The Dead Don't Lie Page 10

  “Do I have to spell it out?” Mei countered, voice rising in a challenge.

  Ian colored. Mei’s words were crawling under his skin, burrowing deep. “Save it,” he replied, brushing her aside. Instead, he turned his ire on Vince, parked up the street, working on hacking into the building’s security feed.

  “Vin, I need you to get me in there. I don’t care how you do it but get me in that goddamn building and do it now.”

  “Yes, Mary fucking Sunshine, I’ll get right on that.”

  “Ian?” Mei continued, still trying to reason with him.

  Between her pleas and Vince’s smart mouth—a sure and steady headache had begun creeping up behind his eyelids. Ian turned on Mei, brushing her aside. “Not now.” He turned on Vince next. “As for you, you’ll get a nice fat thanks when you do something for once. The rest of you let me know if someone comes into that building. Understand?”

  Ian took the stairs in a mad rush, his adrenaline pumping, heart pounding. He shoved Mei’s words back, focused on the task on hand as he waited on the street, his impatience mounting. Ian stayed hidden in a corner doorway, studying the empty building across the street. The structure and the surrounding area was quiet, too quiet. A voice inside urged him toward caution, which he ignored, temper rising. He had to get in that building. Even if Grady wasn’t there, he might find some sign of where he’d fled. They had been on Grady’s trail too long now, and he wasn’t going back this time empty handed. Ian tried to push back his irritation as Vince worked on getting into the building’s security system. His desperation grew by the second, skin pricking with anticipation. He tried to curb back the urge to yell at Vince to speed things up.

  “Come on, come on,” he murmured, irritation building by the second.

  “Christ, what’s got your knickers in a knot?”

  “I swear to God, Vincent. Keep it up, and you’ll be trying out those one liners through a wired jaw.”

  “How kinky,” Vince snickered, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Okay, Mr. Wonderful. The security feed inside is running a loop. The security lock will open for thirty seconds, starting in…”

  Ian wasn’t listening. He bounded across the street toward the front entrance, the once secure lock clicking open in his hand. The door swinging shut behind him. Ian’s eyes took a minute to adjust to the dingy, dimness of the place. Searching for signs, Grady had been there, but the place stayed quiet.

  “One minute,” Vince clarified. “Thirty seconds to the top floor. Thirty seconds—”

  “I know,” Ian answered, exasperated. “Now stop being a disrespectful little shit and keep that feed running.”

  Ready for anything, Ian stepped onto the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor. He took a deep, steadying breath, counting down three, two, one. Elevator doors opened on cue, showing two stunned guards who never heard a thing. Both hapless souls dispatched before he’d even finished stepping off the lift. Ian continued, frowning, made uneasy by their presence. Clearly, the building was not as empty as he’d first anticipated.

  Ian was halfway up the hall when a deafening alarm began blaring throughout the building. He paused in his tracks, cursing his rashness. In his haste, he’d strolled right into an ambush.

  Sure enough, an intensifying stampede of footsteps hurried up the stairwell. They were coming at Ian hot from both sides. Reacting fast, Ian ducked into a doorway in time to catch the first two through the double doors. He waited, a pulse, two, delivering a volley of bullets in their direction. The gunfire sent the rest scurrying into the stairwell for shelter.

  “Ian? Ian?” Mei’s voice called, frantic, breaking through the commotion.

  Ian’s mind whirled through his options, deducing his chances of getting away unscathed. But the odds were stacked against him. There wasn’t enough time or enough bullets. Decision made, his weapons slid out of his hands, clattering to the ground. Worthless against what sounded like an army brigade.

  “Don’t you dare come after me, any of you,” he told them, tearing out his earpiece and crushing it under his boot.

  The doors banged open as Ian threw up his hands. A dozen guys came swarming in, surrounding him. A circle of steely eyes, strapped to the gills, their weapons raised as they ordered him to his knees.

  “Ian, I assume?” The apparent leader questioned as he cut a path through his men, parting to allow him to pass.

  “Depends who’s asking.”

  The man smirked. “Someone’s been expecting you,” he replied, cracking the butt of a rifle into the back of Ian’s skull. And the world was no more.

