too when he kept pressing.
“Is that who left you that little present? Someone the Syndicate sent in here to show their disappointment?”
Strickland’s eyes widened. He swore under his breath. “It was a hurricane. What was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Marshall’s tone changed and he leaned back from the table. “The Syndicate doesn’t care at all about you. In fact, I bet it’s just a matter of time before they remember they have a liability sitting here, waiting to betray them. You were just a pawn in their little game, weren’t you?”
A hint of madness gleamed in Strickland’s eyes under the fluorescent lights. “You’re wrong! They need me.”
“Liar,” Marshall said, sounding bored.
Strickland shook his head, his eyes falling to the table. His voice grew quiet. “No. They need me. They don’t know how. It’s too volatile. I’m safe. I’m safe.”
It was as though Strickland had completely forgotten they were there, and he was trying to convince himself. Tank watched, his body still as he waited for Marshall’s next move.
“They don’t need you. They figured out how to make it themselves,” Marshall bluffed. Tank would bet a year’s salary on Marshall’s poker face though.
Strickland’s eyes jerked up to him, panic flaring within them. “No! There’s no way. Derulo said it had never been done. I’m the key. I have to be!”
A silent celebration waged within Tank’s chest, completely hidden beneath a calm facade. Derulo was a name they knew far too well. Patrick Derulo was the CEO of QuinTech Missiles and long suspected of being one of the Syndicate’s upper echelon members.
Marshall kept the disinterested tone, adding a slight shrug as he replied, “I don’t know what to tell you, Damien. They figured it out, and you’re nothing but a security risk now. In fact, I’m pretty sure there are some new inmates arriving later today. Isn’t that what the guards said?” Marshall posed the question to Tank.
He nodded once, knowing Marshall’s game well. “Max security transfers,” he embellished.
Damien’s face paled even further. “I’ll tell you everything. Just get me out of here!”
“We don’t need you either, Damien,” Marshall replied as he stood from the stainless steel table. His tone was cool, with the barest hint of pity lacing it. “We just wanted to see your face one more time before you’re forgotten here to die.” He took two steps toward the door.
Desperation rose from Strickland in waves as he tugged uselessly against the restraints. “It’s Citadel. They’re the key to everything. They don’t know I heard them, but Derulo and Collins are working together to make sure Citadel is in position.”
Marshall stopped, turning halfway around, offering Strickland only his profile. “Position for what?”
“Get me out and I’ll tell you!” Strickland was begging now, his fear completely overtaking him, but he was still negotiating. Ever the CEO, clamoring for control, even when he was shackled to a table.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Marshall said. With a tip of his head to Tank, he knocked on the glass, signaling the guards that the meeting was over.
“You’ll never stop them,” Damien said again. “They’re too close. If they’ve got my compound and the contract, everything moves forward. It’s too late,” he said, his voice now resigned. He almost sounded apologetic. But Tank knew the only thing Damien was sorry for was that he’d been replaced. Even if that was a total lie he’d been fed. “It’s too late,” the prisoner repeated to himself.
Tank bit back the reply he wanted to give and followed Marshall out of the room in silence.
It was never too late. Not as long as he was still breathing.
CHAPTER
NINE
