Page 44 of Deep Within Me

“And that means?”

Jacob pulled his arm away from Zeke. “Some of the men tried to get them to talk. They wouldn’t tell us shit. Paul suggested torture. The guys were all for that. I talked them down. Said we’d leave it to you.”

“I’m not going to torture anyone.” Zeke refused to sink to Carreon’s level. Right now, he simply wanted to get a good look at them.

He and Jacob went down three more halls. In the middle of the last, Jacob slowed and rested his hand against the wall. The hidden door swung inward. Within the small room, Paul and Kele sat to the left. Assault rifles rested on each of their laps.

Despite Kele’s weapon, relief whispered through Zeke when he saw that her nails were unpolished. Probably always had been.

More than a bit of remorse crossed her features. Studiously, she avoided looking at Jacob. That one action told Zeke that even if she hadn’t relinquished his brother in her mind, she wasn’t going to make a play for him again. She’d seen where her jealousy had led and seemed to have no desire to return to those days.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked. “I will if you want.”

Zeke gestured Kele back into her chair and regarded the prisoners across from them, disturbed by what he saw. Or rather, what he didn’t see.

Neither of the men had hair long enough to blow in the wind. They’d shaved their heads like Carreon’s. Their features were rough rather than handsome, their clothes a solid black rather than blue denim. They also appeared older than the man in Zeke’s vision, possibly mid-thirties.

Did they know who the other man was? Would they tell him?

Hatred filled their eyes even though the clan had brought them food.

An empty plate and coffee cup were stacked on the nightstand from the breakfast one of them had enjoyed. The other had barely started to eat.

Why? Had he held back, thinking the food was poisoned or drugged? Had he waited until his partner had finished to see what would happen?

The man shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs and hash brown potatoes into his mouth and chewed slowly. Manacles held his and his partner’s ankles to the chairs on which they sat. Each had his left hand secured to the arm of the chair, leaving the other free in order to eat.

Zeke spoke to them. “If Carreon’s not at his stronghold, where would he be?”

The man on the right, who was bulkier than his companion, stared at a spot on the wall above Kele’s head.

The other spat. The food in his mouth sprayed Zeke’s jeans.

Paul stood so quickly, the legs of his chair scraped the floor. He pointed his weapon at the one who’d spat.

“Easy.” Zeke put his hand on the barrel, lowering it. Icy determination rather than rage coursed through him.

Paul growled, “A couple of bullets to his knees, like what they did to Samuel, will get him to talk.”

The man spat again.

“No,” Zeke said. “We’ll let Carreon deal with them like that.”

The prisoners exchanged a glance then regarded Zeke cautiously.

“After you’ve been here awhile, we’re going to release you,” he said. “Right into Carreon’s lap. No matter what you tell him really happened here, he’ll believe you talked. You told us all of his secrets. What do you think he’ll do about that?”

The men’s swarthy faces turned pale.

“You have two choices,” Zeke explained. “You tell us what you know and join us, or face Carreon once we send you back to him.”

“You’re lying,” the bulkier one growled.

“Care to find out if that’s true?” Jacob asked.

They exchanged another glance with each other.

Now that Zeke had their attention, he asked, “Which one of Carreon’s men is in his late twenties with dark hair, longish past his ears? He’s a pretty boy, not like you guys. What the ladies would call handsome. What’s his name? Who is he?”