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I inhale briefly, the room shrinking around me, but Dexter's gloating mug keeps me razor focused. His hand toys with my phone like he's won some twisted lottery.
“You're bluffing,” he hisses.
I shrug as best as I can with my shoulders pinned back.
His composure cracks further. Sweat beads on his forehead as he glances toward the door like he expects SWAT to burst through any second.
“You think this shit's funny?” Dexter snarls.
“Nah,” I reply coolly. “What’s funny is you thinking you had control of this game.”
Without waiting, Dexter pulls a gun out of his pocket and points it in my face. The hammer clicks, a chilling sound that echoes my racing heart. For the first time, he looks genuinely pissed. A thick, blue vein pops out in the middle of his red face.
His grin tightens, the amusement not reaching his eyes anymore. “Talk now, you fucker, because I assure you, I'm not a patient man.”
I can feel every beat hammering against my chest with a ferocity that says I'm alive—barely. In this dingy room, the light catches on the barrel of the gun, a reflection of the fine line I tread between life and death.
What Kristine must be going through...
The thought of her alone, picturing me in a pool of blood, sends a surge of energy through my veins. I can't die—not here. I told her I was coming home. So, I need to be the Ethan who always has a plan, the one who turns the tables.
Resolve crystallizes within me, cold and sharp. Bet on Dexter's arrogance, on his need to gloat. I channel every ounce of pain, every bruising punch, into my words. I need to let him believe he's won just long enough for my failsafe to trigger.
“Fine. Then let's talk,” I speak with composure, letting my smile keep him on the hook. “That device you have in your hands is not just a phone. It's more like a powerful tracker that emits a signal capable of breakinganysecurity system. Hackers use it to sneak into banking systems or the deep web...” I shrug my shoulders, allowing Dexter to fill in the rest. “And shit like that.”
Dexter stares at the device. “You're lying.”
I raise an eyebrow, and Dexter looks at me, searching for deceit in my expression. The men around him look confused.
My body screams with each shallow breath, an agony I can't silence. I blink hard, my vision swimming as I struggle to keep Dexter in focus.
The damp air clings to my skin, heavy with the stench of mildew and something metallic—blood, maybe mine. My mouth tastes like copper, and there's a sticky warmth that trickles down the side of my face, mingling with sweat and grime.
I glance down. Every inch of me is bruised or battered. I can't tell where one injury ends and another begins.
I feel Dexter's eyes on me, scrutinizing for any hint of weakness. But I won't give him that satisfaction. My muscles quiver with the effort to sit upright, to meet his gaze unflinchingly even as my vision blurs at the edges.
My jaw is set, teeth gritted so hard I fear they might crack. The cold metal of the chair seeps into my bones, sapping what little warmth I have left.
Every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, uneasy.
The gun in Dexter's hand is steady, but mine tremble ever so slightly from the strain of being bound for what feels like an eternity. The ropes dig into my wrists, the friction burning my skin as I test their give. There's none. Dexter's men are thorough if nothing else.
But there's something else too—a subtle hum beneath my skin, an adrenaline-fueled vibration that tells me this isn't over yet. It's a silent promise to myself and to Kristine.
I'll get out of this alive. I'll make it right. I'll make them pay.
My head lolls forward for a moment before I snap it back up with sheer force of will. The room spins and tilts like a carnival ride gone mad. Bile rises in my throat as I fight back the urge to vomit from pain or fear—or maybe both.
Hold on, whispers in my head. Now, to get him talking again. The more evidence I collect, the more I'll secure Kristine's future.
“How long have you had me here, Dexter, about two or three hours maybe?” I venture, then click my tongue. “Good. Just so you know, since I came in here, my people have been sneaking into your system, discovering... I don't know, basically everything.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Bank accounts, compromising conversations, and files allegedly deleted from your computer that could land you in jail. It is fascinating what technology can do.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dexter shouts before punching me in the face.
I burst out laughing, then spit blood on the floor.
“You think so? Dial the number registered on the contact list. They'll tell you everything you want to hear.”
