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Keeping his eyes on his prey, he grabbed his phone and punched a number. When the call connected, he said, “Is the package ready for delivery?”

“Not yet. We can have it ready within the hour,” a gruff male voice said.

“Not tonight. Have it ready for delivery in the morning. I’ll call you with a time.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Colton ended the call, his eyes stayed on Serena for a few moments more. She appeared to be recovering well. She’d changed into a fresh pair of pajamas and was eating the meal he’d ordered for her. Though he noted a little residual trembling in her hand when she lifted the glass of milk to her lips, she continued to appear calm and resolute. Little did she know that she would soon be tested far beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

He hadn’t planned on using his ace in the hole until later, but needs must.

“Rest well, little bird,” he murmured as he watched her climb into bed. “Tomorrow’s going to be an especially hard day for you. And I’m going to enjoy every single moment.”

Chapter Seventeen

Sean cracked open a swollen eye and tried to make out his surroundings through the hood they’d jerked over his head. After his beating, he had figured they’d leave him alone for the day, like usual. Other than the pain, he’d almost gotten used to the routine. Sure, it was a shitty one, but knowing what to expect had been an odd kind of comfort. When you knew what was coming, you could prepare.

Though the days and nights had bled into one another, and he rarely knew the time or day, by his own mental calendar, he figured he’d been here between six and eight weeks. What he didn’t know was why they hadn’t killed him. He hadn’t given them one single piece of intel. After all they’d done to him, they knew by now he wouldn’t give up anything. He’d been hoping for the day Kingsley finally accepted that and let him die already.

But there was no way Kingsley would ever let him go. Sean knew too much. In the weirdest twist of interrogation history, Sean didn’t think he’d ever experienced anyone like Colton Kingsley. Without a doubt, the man was a narcissistic sociopath. But what Sean hadn’t expected was Kingsley’s penchant for talking. Each time the man visited him, he dropped information like he was on some kind of truth serum. Sean suspected that not only did Kingsley love to brag, he apparently had no one he could trust. He likely felt it was safe to tell valuable secrets to a man he knew would never walk out of this compound.

When Sean had realized what a blowhard the asshole was, he had used every ounce of persuasion and coercion he knew to gather as much intel as he could. With just a few of his well-aimed taunts and insults, information had exploded from Kingsley like verbal diarrhea. In between his weak kicks and punches, the man had revealed everything from how he’d been recruited by WREN as a teenager to his ambitions of occupying the top tier of the organization very soon. While it could take years to ascend the hierarchy, Kingsley believed he was on the cusp of receiving an invitation into the upper echelon. Being on “the council,” as he called it, was his ultimate goal.

Using his own body as a punching bag to extract information was not Sean’s favorite way to interrogate the enemy, but it had certainly been an effective method this time.

Problem was, he had yet to figure out a way to escape so he could share this information. He was locked in a cell 24/7. Meals were delivered through a slot. The beatings came almost daily. At first, he’d fought back, but by the third week, he’d been too dehydrated and starved to put up much of a fight. He used what energy he had left to listen to Kingsley’s diatribes as he’d touted his accomplishments and shared his goals.

This morning, after the obligatory punches, slaps, and kicks, one of the men had thrown a wet rag at him like usual, which was about the only good thing he got each day. But today, a small bag of supplies accompanied the rag. The toothbrush and toothpaste had been his favorite items by far. He usually had to use the rag to clean his teeth. They’d even included some antiseptic pads for the wound on his leg, along with a couple of bandages. He’d done his best with them, but it was going to take more than that to fix that particular injury.

An hour later, they’d returned and handcuffed him. He’d been about to ask what was going on when they’d thrown him for a loop by shoving a hood over his head. That was new.

He’d asked them questions, but those had earned him a fist in his gut, a few curses, and no answers. He’d been half dragged, half carried into an elevator and then pushed into this place, wherever it was. With the bag over his head, he couldn’t see anything but obscure shadows.

A door opened and closed. Footsteps approached. He didn’t need to be able to see to know who had entered the room. Kingsley had a distinctive step-click to his stride. The man likely didn’t realize it, but when you heard it multiple times a day for almost two months, the sound became easy to identify.

“Hello, Sean,” Kingsley said. “How’s your day going?”

“Same ol’, same ol’, asshole. How about you?”

“My day is going to be spectacular.”

If Sean hadn’t been on high alert before, he definitely was now. The dark energy the man threw off made him think he was practically dancing with glee. Kingsley seemed to think he’d finally won whatever battle they’d been fighting.

Nausea stirred in his stomach. The dry toast and boiled egg he’d been served this morning with his daily water churned in his gut. If this bastard was that happy, then something really bad was about to happen.

Wanting to wipe the likely smirk off his face, Sean said quietly, “You’re a small, petty man, Kingsley.”

Someone behind him tugged the bag off his head, but before he could add anything extra to his insults, a band of duct tape slapped across his mouth. Sean laughed behind the tape. Guess Kingsley didn’t want to hear anything else from him today.

He looked up at the monster who’d held him for almost two months. Kingsley’s mouth was pursed with anger, and his eyes glowed with a malevolent light. But there was something else in his expression—excitement and anticipation.

Sean mentally shrugged. Whatever the jerk had planned, he’d deal with it like always. He’d already been through hell a couple of times in his life. What was one more round trip?

They came for her at eight a.m. She was actually astounded that it hadn’t been sooner. She’d been able to sleep for almost five hours and take another shower. When she’d walked out of the bathroom, dressed, a light meal had been waiting for her. Knowing that she wouldn’t be forced to face the other residents at breakfast was both a relief and a concern. Sitting in miserable silence or listening to Kingsley throw out topics of conversation that no one was interested in was an unpleasant way to consume a meal. On the other hand, not going to breakfast meant Kingsley had something else planned for her.

Whatever he intended, he’d already warned her it would be worse than yesterday’s torture, which she had already recovered from. Not that the experience had been comfortable, but it could have been so much worse.

When Smith arrived with the cursed wheelchair, for just a moment, she considered taking him down and trying to escape. It wasn’t a serious thought, though. She had already resigned herself to staying and fighting the organization from within. She would see this through, no matter what.