Prologue
Six Years Ago
Dax
A dim halo seeps around the heavy canvas our captors tack over the cell doors. After so long here, I can almost see in the dark. Small variations in the rock walls. The flutter of air moving a corner of the shroud. My toes—if I wiggle them. Not that I’ve tried recently. The infection will take my leg soon. Or my life.
Let me fucking die already.
Ry’s gone. Escaped. Hours ago. Killed at least four on his way out. We were supposed to go together. But I can’t walk. He set my broken femur two weeks ago. One of the few times they let us stay in the same cell. But what should have been a minor burn festered, and now my whole leg is swollen and hot to the touch. At least they don’t tie me up anymore.
Booted footsteps shuffle down the hall. I’m not as good as Ry. I can’t always tell who’s coming. The canvas is ripped away, and I blink rapidly, the dim lights of the hall searing my eyes after so long in the dark.
Rough hands close around my arms, someone throws a bag over my head, and I’m dragged from my cell. My leg screams in agony, the white-hot pain sending me barreling towards unconsciousness. Until they drop me.
Breathe. In and out. Focus.
“Get him up,” Kahlid—the guy in charge—says, and I’m hauled onto a table. Before I can try to fight, they’ve tied my wrists together, then lashed me down with ropes around my torso, my hips, and my ankles.
Oh fuck. This is new.
“Sergeant Dash. How are you today?” As Kahlid pulls off the hood, I spit at him, but he’s too far away.
“Fuck you.”
The punch to my jaw isn’t unexpected. Hell, that’s how the fucker says hello. I taste blood, the metallic flavor turning my stomach.
His smile worries me. As does the glint in his eyes. “Would you like some water?”
This is some sort of trick. Say yes, and they’ll waterboard me. I grind my teeth together, glaring at him, but in my current state, I doubt it’s very effective. After Kahlid nods, one of his lackeys grabs my jaw and digs in, forcing me to open my mouth. A pill lands at the back of my throat, followed by half a bottle of water, and unprepared, I swallow before I can stop myself.
“Antibiotics only, Dash. Do not look so…frightened.” Starting to pace with his fingers laced behind his back, he continues. “Your friend Ryker killed several of my men last night.”
“Good for him.” Another punch, more blood staining my lips. “You gonna keep that up? You want me to talk, it ain’t gonna happen if you break my jaw.”
“I do not want to hurt you, Dash. I only want to know where your friend Ryker was going. He will not get far. We shot him many times. I am worried for him. Tell me his escape route, and I promise you, he will not be harmed when we find him. We will treat his wounds and send him to hospital.”
“Yeah. And I’m Santa Claus.” I don’t have the energy to keep this up. My leg throbs with every beat of my heart, my split lip is swelling rapidly, and I’m nauseous from the water they forced down my throat.
Kahlid leans over me, and shit. The bastard’s a good actor. He actually manages to look…concerned. “What I have to do, Dash…you will not heal from this.”
Is he finally going to kill me? Fear snakes its cold, bony fingers around my heart, but I’m so far gone, so weak, in so much pain death would be a welcome relief. “That’s not…my…fucking…name. Whatever you’re…gonna do…just get it…over with.”
Behind Kahlid, two of his lackeys pull on thick, rubber gloves, and my stomach churns. Not the blowtorch. Or a belt. Or even a metal rod. This…has to be something different. Kahlid grabs a fistful of my hair—it’s longer now. Hangs into my eyes. “Where is he? Tell me and I will not have to do this.”
“Go…to…hell,” I grunt. “You’ll never…find him.”
Kahlid slams my head down on the wooden table, and the edges of my vision darken. His crooked smile is the last thing I see as a harsh, caustic liquid splashes into my eyes, and I start to scream.
The metal tray lands on the stone floor with a crash, and I jerk awake, my heart racing. The cell door slams shut, and a weak glow of light dims as the canvas flops back down. I don’t know how long it’s been since they blinded me. Kahlid told me I screamed for half a day. Then he broke the last two fingers on my left hand when I still wouldn’t talk. The one time they dragged me out of this cell since, my whole world was a muted sea of dull, washed-out colors and agony every time I forced my swollen eyes open.
Crawling slowly, only able to use one arm and one leg without passing out from the pain, I feel along the filthy stone floor until I find the edge of the tray.
Fuck. I hope Ry made it.
I scoop up a bit of the rice slurry with my uninjured hand, then let it fall through my fingers. I can’t. They’ve taken everything. Dax Holloway doesn’t exist anymore. Hell killed him. I don’t know when it happened. Every beating. Every scar. Every time they threw me in that goddamned hole. Left me there until I was out of my mind with hunger.
I can’t walk. Can’t make a fist with my dominant hand. Can’t…see. Why keep fighting? Months ago, I was ready to give up. Starved myself for what I think was a week. Until they force fed me, then whipped Ry until his back was bloody. But he’s gone. Safe. Or dead.