  * * * *

  As awareness returned, Ian discovered he’d made a terrible mistake. He was wide awake now and suspended from the ceiling, arms pulled tight above him. He was held in place by a pair of thick metal chains linked to a second set of iron pipes attached to a heavy cement beam.

  Ian hovered several feet above ground, legs dangling below. The weight, pulling his body toward the ground, strained muscles shrieking in protest. He fought the urge to scream, from frustration, pain. Furious over having gotten himself into this mess.

  “Ah, you’re awake! Good, I was getting bored.” Michael Grady. Gaunt and lanky, he had the unfortunate look of a man anywhere from thirty to fifty. His thinning dark hair, graying, was slicked back and heavy with grease. Beady, jet black eyes bore into Ian’s own with the curiosity of a mindless insect. His thin, icy fingers dug into Ian’s chin, jerking him forward.

  “I’ll admit, I’m flattered by the attention. You’ve been after me for some time, haven’t you? My, you must be furious. So much hard work, for nothing.”

  Ian remained unmoved, focused straight ahead, vacant.

  Grady snorted. “Though to your credit. You killed at least half a dozen of my better men. Shall I assume this is personal?”

  “Or they were in my way,” Ian answered, without a hint of emotion.

  Grady laughed out loud, turning to the enormous hulking dude at his side. Ian was quick to access both his threat level and his even uglier companion posted near the exit. A solid metal door he was getting through no matter who or what stood in his way.

  “Are you hearing this?” Grady asked his henchmen.

  The two guards exchanged uneasy glances, as if unsure if they should laugh or not. Grady shook his head, before focusing his attention toward Ian. “You know, you must either be incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

  Ian offered nothing, instead, fixing his rigid stare on the brick wall in front of him.

  “Are you ignoring me?” Grady asked, leaning in close, forcing Ian to face him eye to eye.

  Close enough for Ian to catch the stench of his vile breath. Something rank and decaying caused his sick gut to heave in revolt. It took every ounce of willpower not to twist away.

  Grady pulled back with a huff. “Fine, stay as stoic as you wish. No matter, I’ll get a name out of you, regardless.”

  “I work for myself.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  Grady roared. A genuine belly laugh. He slapped his knees, delighted. “God, you’re too much. We’re gonna have so much fun. You and I.”

  Ian turned his attention back to the wall as Grady continued making threats. Regaling him with promises of torture. “I’m sure you’ve been interrogated before, but I assure you my methods are most effective.”

  Ian remained silent, which at first Grady seemed to find entertaining before he exploded in a fit of rage.

  “I want a name!”

  “There isn’t one,” Ian insisted.

  Grady gestured to the array of tools and weapons, a mad surgeon’s tableau. Ian took a steadying breath, preparing for the inevitable.

  Grady selected a large mallet, tapping it against his open palm, giddy as a child with a new toy. “Trust me. I’ll get a name out of you, even if I have to break every bone in your body to get it.”

  Ian repressed a shudder, reminding himself
to breathe and think, plan. Let Grady have his fun. While distracted with his sick games, he’d figure a way out of this hellhole. And when he did, he’d pay this fucker back in spades.

  * * * *

  Adam busied himself in the gymnasium. Attempting to distract himself, but failed, consumed with worry, stuck here with Hector and Kalifa as silent and ever watchful guardians. Adam whipped himself into a breathless, sweaty mess when Mei surprised him. She hurried into the room, eyes wide as she made a beeline straight for him. His heart sank as he searched over her shoulder for Ian and didn’t see him.

  “There you are!”

  Adam met her halfway, hoping to keep the hysteria out of his voice. “What is it?”

  “It’s Ian.”

  Adam’s stomach dropped, the world off balance. “Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, more out of control and frantic than he’d ever seen her. “I swear, Adam. I told him not to go; I tried.”

  “Wait, hang on a second.” Adam’s head spun. “What the hell happened out there?”

  Mei shook her head, expression stricken. “Grady happened. Sonofabitch took him and I couldn’t stop it.”

  “What do we do now?” Adam asked, the panic rising, fluttery and untamed, a wild animal fighting to claw its way out.

