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Harry's consciousness returned in increments, each sense coming online to paint a grim picture of his predicament. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the scent of mildew and decay. His back was pressed against something. His hands bound tightly behind him around a pole. He pulled against the ropes but couldn’t get free. Trying to blink into the darkness and make sense of what had happened. Then he remembered. The smashed windows. The taser.
It wasn’t like him to walk, or run, into a trap. He’d been more calculated than that over the years. But there was a recklessness in him since he was shot. Since he’d been labeled as dead. Something had shaken loose and not for the better. He hadn’t done enough before, and he was going to make sure he made up for it. Now, he’d really gotten himself into some shit.
As his vision adjusted to the dim light, he saw them—three men circling him like sharks, their intentions as clear as the hostility in their eyes.
“You’re mixed up in this. Quit acting like you’re playing hero. You know where she is.” Thomas kicked at Harry’s foot. “You’re going to tell us.”
Harry met their stares with a defiant glare. "I've got nothing to do with your missing woman," he spat, the words laced with contempt.
“Topeka was here. Tell us where she is. Topeka Majors. You’ve got something to do with this.”
Harry laughed and shook his head. "I don’t. But I'm sure your boss will be thrilled to know you've just tied this little operation here to what you're really after. Topeka Majors. I heard about her on the news. Interesting."
He couldn't resist goading them further, seizing on their apparent lack of subtlety. "If you're trying to stay under the radar while looking for the daughter of the chief of the Texas Rangers, you might want to rethink your strategy. You've just shown your hand."
Thomas sneered, his patience worn thin. "Doesn't matter what we say to you. You're not walking out of here. Dead men tell no tales."
The tension in the room spiked as another man, visibly uneasy, confronted Thomas. "That's not the plan, man. We can't be killing guys over some domestic issue."
Thomas's response was swift and fierce, a clear signal that he was prepared to cross lines the others weren't. "If you haven't got the stomach for this, leave. This isn't just about a runaway. She's a problem for all of us. If we don’t find and deal with Topeka, it’ll blow back on all of us. She knows exactly the shit we’ve been into."
The objections continued, a second man joining the first in protest. "I'm not ending up in jail in some foreign land over this. We're only supposed to find Topeka and bring her back. We’re not supposed to quit until we do, but that doesn’t include killing this guy."
Thomas's laugh was cold, devoid of humor. "We’re not here to find Topeka and bring her home. She does us no good at home. He wants her gone. Permanently."
The revelation seemed to horrify the other two men, the gravity of their situation dawning on them. The idea of a father wanting his own daughter dead was a line they hadn't expected to cross. Harry, on the other hand, understood it perfectly. He’d seen that darkness in people. What they were willing to do to get what they wanted. He knew people were capable of such things.
Harry remained silent, his mind racing. The discord among his captors was his best chance at survival. A crisis of conscience among them could be the key to his escape. It was better to let them try to fight it out than keep jabbing at them.
A distant siren cut through the tension, causing one of the men to hesitate. "I want to hear it from the boss before we go any further," he declared, exiting the room swiftly. The second man followed suit, leaving Harry alone with Thomas, who delivered a parting kick to Harry's ribs before stalking out.
Alone, Harry shifted his focus to the ropes binding his hands. The pain from the kick was a sharp reminder of his vulnerability, but it also steeled his resolve. He twisted and turned, working the ropes against the rough surface of the pole, seeking any give that might lead to his freedom.
The siren had provided an unexpected distraction, a momentary lapse in his captors' vigilance. Harry knew if he could free his hands, he could turn the tables. He needed to get back on his feet, to face his adversaries on equal footing.
As he felt the ropes begin to loosen, a surge of adrenaline fueled his efforts. Escape was within reach, and with it, the chance to turn the tide.
Harry worked the ropes vigorously, a singular thought crystallized in his mind: he had to get this information to Kenan. It wasn't just about freeing himself from this damp, dark room,it was about the larger picture. The target was Topeka, and the intention wasn't just to retrieve her—it was to silence her, permanently.
Harry knew that once he was free, he would have to move quickly and carefully. He couldn't risk direct confrontation again—not until he had relayed what he knew. Every decision from here on out had to be strategic, calculated to not only preserve his life but to safeguard Topeka's as well.
The ropes loosened enough for him to wriggle his hands free, and with a final, determined pull, he was out. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain, his mind focused on the task ahead.
Harry took a moment to steady himself, his breathing shallow and rapid. He’d been stupid to get himself into this, but at least he’d been able to validate valuable intel. Now, he had to get it to the right people.
CHAPTER 14
Harry crouched in the shadows of the small, damp room, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. The wait had been excruciating, each passing minute stretching out like an eternity. At least he wasn’t tied up anymore. He knew his plan hinged on patience, on waiting for just the right moment to act. There was no alternative route, no secret passage that would lead to his escape; his only chance lay in overpowering one of his captors. There was no way to tell how long he’d been out cold. The lump on his head was still aching. Probably a concussion.
It was strange not knowing if it was day or night. The windowless room was making him uncharacteristically claustrophobic.
The sound of a key turning in the lock jolted Harry from his thoughts, adrenaline flooding his system. He gripped the rope tightly in his hands, ready to use it as a makeshift weapon. These men were smart and left nothing else in the room that could be used against them.
The door creaked open, and the smaller of the three men stepped inside, his silhouette outlined by the dim light from the corridor.
Without hesitation, Harry sprang into action, the rope snaking out to encircle the man's neck. He pulled tight, ready to silence any cries for help, but the man's desperate whisper halted him. "I'm letting you out. Let me go. I'm letting you out."
Harry's grip loosened slightly, his mind racing. Could this be a trap? Or was this man genuinely offering him a chance at freedom? He turned him around and searched the man's face for any sign of deceit but found only fear and urgency.
