Page 8 of A Sky of Storms
“Fuck Flynn! You’re so dead!” I shouted, pulling against his hold. “Payback is gonna be a bitch for you, bro, and whoever else you roped into this. Just you wait.”
Flynn didn’t reply. Bro must have been too busy trying to hold me down with whomever he convinced to help him.
“You’re a sneaky shit,” I huffed, kicking someone off my leg.
“Why isn’t he out yet?” someone hissed, and I froze. That wasn’t Flynn’s voice. It wasn’t a voice I recognised at all.
“Who—”
A gag was shoved between my lips, and I thrashed, putting all my strength into head-butting whoever the unlucky bastard was in front of me. A satisfying crack sounded as my temple connected with cartilage, and I tore my wrist free from someone’s grip.
Snarling, I made to teleport and get the fuck out of there when something sharp pinched my neck, and my magic suddenly fizzled out, fading away into the deepest recesses of my mind.
I shouted through the gag, my words muffled, as I fought to rise from the bed. I threw a fist to my right, making contact with some asshole. A gruff curse echoed, and I smiled viciously.
“Restrain him,” a man barked, and a bag was shoved over my head as I growled behind the gag.
These fuckers were going to beg for mercy when I got out of this.
I felt a weight on my chest and swung my arms, trying to knock whomever it was off, only to hit the air. They were using their powers on me. I pushed all my strength into fighting them off, but I felt myself fatiguing despite the rage inside me.
My body slackened against my will, and with one last surge of effort, I managed to kick someone before the world slipped away.
Thefamiliarmetallictasteof blood coated my tongue and a thudding pain pulsed through my forehead as I slipped back into consciousness. Rough fabric rubbed against my cheek and nose, reminding me of the attack that brought me here. I’d been jumped in the streets, and even though I’d put up one hell of a fight, my opponents had gotten the better of me and shot me up with something to knock me out.
I remained still, my wrists tied behind my back and ankles strapped to the legs of the chair I was sitting on. I didn’t want to alert whoever was speaking around me that I was awake. The bag over my head inhibited my view of whomever the fuck had the guts to kidnap me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t memorise the sound of every voice in this room. You didn’t need to see someone’s face to recognise them; a person’s voice was as distinct as a birthmark. Over the years, I’d learned to catalogue a scene down to the most minute detail. This wasn’t my first kidnapping and in my line of work, I doubted it would be my last. Though I was rarely on this side of the game.
Those who ran the Terrulian Trials had accepted my nomination to compete which meant life was going to get really fucking interesting. Normally only candidates from House Pluto of Damascon Hollow—or DH—were allowed to compete, but seeing as my gang, The Drakes, now had the leaders under our payroll, things were a little different this time around.
I’d been on some unusual jobs, but I never balked at a challenge, and the trials were just another obstacle between me and my orders. First, I needed to get out of this mess. It wasn’t lost on me that I had been jumped the night before I was supposed to leave for the trials. I was eager to learn what these thugs wanted, just so I could deny them and put them in their place.
I reached for my power to check for any electrical currents in the vicinity. In these modern times, there was always some current pulsing away. No one left the house without a phone or smartwatch, and hell, even the human body had currents sparking inside to manipulate if one had the gift to do so. My brows furrowed as I continued reaching for my power, but I felt nothing. Something was blocking me, and that knowledge tightened my chest with uneasiness. The bag was tugged from my head, and a light like something out of an old gangster movie illuminated the room. Whomever these people were, they were stuck in the olden days. No real criminal worked like this anymore. Why have a swinging globe when you could blind someone with the tap of a phone?
My eyes adjusted quickly to find three men in the uniforms of the Terrulian guard standing before me. There were no windows or decor of note in the room we were in, just smooth grey walls like an isolation cell. One guy stepped forward cockily and slapped me hard across the face. Hello to you too, asshole. He’d be the first one to go.
“Where is he?” the guard demanded; his brown eyes boring into mine. He was at least twice my age, judging by the wrinkles beside his eyes and the stormy colour of his hair. A scar cut through his right brow, giving me the impression that he had some experience in the darker side of his occupation. I smiled. Reaching his age meant he was either very good at his trade or very green when it came to interrogations. My money was on the latter. I was no small fry and these scare tactics? This was foreplay. “Speak!”
The idiot was in way over his head. I was a Drake, and we didn’t break, not for the DH cops or the knuckle draggers of rival gangs, and definitely not for any of the assholes standing before me. I assumed they were asking about my boss, Cormac, but if they didn’t know his whereabouts, they’d get nothing out of me. Loyalty to my gang was stronger than any law and worth any torture they could deliver.
“Tell us!”
“Fuck off,” I growled, receiving a hit to the side with a metal bar from the blond guy on the left, breaking at least one of my ribs. Son of a bitch. Scratch what I said before, that beanpole was first up.
“Speak now or it will only get worse,” the guy in front of me said. He must have been the leader of this little trio as the other two waited by his side for direction like good little pups. “The choice is yours.”
I smiled wider, reclining in my seat. I knew how this shit went down. They would kill me once I told them what they wanted to know, and if I didn’t break, they’d still kill me—slowly. I wasn’t interested in being tortured to death, but a man’s got principles. Besides, I didn’t plan to let them live long enough to try.
I jostled my tied wrists, testing the ropes only to find them tight and digging into my skin. I had no access to my power or my limbs. I couldn’t even move the fingers on my bionic hand let alone use the weapons hidden in it. They must have disabled it too. Looked like I needed to get creative and luckily, I had a few tricks up my sleeve.
“You really gonna make me get my knuckles bloody, kid?” the leader continued, pacing before me with his hands behind his back. “You’ll only drag out the pain. Is he worth dying for?”
The guy on the left slapped the metal bar in his hand in a shitty attempt at looking threatening. Had these people read the Idiot’s Guide to Intimidation and Torture? The whole thing was so stereotypical it almost made me laugh. I didn’t get the chance though as Beanpole slammed his bar against my chest. I grunted as it connected with my aching rib and rewarded him by spitting blood on his face. His eyes widened furiously, and I laughed as his leader held out a hand to stall the next hit.
“All we need is a location and this could be over.”
“Say please,” I said smugly. The leader waved his hand, and another blow snapped my skull to the side.
I hung my head. “You know what? I’ll tell you,” I croaked, dropping my voice.
