I scream my frustration, but the sound is cut off as my backpack is violently torn from my body, and I'm shoved so forcefully to my knees that they crack as they hit the tile, making my teeth rattle.
Coyote brings my pack to Ambrose while his buddy twists my arm so hard behind my back that my eyes burn.
"You fucking bastard," I hiss through my teeth as he sets the bag next to him and starts to meticulously pick through every pouch and pocket. The tearing pain in my shoulder almost makes me cry out, but I hold it in. I would not give Ambrose or his fucking lackies the satisfaction.
"I'm going to enjoy gutting you like?—"
"Shut her up."
I don't have time to prepare before there's a hardknockin my skull and my vision goes black.
For a second, there's no pain, and I question where it went. Where I am. How I got here.
For a second, I think I'm at the cabin, and the wet spot on my forehead is Ellie giving kisses, trying to wake me up.
Just a minute,Ellie, I try to say, but my tongue is heavy and useless in my mouth.
My cheek leaves cold tile, and the movement of my body being forced upright makes me want to vomit as the colors and light in the room twirl and expand, unable to assemble themselves back into a clear image.
There's copper in the back of my throat and a pickaxe in my skull chip, chip, chipping away at the false reality until I remember exactly where I am.
"You idiot," a deep baritone growls, but it's distant, muffled, and so hard to hear over the ringing. "I want her conscious."
The shifting double image of Ambrose tries to put itself back together, but both of him are swaying too fast to latch on, and my stomach roils at the dizzying dance of the douchebags until I taste bile in my throat.
"Ah," he says finally. "There it is."
The Ambroses have something in their hands.
I shake my head, trying to see what it is.
He drops it and stamps it beneath the heel of his boot. He stomps and stomps, each thud punctuated by the sharp sound of plastic shattering to unrecognizable bits of black and silver on the floor.
Pain lances through my skull when I shake my head a third time, but my vision clears enough to recognize the obliviated flash drive. I reach for the rage I know I should feel, but it's like grasping at shadows, and I think it got knocked out of my head when this asshole hit me with the butt of his rifle.
Then Coyote says… "My team has a lock on their location."
"No."
He presses his earpiece more firmly against his ear. "They're closing in."
"No."
"Tell them to take Elijah alive if they can."
I am going to kill this man.
Coyote relays the message, and Ambrose nods when he's done. "Fantastic. Now, where were we?"
All that's left is a bone-deep understanding of what this means.
I failed.
I failed them.
Atticus told me not to get complacent, but that's exactly what I did. The last few days have felt the easiest of all, because I knew it was all downhill after getting the data onto that drive. If I'd opened my eyes for one second,reallylooked, I would've seen this coming.
Oh god, the guys…
