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The car’s engine finally went silent, ending the dull roar that had filled Caleb’s ears for god knew how long. Rough hands gripped his arm, yanking him from the false sanctuary of the back seat. Where were they?
Gravel crunched underfoot as Joey marched him across an uneven lot, his viselike grip on his arm preventing him from falling as Caleb tripped twice. They stepped over a threshold, and the sudden change in acoustics told Caleb they were inside a room. The stench of mildew and stale cigarettes almost made him gag, and somewhere, a faucet dripped a steady rhythm.
The blindfold was ripped off, and Caleb blinked against the sudden light. A motel room, he concluded once his eyes had adjusted. The curtains were pulled close so he couldn’t see the name. No obvious signs of branding anywhere, so probably not a chain motel. He still heard traffic, so they were close to a major road. The I-90, possibly?
Joey shoved him onto a desk chair that creaked ominously under his weight. Caleb’s wrists were yanked behind him and secured, the zip ties biting into his skin with cruelty.
“Comfortable?” Joey asked calmly, circling Caleb like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Not particularly. The zip ties are a bit tight.”
Joey grinned. “I bet they are.”
A third man entered the room, carrying Caleb’s lunch. Caleb’s stomach rumbled, but he doubted he’d get to actually eat his sub.
“What did he get?” Joey asked the other guy.
“Sub and cookies, plus a Coke.”
“I’ll take the Coke and the cookies. I have a sugar craving.”
Joey took his time eating the cookies, his eyes never leaving Caleb as if he were sizing him up, determining his best approach.
Finally, Joey crunched the paper bag into a ball and threw it into the trash. After a long sip from the Coke, he said, “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”
His tone was friendly enough, but Caleb had no illusion their conversation would be. He braced himself for the threats, the pain, and whatever twisted game Joey wanted to play. He could handle pain. It was familiar territory, but never like this. Never without trust, without care.
“Who do you work for?” Joey asked.
Caleb pressed his lips together.
With a sigh, Joey took a switchblade from his pocket and clicked it open. “Let me ask that again. Who do you work for?”
Caleb shook his head.
Joey pressed the blade against Caleb’s cheek. “Would be a shame to ruin that pretty face.”
“Go to hell.”
The knife cut a cold, sharp path down his cheek, drawing blood. “Wrong answer.”
It stung, but Caleb had suffered much worse. And he would endure this too. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—betray Roman. Not even under the threat of steel or the shadow of death that loomed in Joey’s icy stare.
“Who sent you?” Joey asked.
Caleb didn’t react.
“Fine, have it your way,” Joey growled, withdrawing the blade with a suddenness that left Caleb’s nerves jangling.
Joey’s fist crashed into Caleb’s cheek. A sharp explosion of pain reverberated through his skull. Caleb’s head snapped to the side, and spittle flecked the grimy floor of the motel room. Another blow followed, knuckles finding the tender flesh just below his ribs. Air whooshed from his lungs in a pained gasp, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to pulsating agony.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… It hurt. It hurt so bad. He sucked in a breath, then another one.
“Who’s your employer?” Joey asked.
“Fuck you,” Caleb spat, the words tasting of iron and resolve. Or maybe that was the blood in his mouth. Not that it mattered.
The questions kept coming, a barrage meant to disorient and break him, but Caleb held firm. Pain bloomed across his body as Joey’s frustration turned physical again and again, but still, Caleb gave no ground. Silence was his only shield now, coupled with a stubbornness that refused to wilt under Joey’s harsh glare. No names would slip past his bloodied lips. He’d sooner die than betray the trust Roman and the team had in him.
