Krueger tapped the lid of the case. “There are three, Dante. A trinity. Did your precious Ford forget to mention that?”
A cold dread, far deeper than the pain, pierced through Dante. Ford didn’t know. No one at Chase knew.
Krueger watched the realization dawn, the despair wash over his face. “Good. Let that settle in. There are two more. And I am going to sell each one to the highest bidders.”
He moved in until his nose was almost touching Dante’s. “And if you continue to make this difficult… I will use the third to turn a city into glass. And I will make sure your Falcon is flying right overhead when I do.”
Dante didn’t break. But the rage—the pure, incandescent fury—coalesced in his gut, burning away the pain and the fear.
Krueger saw it and grinned. “There it is. That’s the fire I want to break.” He signaled again.
This time, the blow was a brutal uppercut to the solar plexus. Dante’s diaphragm seized, his lungs collapsing in on themselves. He hung from his wrists, a useless, gasping puppet, black spots dancing in his vision.
Krueger crouched down, his eyes bright with a fanatical gleam. “We’re going to have so many more conversations,” his voice dripped with poison, “and by the time I’m done, you will be begging me for the privilege of telling me exactly how I’m going to kill her.”
Dante gathered what little saliva he had in his parched mouth and spat a glob of blood and phlegm, landing in the dirt between Krueger’s boots. He looked him dead in the eyes, his own gaze promising a thousand deaths. “You’re not getting a pass out of this desert.”
Krueger’s smile was beatific. “Oh, Dante. I already have one.”
The door slammed shut. The bolt hammered home.
Dante, chained and bleeding, his body a canvas of agony, felt the fire inside him sharpen and forge itself into a single, unbreakable purpose. He promised Shannon he’d come home.
FORTY-THREE
THE VILLA
The metal chair screeched across the stone floor as Dante’s body jolted under the sound. Krueger stood over him, a length of rebar in hand, its rust-dark surface already smeared with someone else’s dried blood.
“Still breathing?” He tilted his head like he was studying a specimen. “Olivetti, you people always think pain is a test. Something to out-stare.” His smile sharpened. “It isn’t.”
A guard twisted Dante’s arms tighter against the restraints. Another hauled his head back by his hair. Dante spat blood to the side, refusing to give Krueger the satisfaction of seeing him choke on it.
Krueger stepped in close, his breath hot against Dante’s cheek. “You know what I love about you? You walked into my desert thinking you could change the ending.”
The rebar came down again hard into Dante’s right side. Stars burst behind his eyes, but he didn’t make a sound. His breaths came shallow and controlled.
Krueger’s lip curled. “Nothing? Not even a grunt? Cute.” He took the rebar back, resting it on his shoulder. “You know, I’ve spent four years thinking about your little girlfriend,” he said conversationally.
Dante’s jaw locked. Every muscle in his body went taut.
Krueger saw it and smiled like he’d been waiting for exactly that. “There it is. The nerve.”
He motioned to a guard. The man stepped forward with a heated rod, its tip glowing faint orange.
Dante tensed. He couldn’t stop it, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t plead. He didn’t give Krueger the slightest crack.
The guard pressed the rod against the edge of Dante’s ribs. A hiss, a guttural breath punched out of him, more animal than human, but still not a scream.
Krueger crouched beside him, voice poisonous. “See, that’s what I find delightful. You’re trying so hard to stay whole.” He tapped Dante’s cheek with the rebar. “But everybody breaks. Even you.”
Dante’s vision blurred at the edges. Sweat stung his eyes. His pulse thundered against the restraints. He forced his focus somewhere else.
It was inside the executive suite, long eyelashes in the glow of the morning light, Shannon’s hand gripping his shirt and her soft lips against his. The sound of her quiet laugh. Her breath on his shoulder.Hold. Hold.Don’t give him a damn thing.
Krueger rose, satisfied with the pain he’d carved into the room. “Not invincible anymore, are we?” He stepped away. “Don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”
SCRUBLAND
