Wait—there’s no coffee for me?
In fact, I haven’t had a coffee in weeks. The doctor said caffeine interfered with one of the medications, but I finished that one a couple of days ago.
Yet still… it feels rude that Ares didn’t even think of me. Or maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s just another kind of punishment.
Either way, I’m not playing into his game. He’s probably just trying to piss me off so I’ll show my true colors again. The truth is, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Still, I’m trying to play it cool without actually letting him win. I just walk over like nothing is wrong, smile, and grab the coffee straight from his hand. Then I take a slow sip, like it’s something we’re supposed to share.
I keep the smile on, despite the flare of his nostrils, then wait for instructions since he seems keen on getting somewhere today.
He doesn’t wait to deliver, just orders me to his car, and of course walks ahead of me without waiting for my sorry, limping ass. Yeah, I have to admit—I deserve that.
He doesn’t tell me where we’re going or answer any of my questions about it. Just drives, hands locked on the wheel, his eyes on the road like he’s got a target ahead of him.
I have a bad feeling about this. We’re not heading toward the Breach, more like toward the industrial part of town.
My suspicions are confirmed as we pass through a rusty metal gate that seems far too guarded for what the place is really supposed to be.
Without an explanation, he parks in front of what looks like an abandoned warehouse, broken windows and mismatched sheets of metal covering the building like something out of a horror movie. Though, there’s no camera now, and chills run down my spine like I’m having a premonition of what’s coming next. This looks like trouble, I just don’t realize how much.
Ares gets out of the car without bothering to open my door. Just starts walking ahead of meagain, not before ordering me to follow. At least he walks slower this time—not slow enough so that I can keep up and walk beside him, but enough that I can follow close behind.
We enter the hall, and my body instantly shudders because of the chill. It’s cold as hell in here, and despite the warm jacket I have on, I can’t stop trembling. The place is filled to the ceiling in some areas. Containers, crates, and boxes, all of them much newer than the the building, which makes me think this is one of his stash houses.
We make our way between the containers until we reach a much more open part of the warehouse. That’s when my heart stops.
Four men and a woman kneel on the concrete floor, hoods over their heads, hands bound tightly behind their backs. Afew of them sob, their voices cracking as they plead for mercy between tears.
Ricky stands waiting behind them, gun steady in his hand like he’s standing by, waiting for new orders. I know him from Elysium. He’s one of Ares’ trusted men, an enforcer with a reputation for ruthlessness. Just like his boss.
We stand right in front of them now, and even if shit like this doesn’t scare me anymore, the chill running down my spine tells me this one might.
What am I doing here? How is this related to me? Do I know any of these guys?
There’s no need to even ask any of those questions because Ares nods toward Ricky, and the man starts removing the hoods shrouding their faces, one by one.
At first, I don’t recognize any of the people kneeling. Which seems strange.
I’m starting to think this might be some kind of lesson. Maybe Ares wants to teach me something about how his business works. But then the fourth hood falls off, and a familiar face comes into view—404.
I’m doing my best to keep my expression neutral, not to give anything away. I’m fully aware that Ares’ gaze is on me, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m failing to hide what’s churning inside.
The last hood falls off, revealing a woman whose face I don’t recognize. Yet as I take in her frightened expression, along with the way they are dressed—like a collection of tech geeks—I’m starting to get an idea of what’s happening here.
Ares walks in front of me, knowing I’m not gonna ask questions. That’s his role. “Which one was it?” he barks, moving his gaze from me to the hostages. “Which one let you in?”
I don’t answer. I’m not planning to answer because I’m not a snitch. I would never betray someone who helped me.
Though I know he won’t let this slide.
“Which one of you betrayed me?” he asks, and the woman, along with one of the men, start crying again, begging and pleading for their lives, swearing it wasn’t them. “Which one of them betrayed me, Brynn?” he snaps again, his voice rough. I can feel the weight of his gaze, and I don’t see a way of walking out of here without an answer.
Yet I refuse to give him one. That only serves to fuel his rage, “Fucking answer me,”he snaps, a menacing warning, like this is my ultimatum. Before I can answer, he walks toward the man who has been sobbing and presses a gun to his head.
“Well, since no one is talking, I’m gonna kill all of you, one by one, just to be sure,” he says, cocking his gun, the sound filling the space like an ultimatum.
Problem is—I don’t think he’s bluffing. The woman starts crying louder, and so does the man at the end of his gun.
