I blinked at her in confusion. “Targeted you? What?” my voice was all high-pitched in shock. “Mo… you’re not serious. You approached me . Twice! I never forced myself on your group, and I never once flirted with your psycho brother, so if you’re victim-blaming for what he did to me—”
“What he did to you ?” she shrieked, losing her cool entirely. Oh wow, she was too easy. “From what I can see, you set out to seduce him all along! I bet you were begging him to fuck you the second my back was turned. Real low, Danny. What was the plan? Slit his throat in his sleep?”
I gaped at her in outrage. “You’re insane,” I whispered. “You’re all totally insane. Oh my god, I’m going to die here. This is like a Liam Neeson movie, but without Liam Neeson.” I dropped my face to my hands, pretending to sob hysterically as I backed away from Mo.
She gusted a sigh, and I watched from the corner of my eye as she shook her head.
“I can’t fucking do this,” she muttered under her breath, then rapped her knuckles on the door. It opened a second later, and she addressed Sam. “She’s all yours. I’ll send Cyryl down to watch the door.”
The grim smile on Sam’s face gave me a small trickle of dread, and I cried out for Mo to wait.
“Please, Mo, don’t leave me here. This is all a mistake!”
She wasn’t listening, though. Sam stepped into the cell, and Mo slammed the door shut. Her footsteps barely even retreated before the butt of Sam’s rifle slammed into my stomach, knocking the air out of me.
I crumpled, taking the hit like a bitch and wheezing as the air knocked from my lungs. That answered my debate over which of them would take the bad cop role. Sam wasn’t just doing his job either… he kicked me in the ribs with the fury of a man wronged. Like I’d taken something personal from him. Was he bitter that I’d sucked Kai’s dick and he hadn’t?
He hauled me up by the front of my loose T-shirt, and I gave a pathetic whimper, croaking out another plea. Then he threw me into the wall, and I forced my body to hit it hard. Limp. He was right there on me as I hit the floor, grabbing my hair and jerking me up again.
“Who the fuck are you working for?” he snarled, spittle on his lips and enraged veins throbbing at his temples.
I cried out in pain and terror. “The bank! I work for the bank! You already know this!”
He released my hair with a rough shove, causing my head to knock into the stone floor right on the bruised part. Motherfucker.
“You lying whore !” he roared, kicking me in the side again. I shifted just in time to avoid him breaking my ribs, taking the brunt of his kick in my tensed abs instead. “Who was he? Who was your friend that came after us?”
I coughed, gasping for air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sam flipped me over onto my back, his hands going around my throat. “I. Don’t. Believe . You.”
He snarled the words at me while his hands tightened, cutting off my air. I briefly considered breaking his hold, just in case he got carried away and killed me. But I knew I could survive without oxygen for a crap load longer than I’d guess Sam could keep that pressure on my throat. I wasn’t quite at the official world record of twenty-four minutes, but last time I’d trained, I hadn’t been far off that milestone.
Laughing internally, I made my body go lax, my eyes rolling back in my head as I simulated death by strangulation.
A moment later, Sam’s hands released, and I controlled my body’s natural instinct to suck air back in and inflate my lungs.
“Oh shit,” Sam breathed in horror. “Shit .”
He scrambled away, knocking frantically on the door, and I used the opportunity to draw some air. When the door opened and Cyryl came in, I was the picture of death once more. No wonder Sam was currently shitting his britches, he thought he’d killed me. Hah. Sucker.
Cyryl cursed at him, then knelt down to check my pulse. He found it after a short pause and exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. “She’s still alive,” he told Sam. “Just unconscious. Fuck man, you were barely in here for five minutes, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Sam roared in response. “That bitch got Mauricio killed! He’s dead because of her , and I swear to god, Cyryl, she needs to pay.”
Oh… that was an interesting development. Mauricio was dead? How? What had Sam been asking me in his fit of rage? He wanted to know who my “friend” was. Motherfucking Leon… he was truly terrible at covert operations. I was going to need to file a complaint about him when I got home.
Although, I couldn’t deny the fact that my chest warmed at the idea that he’d tried to save me. It was protocol to walk the fuck away when one merc was compromised, not attempt a half-cocked rescue mission and draw attention. What did it say about Leon that he’d broken protocol? Did he like me like I liked him?
Wow. Was I seriously daydreaming about my crush while playing dead in an unknown prison somewhere? Yes. Yes, I was. Dissociation was a strength I never intended to lose.
“She will,” Cyryl assured Sam. “But this could have landed you in huge trouble with the boss if she was actually dead. Go have a cigarette or something; you need to calm the fuck down.”
Sam grunted a sound of reluctant agreement. “What about her ?”
Cyryl paused a moment, staring down at me. My eyes were open just the tiniest crack, my long dark lashes disguising my sneaky observation of them.
“There are better ways to get the answers we want, Sam,” he said in a hard-edged voice. “You just need a little more finesse than this. Come on, we’re done here for now.”
The two of them left my cell, locking the heavy door before stomping up the stairs. I waited a few minutes after the next door slammed before “waking up” from Sam’s attack.
I went through the motions of how an innocent woman might react to that kind of beating, sobbing and crying, calling out for someone to help me, then I retreated to my “bed” in the corner to think.
Mauricio was dead… That explained a lot. If my only indiscretion was being a spy, then I’d be dead already. They would already know I’d never give them anything they wanted to know, and really, it was more risk than reward in keeping me alive. But if their judgment was clouded by grief over one of their own losing his life? Yes, I could see why they’d attempt to interrogate me. Surely they didn’t think they’d get anything substantial, though?
Or shit, I dunno. Maybe the last covert agent they caught had folded like a deck of cards under pressure. I had a feeling the CIA wasn’t training their agents as well as they used to. Maybe they were soft these days.
Mauricio was dead… so they wanted vengeance. They wanted me to ID Leon so they could take an eye for an eye and exact revenge for the death of a dear friend. Understandable, but misguided. For one thing, they were dreaming if they thought I would be the one to provide key intel. For another, I got the feeling Leon would only be found if he wanted to be found.
Furthermore, killing Leon and me wouldn’t bring their friend back. It would only open them to more attacks, given how many other enemies Kai must have. After all, I sure as shit hadn’t paid my own contract for this job. Someone wanted him dead and was willing to pay top dollar for it.