  “You’re doing fuck all,” she answered harshly before lowering her voice. “You’re not ready for this. Grady’s a true blue psychopath. The only reason Ian is still alive is because Grady isn’t into murder. He’s into torture.”

  “Oh God,” Adam whispered, paling. He was overwhelmed by a terrible flood of scenarios, each grimmer than the one before it.

  Mei was quick to reassure him. “Ian’s tough. He’s capable of more than you know, but I have to find him before Grady hurts him in ways we can’t undo.”

  “Please, Mei. Let me come with you guys.”

  “You’re not listening,” she stressed, sharp and to the point. “The last thing Ian wants is that lunatic anywhere near you. Trust me.”

  “I trust you,” Adam fired back. “But, I can’t stand around and do nothing while Ian dies.”

  “No one is dying,” Mei objected. “Now, if you want to help, talk to Katherine.”

  “You told her?”

  “Yes, I called her while I was on my way back.”

  “And?”

  Mei chewed her bottom lip. “Talk to her, Adam. I need every bit of help I can get.”

  “Are you saying she won’t help him?” Adam wasn’t sure why it shocked him, but it did—the utter disregard Katherine displayed toward a man she’d raised as a son.

  “Maybe you’ll have better luck,” Mei suggested.

  “Believe it or not, I’m sure Katherine likes me least. But fine, yes, I’ll talk to her. I want you to promise you’ll do whatever it takes to get Ian back.”

  “I don’t have to,” she told him, wrapping her arms around him, a move that surprised him as she held tight. “He’ll be okay, Adam. I’ll make this right.”

  Adam returned the embrace, fighting to hold back the flood of emotion surging forth, not sure if it came from learning of Ian’s captivity or the first hug he’d had in months. Such an insignificant gesture, but a needed one. The peace brought from simple comfort and understanding, for now enough. Adam held Mei close and let the tears come.

  * * * *

  Minutes later, Adam found Katherine out on the veranda. She was surrounded by potted ferns, enjoying the warming spring day, sipping her tea. The maid led him to the patio doors and no farther, gaze averted as she announced him. Katherine dismissed her with the wave of her hand. The glass doors shut behind him with all the finality of a prison cell slamming shut.

  “You need to do something,” he demanded, not bothering with useless pleasantries.

  “Do I?” Katherine sat her cup on the table next to her and gave him her attention, seeming reluctant.

  Adam stepped farther onto the veranda; his hands curled into tight fists as he fought to keep his temper in check. “You owe him.”

  Katherine crossed her ankles, making herself comfortable. “Tell me, Adam. What do I owe him?”

  “Everything! Every chair, every ridiculous painting. Those gaudy fucking chandeliers—” Adam ranted, gesturing wildly.

  “I will ask that you please refrain from both the vulgarity and the hysterics.” Katherine’s voice held a slight tremor.

  But Adam was quick to catch a glimpse of her seething, unconcealed hostility, there for a millisecond and gone. As if he had imagined it, her expression shifted now as unbothered as a marble statue.

  “Ian knows the rules, far better than you, it seems,” she said, too calm. “He’s made his choice, and from what I’ve gathered, he made it recklessly. Something you’ve had more to do with than you realize.”

  Adam shook with rage. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You. You’re a distraction. Ian would never have been in this position if it weren’t for you, clouding his judgment.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Adam argued, aware of the slight tremor in his own voice, her words hitting too close to home.

  “And you’re far too sentimental for someone in your predicament,” Katherine countered.

  Mother or no mother, Adam fought the urge to lash out, frustration mounting. This woman had raised Ian, and yet, she acted as if he had been little more to her than terrible investment. And, as such, Katherine had no choice but to cut her losses. For Adam, it was a sobering realization. To him, Ian was the ever present thorn in his side. The man who had stripped and taken his life from him. And, yet, Adam would’ve done anything Katherine asked if it meant saving him.

  Adam tried switching tactics. “What becomes of the rest of us without him? Mei and the others, even Kalifa and Hector, depend on him. Without him, all you have is a boat of unstable killers with no anchor.”

