Page 36 of Rescuing Rebel
“Thank you, Ally.” I keep my voice steady. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.” I leave her with one of our team medics and stride toward the back of the plane. I reach the holding area where Jeb and Gabe stand guard over our prisoner.
With my arrival, the room becomes an interrogation cell, the stark white light illuminating the fear in our captive’s eyes. One look at me, and he knows his secrets will unravel under my questions.
I take a seat.
I take my time.
I take an eternity before I address him.
“You have a problem.” My voice remains deceptively soft.
“Fuck off,” the kidnapper snaps at me, baring his teeth.
I ignore his outburst and continue. “I want to help you.” I intend to drag every shred of truth from him, but first, I must convince him it’s in his best interest to talk.
“Help?” he scoffs, and his gaze flickers toward my hands, then back up to my face, apprehension swirling in his eyes.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s the truth, and I’m honest to a fault.
“Fuck off.” This guy’s vocabulary must be exceptionally small. His eyes narrow, and a sheen of sweat on his forehead shimmers under the overhead lights.
Jeb and Gabe turned on the heat lamps, literally sweating the guy. It’s hard to hold back a grin. It’s the tiny things that make people crack under interrogation.
People think it’s dismembering, disemboweling, and other egregious acts, but the truth is people hate being uncomfortable. Despite the sweat on his brow, the man shivers. His fingers curl into fists.
“Honestly, I’d prefer a simple chat. Tell me what I need and you’ll be left with all your bits and pieces intact.” I lean back, arms crossed. “Or we can do it the hard way. It’s your choice.”
There’s a pause, one heavy with the weight of his decision. His eyes dart between Jeb and Gabe. “I’m not talking to you.”
“It’s your choice. Once we land, it’ll be obvious you failed to deliver Ally Collins as contracted. I’m sure your employers will not like that. How do they react to failure?”
All the blood drains from his face.
“Right. That’s what I thought.” He’s a dead man walking and knows it. I lean in, ready to peel back the layers of his lies, one truth at a time. “Now, what was the plan?”
This guy cares more about his hide than whatever he is being paid. It’s sickening, actually, how easily he breaks.
“Get the girl,” he snarls at me, clicking his teeth together, mimicking a bite.
“And do what with her? I’m sure a tour of sleazy motels in the south wasn’t the goal.” I pull out a pocketknife—a large pocketknife—and clean my nails, acting as if I have all the time in the world.
“I ain’t telling you nothin'.”
“I expect that sort of answer, but I want to let you in on a little secret.” I pause, waiting to see if he’ll respond. When he doesn’t, I continue. “The way I see your problem—”
“Ain’t got no problem.” Again, he snaps at me.
“Your problem is you got caught. It means you’re sloppy. I’m sure your employer doesn’t reward sloppiness. In fact, I’m betting exactly the opposite.”
“What’s that?” The man’s too stressed to know he should shut the fuck up.
He’s more malleable than I thought.
“I think he’ll march you out to a field with a shovel.” No need to elaborate on what comes next—we all know—I just want to fuck with him. “Force you to dig your own grave. Lie down inside of it while he shovels dirt in your face.
He tries to swallow but gags instead.
“Whether you tell me anything or not, your life is over. At least as you know it.” I point the tip of the knife toward him, emphasizing the point. “But I might be able to offer another solution.”