I slam Marvin into a battered, rusted tool chest. Wrenches scatter to the concrete with a metallic crash. He groans, curling in on himself as best he can with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Find me a goddamn chair,” I snap.
“Got a better idea, Cap.” Hardison punches one of the buttons for the hydraulic lift system, and a chain thuds down from the ceiling, one link at a time. “The chair is for after we break both his legs.”
Connor and Jasper pin Marvin’s arms while Hardison swaps the cuffs to the front. I catch the bastard’s weight, snap the chain around the cuffs, and hit the hydraulics until he’s stretched tall, his toes brushing the concrete floor.
I step in close. “Where. Is. Grace?” Each word lands with a sharp jab to his ribs.
Marvin wheezes but forces a smile. “She belongs to Prophet. She always has. She always will.”
Hardison leans in, shaking his head slowly. “Man, you keep talking like that, and I’m gonna start believing you want us to get creative.”
Connor snorts. “Ain’t much left to get creative with.”
“Don’t sell me short,” Hardison fires back. “My imagination’s just gettin’ started.”
I press my forearm against Marvin’s throat, enough to shut him up. “Well, you belong to us. And I promise you, Prophet ain’t half as scary as we’ll be if you don’t start talkin’.”
Marvin doesn’t flinch when I take a step back. “You expect me to believe two decorated Rangers, a former FBI agent, and Lieutenant Boy Scout over there are gonna torture me?”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Hardison gets right in Marvin’s face. “See, here’s the problem. You’re betting on us playing by the rules. On being scared to push too far.” His eyes narrow, a lethal calm settling in his tone. “You put your hands on Parker. I don’t have rules anymore.”
Jasper circles behind Marvin, his voice quiet, dangerous. “AJ’s the best of us. But you got no idea what losin’ the love of your life can do to a man.” He pulls a blade from his back pocket. It snaps open with a metallic click.
With a sneer, Marvin meets my gaze. “Do your worst.”
Hardison’s eyes narrow. “Oh, he did not just say that.”
I glance at my twin. He shrugs as he passes me the knife. And I drive it deep into the fleshy part of Marvin’s shoulder.
He screams, his toes scraping across the metal.
“That’s one. For every minute Grace is gone, you’ll get another,” I say, yanking the knife back out and wiping it on Marvin’s shirt sleeve. “Where is she?”
He chokes out a laugh. “Long gone. We have people everywhere. You know how easy it was? Gettin’ her out of the hospital? Took all of a minute. Into the elevator, up to the roof, and on a helicopter headed for sunrise. You’ll never find her.”
Hardison whistles. “East, huh? See, that’s progress. Couple more minutes, and you’ll be giving us GPS coordinates and Prophet’s blood type.”
Marvin spits at the man, but it lands far short of Hardison’s boots. “You think you’re gonna scare me? I’m a senior cleric of the Blessed Flock.”
Connor’s lips curl in a humorless smile. “You ain’t seen scary yet, asshole.”
Jasper folds his arms, his voice flat. “When we get tired of askin’…that’s when the scary part begins.”
I grab Marvin’s jaw, force his eyes to mine. “Where’s the goddamn ceremony? Tell me, or I swear to God, I’ll put you in the ground right now.”
Jasper grabs his shoulder from behind, digging his fingers into the wound.
Marvin groans through the pain. “Even if you did find her, you’d never make it past the gates.”
Hardison chuckles, the sound dry as dust. “Yeah, we know all about the ghost guns, shit-for-brains. Did you think we’d be goin’ in there alone? You and your brothers aren’t gonna have any use for them when we’re done. Last I checked, ghosts couldn’t pull triggers.”
Marvin’s eyes dart from me to Hardison and back again.
“Someone slipped,” I grit out. “Whoever dumped Grace’s body in the middle of the Mexican countryside left a fragment of a firin’ pin in the bag with her.”
“No…there wasn’t anything in there,” he gasps. “Just…her.”
