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“Well,” he exhales as he pushes up to his feet and makes his way to the front of the studio. “I guess you better come on then.”
I look at him with a confused look on my face as he pulls a gun out from the locked drawer beneath the register.
“You want to take on the elite? You’re going to have to learn to fight.”
With a loud groan, I roll to my back and stretch out my limbs as my eyes flutter open. As much as I had hoped I’d wake up to find out that everything that happened was a bad dream, I’m still staring at burgundy walls and gold-framed artwork. Pushing myself up off the ground, I wander into the attached bathroom to take a piss and see if my captors have stocked my lavish cage with a toothbrush or any other amenities.
With everything I know about this place, you’d think I would know a way out. I’ve seen the surveillance, I’ve seen the blueprints for christ’s sake, but with shatterproof glass, the only way out is the locked door, and a hallway patrolled by mercenaries.
When I finish relieving myself, I turn to the sink and see that there is in fact a toothbrush still in the package, so I wash my hands and brush my teeth. Despite me never hearing a thing while I was in the bathroom, someone was here, because when I walk back into the bedroom, there is a plate of breakfast food, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of coffee, all sitting on a small tray table.
Immediately, I run to the door and grab the handle. I turn and push and pull, and jiggle it back and forth but it doesn’t open. As if my kidnappers would be careless enough not to lock the door behind them. Turning around, I let out an annoyed growl as I sit on the edge of the bed in front of the table tray.
To the left of the plate of breakfast, there lies a white card folded in half. Hopeful that it’ll be some kind of clue as to why I’m here, I eagerly open it up and read the handwritten message.
Turn the laptop on and play the video.
Anger and fear simultaneously wash over me. Both as a result of the unknown. I know what this society is capable of doing, and I know they love mind games. So what game are we playing?
Against my better judgment, I meander over to the small desk and take a seat. Feigning a calm and collected exterior, I lift the lid to the laptop, but inside I’m a nervous mess. My stomach is churning violently, my heart is racing at unprecedented speeds, and my breathing is so shallow, I’m not even sure if I’m getting enough oxygen to the brain.
As the screen illuminates I’m surprised to find there’s no login screen whatsoever. I’m immediately met with a video. With trembling fingertips, I swipe the trackpad and press down, clicking the play icon.
“Mr. Adams. You don’t know me, but I know you. In fact I’ve been watching you for some time now. Even before you pulled that little stunt in our server room. As a testament to your hacking skills, I waited to see how far you would take this crusade. I must say, all irritation aside, I’m thoroughly impressed. The Syndicate is in need of your services. So, consider this room your new home. I will be in touch with your first assignment.”
The video stops and I pause in the stillness, simply breathing while I try to process the message I just received.
My services. My new home. Assignment.
No fucking way will I do anything for them. Digging the heels of my palms into my eyes I groan. The groan transforms into a low growl and before I know it, I’m screaming. Shoving up from the desk, I whip the laptop from the desk, smashing it against the wall. My chest heaving as I stomp on the broken pieces over and over, digging in with the heels of my shoes.
Looking over my shoulder, that’s when I spot them. Cameras in each corner of the room. Irrational thoughts creep into my head and instead of shoving them away, I give into them. I stomp into the bathroom, cock back my fist and then slam it into the mirror. Glass shards fall around me, and with trembling hands I reach down, picking up the largest shard.
Squeezing the shard tight in my hand, it doesn’t even register that the sharp edges have pierced my palm, until I see the blood dripping down my forearm. Making my way back to the center of the room, I stand facing the cameras and lift the pointed end to my throat. Warm blood trickles down my neck as I press the tip into my flesh, just barely piercing the surface.
“You fucking want me? You can’t have me! I’ll fucking kill myself first. Do you hear me? Do you fucking hear me?!” I’m screaming at the cameras like they’re going to talk back. Desperately waiting for a response, when suddenly the door flies open and two men grip me from behind. Using all the strength left in my body, I kick and fling my body weight around, but they twist my arms to a painful angle, forcing me to drop the reflective shard.
“Get the fuck off of me you piece of shit!” I scream. I cry. I can feel my voice going hoarse, and I try to fight, but my efforts are futile. They are bigger. They are stronger. And I’m expelling all of my energy as they toss me around with ease. That’s when I feel the familiar prick against the back of my neck.
No. No. No. Not again!
Heaving my shoulders, I push and pull, throwing my weight, but my movements grow slow. They grow stunted. It feels like I’m trying to swim through a pit of mud. My entire body is heavy. My eyelids are heavy.
I’m so fucking tired.
Chapter thirty-two
Cole
“Get up.”
A deep voice echoes through my cell as I roll over on the cold concrete. My hand is still hanging outside the cell, but I’m holding nothing. No one.
Was she real? Did the drugs just make me crazy?
“On your feet, now.”
Pulling my arms beneath me, I move to push up to my feet, but I’m grabbed by one of two armed guards standing in my cell before I can even process what’s going on around me. I’m not even able to get my feet on solid ground before they are yanking me across the concrete. My jeans scrape against the rough floor and a sharp burst of pain radiates through both knees when they shove me to the ground.
