Page 88 of Desecrated Saints
“You’re part of that family now.”
He finally lifts his eyes to mine. “Perhaps.”
Taking the lead this time, I tug his hand so he follows. It’s time to get what we need from Lazlo and end this madness. Bancroft’s deadline is still ticking down at the back of my mind. If we can locate Phoenix, our next challenge will be getting him out.
We need to do something drastic.
And I have just the idea.
CHAPTER 18
PHOENIX
LYDIA - HIGHLY SUSPECT
Shivering violently, I stare up at the cracked ceiling of my cell. They moved me in here several hours ago, needing to scrub the bloodstains from the last place.
The steady throbbing of my right hand has faded into a dull, numb ache as survival instincts kicked in. I held my screams back until they removed the third finger.
Now, my throat is torn and hoarse.
Bancroft wanted everything.
Names. Locations. Plans.
I’ve never set foot inside of Sabre, so I’m fucking worthless. That only angered him more. Afterwards, the beating worsened out of spite. I allowed myself to mentally check out, picturing Brooklyn’s and Eli’s faces.
There’s an aggressive bang on the door before it swings open. Bancroft’s favourite, thick-skulled subordinate, Harrison, peers in at me with palpable glee beneath his military buzz cut and unyielding eyes. The grin on his face can’t mean anything good for me.
“Ready to comply, Kent?”
Using my one uninjured arm to sit up, I gather saliva in my mouth and spit directly at him. Harrison’s smile transforms into a glower as it lands right at his feet.
“Bite me, dickwipe.”
“I’ll take that as a no. That’s cool, man. More play time for us.”
“Want to dislocate my other shoulder? Maybe take another finger?” I snark.
Popping my own socket back in place was one of the most painful things I’ve endured, but I didn’t fancy losing the whole arm.
Harrison smirks. “Nothing quite so pedestrian, don’t worry.”
I can barely shuffle backwards as he approaches, unable to run from his long, confident strides. A steel-capped boot to the face knocks me unconscious. Lost in a dark haze, I come back around to low conversation and the clank of metal bars being secured.
It takes all of my remaining energy to wrestle my heavy lids open. Days of abuse, zero food, and licking droplets of water from my cell walls have left me broken. As my latest prison settles around me, the last of my courage dissipates. I’m locked in a tiny, oppressive metal cage, surrounded by steel bars.
The odd sense of inertia draws me to look down. My cage isn’t screwed into the floor. Instead, I’m dangling several feet in the air. Directly beneath the cage, a vat of murky water awaits. It’s wide enough to fit the entire thing, while a foamy scum floats on the top of black, sludge-like water.
Bancroft’s voice crackles through a speaker. “I’ve grown tired of your lies, Mr Kent. This is your final chance to tell us something of use. After that, you will be disposed of.”
Wrapping a hand around the bars, I laugh maniacally. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I still won’t give you shit. My family won’t leave me here. They’ll kill you soon.”
“Good,” Bancroft declares.
My blood chills. “Good?”
“Let them come. I’m aware that you’re worthless to me, Mr Kent. When your family comes running to save your pitiful hide, I’ll finally have patients Seven and Eight within my grasp. That’s your purpose here.”