How many hours passed,he had no idea. The first sensation was the violent, icy shock of water. It wasn't a splash; it was a physical assault—a metal bucket’s worth of filth and grit slammed against his face. The force snapped his head back, cracking it against the stone wall behind him. He choked as the foul, metallic-tasting water flooded his nose and throat, triggering a gagging, desperate cough that sent fire through his side.
Instinct screamed at him to fight, to lash out, but his body betrayed him. As he jerked upright, the manacles, already sunk deep into his wrists, bit down with renewed fury. They had chained him to a horizontal steel beam, his arms wrenched upward just past his shoulders, a position designed to dislocate and strain. His toes scraped for purchase on the grimy floor, taking just enough weight to keep him from hanging, but not enough to offer relief. The cold shock of the water was a fleeting ghost, instantly consumed by the deep, radiating agony of his broken ribs and the screaming dehydration that made his tongue feel like a strip of sandpaper.
The heavy tread of boots on stone didn't echo. It announced ownership. Krueger didn't enter first. His phantoms did.
Two of them, shapes in black tactical gear with masks that rendered them faceless, featureless things. They moved with a chilling economy of motion, their gloved hands checking the tautness of the chains, yanking a strap behind his back that forced his spine into an agonizing arch. They were technicians, and he was the machine to be calibrated. They stepped back into the shadows, their job done.
Then Krueger walked in. No smile this time. His face was a mask of cold, professional purpose. “You look awake enough.” His voice was level, devoid of emotion. “Good. I’d hate to waste questions on a man who can’t appreciate them.”
Dante lifted his head, his neck muscles screaming. “Not interested,” he rasped, his throat raw.
Krueger let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “Oh, Dante. This isn’t a conversation. You don’t get to be uninterested. You answer.”
Dante’s silence was his only weapon.
Krueger began to circle him, a slow, predatory orbit, his eyes appraising every point of strain, every bead of sweat on Dante’s brow. “Let’s start simple. Ford Cox, where is he?”
Dante stared at the damp stone wall, focusing on a single dark patch of mildew.
“Ford Cox. Your partner. Your brother in arms. He took something of mine.”
Dante’s jaw was a slab of granite.
“I am asking you politely—for the first and only time—where is he going?”
Dante’s voice was a shredded whisper, but it held. “Far enough you’ll never find him.”
Krueger’s eyes narrowed, the light in them extinguishing. “Incorrect answer.” He gave a slight, almost imperceptible flick of his fingers.
The guard behind Dante moved. A fist, driven like a piston, slammed into the already-battered lattice of his ribs. The sound was a wet, sickening crunch.
Pain wasn’t a wave; it was an explosion of white-hot agony that vaporized his thoughts and stole the air from his lungs. He doubled over as much as the chains would allow, a strangled gasp the only sound he could make. But he did not scream.
Krueger sighed, a theatrical sound of disappointment. “You see? You’re making this so… difficult.”
Dante forced his head upright, the movement sending fresh waves of nausea through him. “That’s… the idea,” he managed through gritted teeth.
Krueger’s lip curled in disgust. “You military types. Always so fucking noble. So predictable. Let’s see how noble you are when we change the subject.”
He reached into his chest pocket, and Dante’s heart seized.The photo. Shannon.
Krueger unfolded it with deliberate care, holding it up like a holy relic. “You think I’m a fool?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You think I didn’t see you break? Theway your whole body flinched when I said her name? She is a perfect, beautiful pressure point.”
Dante fought to keep the tremor from his hands, to still the frantic thrumming of his pulse. He failed. “Leave her out of this.” The words were torn from him.
Krueger laughed, a genuine, cruel sound. “Oh, no. She is the entire point now.” He stepped forward and tucked the photo into Dante’s shirt pocket again, his fingers lingering, pressing the image of her face against Dante’s hammering heart. “She is in my desert. She is breathing my air. And she is a pest I intend to exterminate.”
Dante’s teeth ground together, a sound like stones being crushed. “Stay away from her.”
Krueger leaned in, his lips brushing Dante’s ear, his voice a venomous caress. “That depends entirely on you.”
He stepped back, giving himself room. “Question two: what does Chase know about the other devices?”
Dante’s face remained a mask, but his eyes betrayed him. A flicker. A microsecond of confusion.
Krueger saw it and pounced. “Oh,” he whispered, savoring the taste of it. “You didn’t know.”
He snapped his fingers. The second guard opened a long, metal case against the wall. Inside, nestled in black foam, a second device gleamed under the lantern light, its intricate wiring and silver casing a mirror to the one Ford had taken.Is this the one he saw at the warehouse?
