The barrel of the gun pressed cold and hard against the back of Eliot's skull.
"Throw the keys. Now," barked the first man, stepping into view, a wiry figure, tense like a coiled spring.
"If you try anything," whispered a second voice from behind, low and lethal, "I'll blow your fucking brains out."
Eliot didn't doubt him. There was something in that voice, a dead, ugly certainty. These weren't amateurs bluffing. These were men who killed because it was easier than speaking.
Slowly, Eliot reached back. His fingers closed around the van keys. He tossed them toward the first man, a quick, clean motion.
The man caught them, and before Eliot could blink, pain exploded in the side of his head.
Everything spun.
And then blackness.
—
He came back to himself slowly. First, the throbbing in his skull. Then the taste of iron on his tongue. Then the realization that he couldn't move.
His wrists were bound tight behind the back of a cold steel chair. His ankles were tied too, raw rope biting into skin. The room around him was dim, lit only by a buzzing overhead light that swung gently, casting long, twitching shadows against the walls.
"He's awake," someone said, voice clipped and dry.
Eliot tried to turn toward it, but a sharp ache bloomed in his neck.
"Should we tell the boss about our little kidnapper?" another voice chimed in this one mocking, almost amused.
"Nah. No need to bother him with small fry like this," the first one replied. "We can beat the answers out of him."
Their words slid under Eliot's skin like a slow, cold knife. His stomach twisted.
Not because he feared dying he had made peace with that a long time ago, but because of Leia.
His sister. She did not deserve this life.
The reason he took these goddamn missions in the first place.
He'd been reckless. Sloppy. And now he was paying the price.
Rough fingers fisted in his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at the two men standing over him. Eliot blinked against the flickering light. Both wore black tactical clothes, faces smeared with the cocky contempt of people who thought they'd already won.
One of them held up his hair yanking it painfully, he must have seen the small tattoo on Eliot's neck because he muttered.
"Yup. He's Red Dragon," one said, his lips curling in disgust. "Boss'll wanna see him after all."
The other grunted. "I'll get him."
The man nearest the door stepped out, leaving Eliot alone with the other.
Eliot barely had time to brace himself before the first punch landed.
Crack.
He tasted blood instantly.
"Bastard," the man spat.
Another punch, harder. Eliot's head snapped back.
"Scum like you deserve to rot in hell."
Another blow. Then another.
Pain blurred the edges of his vision. Something crunched nose, maybe. His breath whistled raggedly through swelling tissue.
Eliot kept his mouth shut. No screams. No begging.
He could endure this.
He had to.
Another punch was cocked and ready when —
"Stop."
One word. Icy. Commanding. It cut through the room like a blade.
The man about to hit him froze, arm still drawn back. He dropped it reluctantly and stepped away, shooting Eliot a glare full of poisonous promise.
"You'll get what's coming to you," he muttered before disappearing into the shadows.
Silence filled the space like a living thing.
Eliot raised his eyes blood dripping from his split brow and saw him.
The man stepping forward wasn't like the others.
Tall, easily over six feet, and broad across the shoulders, he moved with an unsettling stillness, like a predator sizing up a wounded animal. The faint light revealed hard planes of a face built from angles and shadows. Sharp jaw. Straight nose.
Eyes like glaciers: pale, ruthless, utterly devoid of warmth.
The weight of his stare made Eliot's pulse stumble.
This one's different, Eliot thought, instincts flaring even through the pain. This one's dangerous.
The stranger said nothing for a moment, simply watching. Measuring.
Finally, he spoke, voice low, almost lazy. "You can make this easy, or you can make it very, very difficult."
Eliot met that gaze with as much defiance as he could summon. His voice was hoarse but steady.
"I can't tell you anything. So just kill me already."
The man moved fast. One hand snapped up and grabbed Eliot's jaw, fingers digging bruisingly into the bone. He tilted Eliot's face up, forcing him to meet those ice-cold eyes.
"So brave," the man said quietly, almost like an observation. "But you will talk, Red Dragon scum. You'll tell me everything."
He released Eliot with a shove, sending him rocking back against the chair.
"And after you do," he continued, voice soft but sharp enough to cut, "I'll decide whether to give you a quick death or… savor it slowly."
The way he talked made Eliot's blood run colder than the room.
For the first time since this nightmare began, a flicker of real fear licked up his spine.
The man circled him slowly, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Studying him like a scientist with a particularly troublesome specimen.
"You were sloppy," he said. "No backup. No surveillance. You came after one of my most valuable pieces like a fucking street thug."
Eliot said nothing. His head pounded with every heartbeat, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.
The stranger chuckled a low, humorless sound.
"You Red Dragon dogs think you're untouchable." He stopped in front of Eliot again. "You're not. Not anymore."
He crouched then, getting to Eliot's eye level.
"Tell me," he murmured, voice dropping almost to a purr, "what's the price they pay you? Enough to die for? Enough to die... screaming?"
Eliot clenched his jaw. He wouldn't give this bastard the satisfaction.
The man watched him for a moment longer, then smiled. It was a cold, predatory smile — the kind that promised pain dressed up as mercy.
"Have it your way," he said, rising smoothly to his feet. "But don't mistake this for mercy, little kidnapper."
He turned toward the door, giving Eliot his back a move so casual, so confident, it was its own kind of threat.
At the threshold, he paused, half-turned.
"Clean him up," he called out.
The shadows stirred. The goons returned, stepping forward eagerly.
"And make sure he's still breathing when I come back," the stranger added. His voice was almost thoughtful. "I like my toys functional."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Eliot alone in the flickering dark... and the pain was only just beginning.m