“The cult in California?” Dominic asks. I nod. “How old is she?”
“Almost eighteen. Can you help her? I need to get her away from there before her birthday.”
“Do you have family anywhere else?”
“I haven’t talked to anyone in years, but my dad’s family lives on the east coast. Or at least they did fifteen or so years ago. I haven’t seen my dad since I was really little.”
“Can you work with Max on figuring all of that out? As much detail as you can remember will help us,” Kincaid says as he stands. “We need to get out of here. The jet is cleared for takeoff at seven.”
“I can,” I agree. “And if it’s really okay, I think I’d like to stay here for a little while.”
“You’re welcome as long as you like.”
Chapter 24
Thumper
“This again?” I grumble when rough hands pull at the front of my ripped shirt.
“Today’s the day, motherfucker,” Ernesto’s right-hand man growls in my ear as he practically drags me out of the cell. “We have better shit to do, and we’ve already wasted too much time on you. Tell Ernesto where Juan’s body is because I’m growing fucking tired of this shit.”
I’m deadweight under his hands, and I don’t think I could help him get myself to the chair in the middle of the room if I wanted to. I don’t want to. They could kill me in the cell at this point and it would just be easier for everyone. If they took a page out of Miguel’s book, they would know that putting a bullet in my head would be less work for them if they did it at whatever location they plan to dump my body, but like I said, I’m not in a position to help them.
The man cusses under his breath as he struggles to sit me upright in the chair. My body is beaten and bruised. The swelling in my left wrist should be a concern, but like he said, after today, it won’t even matter. The tightness in my face is either from inflammation or dried blood, but it’s not like I’ve been given the chance to look in a mirror to assess the damage done to me. My arms look like a bloody roadmap, cuts carved into my skin with little to no precision.
“Are you going to talk today?”
I nod my head as best I can, my head feeling like a useless heavy weight. I struggle to breathe when it falls forward, my chin resting on my chest. His touch is violent and filled with irritation when he shoves me in the forehead to push my head back.
“You better.”
A slap rings out, my head jolting to the side, but right now is no better—or should I say worse—than it was the last time I was strapped to this chair because I feel absolutely nothing.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m overcome with guilt and grief. I’ve never fucked up so royally on a case before. I’ve never had to open my eyes in the morning knowing that more than half a dozen souls were snuffed out due to my own actions. Miguel mentioned that he slit the throats of three women, which means that there’s a chance that Lauren survived. Hopefully, she hid when shit started going down, but I know the woman, and it’s not really in her wheelhouse to hide and shrink away from danger. I squeeze my good eye closed and ask for forgiveness for the loss of her life as well since it just makes more sense than being lucky enough to survive the massacre.
Time passes as I sit here, either seconds or decades, but I’m too out of it to get a grip on such meaningless things. I can sense the man near me, that part of my training is still partially intact, but he doesn’t speak or threaten me with his tools of torture, something he says he’s bored with now but took great pride in every other time I’ve been in this position.
Or maybe he is speaking, and my brain just can’t process it.
I mentally appeal to any higher power listening that this ends quickly, that the lies I tell Ernesto don’t keep me alive longer so he can verify if I’m telling the truth. I have no idea why we left the house so quickly if finding the body was his only goal. It would’ve made more sense for him to torture me there than dragging me to wherever we are now. At least then I would be closer to what was left of Cara.
Ernesto’s worry about laying his brother to rest makes me question what will happen with the bodies of those left behind, and I smile taking some solace that Braden was coming the following morning to get the other three women. If Miguel killed them and the staff, maybe the FBI will actually take the time to collect those bodies and deal with them properly, but I know that’s a long shot. I feel like I’ve wasted my life on an organization that I know is capable of just walking away and letting them rot until the house is sold to the next evil man planning to put those cages in the basement to use.