Page 3 of Dark Soul

“We’re going to give you a choice today,” he said, bringing his hands together until the pads of his fingers joined their counterpart.

“I don’t know you,” Dark said. He didn’t mean that in a bad way. Just that it was difficult to have a conversation when he had no idea who these men were.

The older man looked at the younger one—deferred to him, it seemed, although Dark didn’t get the feeling the younger one was the boss.

“Our names don’t matter. What matters is, we can be your ticket out of here,” the younger man said in a distinctive, clipped British accent. The kind of voice one didn’t forget.

Dark wondered, not for the first time, if this was some kind of dark joke, or a psych experiment.

Dangle freedom in front of an inmate, see how long it takes him to start salivating.

Of course, that wasn’t going to work with him.

He didn’t deserve a second chance.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Do we look like we’re the kind of men to waste time with jokes?” British asked.

He looked like the kind of man who’d never even cracked a smile, but Dark understood a rhetorical question when he heard one, so he held his silence.

Finally, the older man gave British a little nod.

“If you want your freedom, you’ll stand up and follow us when we get up to walk out of this room. If you stay sitting down, we’ll understand you’re not interested in our offer.”

Despite himself, Dark’s heart beat hard against his chest.

You could get out of here.

“What do you want from me in exchange?”

British answered first. “Finally, a good question. Unfortunately, not one we can answer right now. So let me ask you a different question instead. Does it matter?”

It mattered to Dark.

Because, if these men had read his file, they probably thought he was a lost soul—a man without a moral compass.

A man who would be willing to do anything to get out of here.

And maybe they’re not so far off the mark.

Dark didn’t move a single muscle. He still sat the same way, sprawled back in his chair as far as handcuffed hands would let him. But already … already he could feel, he could smell, the possibility of freedom.

Which pissed him off, because he could also feel all his hard work from the last four years—all the effort spent accepting this fucking place—unraveling, all in a single instant.

British’s nostrils flared. Like a shark detecting vibrations in the water, he seemed to detect the change in Dark.

“Come with us, Captain Dark, and all questions will be answered.”

There was nothing coincidental about the man’s use of Dark’s military rank. And it fucking hurt to think of everything he’d lost. Of everything he would still lose.

Don’t listen to them.

You don’t deserve your freedom, and you don’t want to know what they want in exchange.

Stay where you are.

He forced his tense muscles to relax. He would remain sitting down, even if it killed him.