  “I never said it was ideal.”

  “It’s a disaster. Distracted or not, reckless or not, Ian keeps this entire ship afloat. Please, Katherine. I promise to stay out of it but give Mei the manpower she needs, the resources, or we’ll all live to regret it.”

  Adam waited to argue further, but to his surprise, she agreed. “All right. Mei can have what she requires so long as you both know not to come back here empty handed. I want him whole or not at all. Understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Adam swallowed back the lump in his throat, unable to shake the dawning realization of having sold his soul to the devil. A debt signed and pledged for with his blood. Goosebumps broke across his skin as she held his gaze. Adam shuddered, catching a glimpse of reptilian coldness, slithering below the surface. In no uncertain terms, he belonged to her now. He and Ian both.

  Chapter 8

  Three days passed without reprieve, and hope for freedom grew fainter. Rescue was a far dimmer light. And still, Ian clung to its possibility. His pride kept him fighting, though, with each passing day, he drew closer to death. Ian had dealt with his fair share of torture. But the psychopathic tricks Grady had up his sleeve were the stuff of nightmares. No rest, no food, and ceaseless, unrelenting torment. Ian battled to keep from allowing the allure of darkness to take him.

  His mind retreated, desperate to escape the unending beatings, the sickening snap of his bones. Ian cocooned in the safety of his dreams. Dreams of life, freedom, of Adam. He sank into his fantasy, drawing Adam’s face into memory, careful in his recreation of every detail. Yet, as the sketch drew sharper into focus, he found Rhys there before him instead.

  The realization stunned him. Astounded to discover himself on a desolate beach, above him the sky grey and overcast, the wind blustery and frigid, freezing the tears in his eyes. In the distance, he heard seagulls and tasted the salt in the air. Ian fell to his knees, wet sand beneath him as he sobbed, moved to tears. Rhys, a wraith-like vision, years younger than Ian remembered. Nearer Ian’s age.

  Rhys dragged him to his feet, his solid grip real on his skin, and Ian broke a
gain. Rhys here with him, silent, frowning, his brow deepening into a familiar expression. The same face Adam made when angry with him.

  “What did you do, Ian?” Rhys shook him, “What the hell did you do?”

  Ian attempted to twist out of his grasp. Begging and pleading for forgiveness, unable to stomach the hatred in Rhys’s eyes. “Rhys—stop—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “I never wanted him here. Never! And you brought him here!”

  “I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do with him! Please, Rhys, please.” Ian yanked out of his hold and stumbled. Rhys was gone. Ian searched for him, frantic.

  “Rhys? Rhys? Come back. Please don’t go again!” Ian called his pleas unheard, lost to the void.

  Once more Ian sank to his knees, unabashed sobs ripped from his throat, violent and feral. Time lost all meaning as Ian succumbed to his grief until, after ages, a shadow fell over him, making him lift his head. He blinked back bright sunlight as the beach swam in golden yellow.

  Before him, Adam, his smile brilliant, nose sunburned and peeling, his beauty stole the breath from Ian’s lungs. Ian swept him into his arms, kissing his smile, marveling at how warm and real he appeared. Salt and sea intertwined with the taste of each other. Ian took Adam’s face in both hands and kissed him until nothing else mattered.

  “You’re starting to give up,” dream Adam warned, pulling away. No longer smiling, his expression urgent, pensive. Adam’s hands covering his own, squeezed tight, Ian still cradling him close. “You can’t give up. Don’t you dare give up on me.”

  “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Adam refused to listen. “You’re strong. The strongest man I know. Stronger than him.”

  “I can’t—Adam, please, I’m sorry but you have to let me go.”

  “No,” Adam urged. “No, fight him. You fight with everything you have. Promise me, Ian. Do you hear me? Promise me.”

  “Do you hear me, Ian? Ian?”

  Dream Adam’s voice sounded different, familiar still but urgent. A burst of white exploding, bringing blinding, unspeakable agony, hot and unrelenting. The dream was still clinging to the edges of his conscious mind. Images of Adam and Rhys, back and forth, a carousel of distorted memories, whirling past his reach, their voices a swirling cascade.