Carver gave a tight nod, his jaw flexing. "Fine. But stay quiet. Don't interrupt. You break my rhythm, you compromise the interrogation." He moved closer, stepping into Rachel's space until his shadow fell across her lap. The warehouse lights behind him turned him into a dark silhouette.
Rachel held her breath.
His eyes found hers. His left eyelid twitched, barely perceptible, gone in half a second, then his gaze slid away, professional and detached.
I'm not here to hurt you. Trust me. Just hold on.
Before either of them could speak, before Carver could make whatever move he was planning, the sound of boots echoed from the corridor outside.
Different footsteps. Slower. Each one deliberate.
Rachel's lungs seized in her chest.
Langley.
The guards straightened automatically, their casual postures snapping to attention. Even Carver went still, his body language subtly adjusting.
Langley walked in like he owned not just the warehouse but the entire world. Each step measured and unhurried. A man who'dnever encountered a problem he couldn't buy, intimidate, or eliminate.
He stopped just behind Carver, and Rachel felt his gaze settle on her. Heavy. Assessing. Calculating. Already planning what came next.
"Good," Langley said, his voice smooth and controlled. "You can help me with something."
Rachel kept her expression neutral. Wouldn't give him fear. Wouldn't give him anything.
Langley moved around Carver, coming to stand directly in front of Rachel's chair. "I was just about to search her for that goddamn thumb drive," he said, his tone conversational. Like they were discussing the weather. "The one with all our names on it. All our transactions."
Rachel's pulse hammered in her temples, in her throat, behind her eyes.
Langley's gaze traveled slowly down her body, over the dirt-streaked denim of her cutoff shorts, the sweat-dampened fabric of her shirt clinging to her ribs and waist. His eyes lingered on her exposed skin with an assessment that sent nausea surging in her stomach.
He exhaled through his nose, a sharp, satisfied sound.
"You didn't have a bag on you when we grabbed you off that street," he said, his voice dropping lower. Smug. "Which means if you've got that drive hidden somewhere..." His smile widened. "I'm going to have to do some digging."
Rachel's skin prickled. She kept her breathing steady, but every instinct was screaming at her to fight, to run, to do something other than sit here and let this happen.
But the binds held her immobile. The guards were armed. Carver was outnumbered.
She was trapped.
Langley leaned in, close enough that she could smell his cologne, expensive and cloying. His fingers ghosted along the side of her neck, barely making contact. A light touch that felt more invasive than if he'd grabbed her.
Intentional and calculated. Designed to make her understand exactly how powerless she was.
Rachel held absolutely still. If she flinched, if she recoiled, he'd know he was getting to her.
"Now, Miss Parker..." Langley's voice was soft, almost gentle. The tone you'd use with a frightened animal. "Are you going to tell me where it is? Make this easy on both of us?" His hand drifted lower,fingers tracing the line of her collarbone. "Or do I get to examine every inch of your body myself?"
Nausea churned in Rachel's stomach. Her throat tightened.
His hand slid to the collar of her shirt, Ghost's shirt, the one she'd stolen from his laundry, the soft gray cotton that still smelled like him.
Langley's fingers curled into the fabric.
Then he yanked.
The shirt split straight down the center with a violent tearing sound that echoed off the warehouse walls. Rachel's body jolted forward from the force before the ropes around her torso caught her and slammed her back into the chair. The metal frame groaned under the impact.
