Dax pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s Trev. He’s been extradited to Caracas. They going to try him on multiple counts of murder.”
“No. They’re not,” Ryker says with a grave finality to his tone that leaves me cold. “They’re going to kill him. No one escapes The Crypt.”
Chapter Eighteen
Trevor
United States militaryaircraft aren’t designed for comfort. Or quiet. But compared to this piece of shit I’m currently on, they’re like flying first class.
When the transport van arrived at an airstrip half an hour south of Boston, the two MPs who walked me up to the plane both gave me looks that said they’d be shocked if we didn’t crash halfway there.
And that was the last bit of sympathy I’m likely to ever receive. The four angry Venezuelan soldiers, two of whom had to carry me up the boarding stairs—the chain between my cuffed ankles too short for me to manage on my own—shoved me to the ground at the back of this rust bucket and locked my wrists to a metal bar welded to the floor behind me. I can’t get comfortable. The plane isn’t much bigger than the one Dani and I took to Belize, and every time I stretch my legs, I earn a kick from one of the two soldiers sitting in the rear seats.
I don’t have any way to tell time, but if I had to guess, I haven’t had any food in more than twenty-four hours, and nothing to drink in at least six. But these fuckers don’t care.
My head is pounding, made worse by the not-quite-pressurized cabin of this death trap. If I lean back, the vibrations from the plane’s hull threaten to give me a TBI. So I try to sit up as straight as I can.
Once you land, you’re dead. Probably won’t hurt so much if you’re already concussed.
The only thing keeping me going? Dani’s not on this plane. The MPs tried to find out what had happened to her. They weren’t total dicks. Even apologized when they couldn’t get an answer for me.
“Listen, I’m former CIA, but before that, I was army. My boss was Special Forces. Call him. Dax Holloway at Second Sight. Tell him where I’m going. Please. And get him to find Dani Monroe.”
“We have our orders, sir. I’m sorry.”
The rumble of the engine changes, and pressure builds in my ears. We’re descending. I flex my fingers, trying to dispel the numbness that set in hours ago. Whatever comes next, I have to be ready.
It’s not going to be good.
By the time the wheels touch down, I can almost make a fist. The soldiers work quickly, freeing my cuffs from around the pipe and locking my hands to the waist chain in front of me. They don’t give me a chance to stand on my own—not that I think I could. Instead they drag me off the plane, letting my knees hit each one of the metal steps.
Headlights blind me for less than a minute before someone shoves a hood over my head, cinching it around my neck tight enough to override my brain’s control over my limbs. Panic sets in, and, unable to calm myself down, I thrash and shout obscenities at the men holding. me.
And then they let go. My legs won’t hold me, and my palms scrape against blacktop before my head hits, and I see stars against the dark hood. Boots and fists and pain. That’s all I feel until I give in and let unconsciousness take me.
* * *
Dani
One of my favorite sights? New snow on the sidewalks. When the Pritchards adopted us and moved us to New Haven, I’d never seen snow before.
Ford offers his hand to help me out of the car, but I wave it away. I’m not exactly speaking to the men of Second Sight at the moment.
“Dani.”
“Don’t ‘Dani’ me. You need me down there.” I stalk through the fresh snow, then have to wait until Ford talks to the building security guard before we can head for the elevator and up to Trevor’s apartment.
“It’s too dangerous.” Sliding a key into the lock, Ford pauses. “If Trevor finds out I didn’t do everything I could to keep you safe, he’ll kick my ass six ways from Sunday.”
“No.” I lose my words when Ford opens the door. The apartment smells like Trevor. Like sunshine and warm sand at the beach. Like strength and ocean breezes and…home.I make a beeline for his bedroom and find myself standing in front of his dresser.
Three photos.
“My dad always showed up. Until he didn’t. Until he couldn’t.”
“I didn’t want to go to Seattle. Weddings…they just aren’t my thing. But family shows up. I wish…I wish I’d figured that out before you needed me and I failed you.”
“Dani, if we don’t get out of here, we’re going to disappear, and no one—not one single person—is going to come to look for us.”
