Page 158 of Strays
Shane kicks it three times in rapid succession.
First, the metal creaks. The second cracks the frame. Third, the lock gives and the door flings inward with a hollow boom that echoes down the corridor like a warning shot.
We move fast in tight formation. The office is straight ahead: a sealed room built into the warehouse’s gut, all black-tinted glass from the outside, glowing soft and sterile from within. The glass door is ajar.
We bolt, getting inside in a second, guns locked on the figure at the far end of the office.
He’s dressed too clean, wearing a fitted button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow. There’s a duffel open on the desk beside him, half-packed with laptops and flash drives.
He turns when the door slams, and I can see the calm on his face, just a flicker of surprise under all that arrogance.
He’s not afraid. All this time he has never really been cornered. The police could never get him. The law could never touch him. Every time it came close, he buried it in paperwork, bureaucracy, money, influence. He knows how to make the law fold. He knows the system bends if you push it with enough power.
It takes him a second to realize that this time he’s wrong. His eyes scan the blood smeared on our clothes and our skin, then stop on our faces. I watch the calm crack as it sinks in. This isn’t a raid. This isn’t a cage he can buy his way out of. We don’t want a confession for court. We’re not interested in a warrant or a plea deal.
Nothing he built to protect himself means anything to us, and because of that, there’s no way out for him.
I take a step closer and look him in the eye. This is the man who took Jo from me. The man who took my mother.
I’ve killed people before. Aegis units don’t get traffic stops or noise complaints. Most of the time we’re sent where violence is already happening, where someone’s going to die, one way or another. I don’t even know my body count anymore, but it was always duty, never pleasure.
This is different. This is the first time in my life that I feel the bloodlust, hot and sharp. But I can’t kill him. We need information, so we need him breathing.
I move before he can speak. One step. Two. He starts to raise a hand, maybe to talk, maybe to beg, but I grab his wrist and slam it down on the desk.
He screams and stumbles back a step, but Jay’s already behind him, driving him forward again and shoving him into the chair.
I trap his hand under mine. His face is scared now, his eyes frantic from each one of us to another.
“You want me to break fingers or knuckles?” I ask.
His mouth opens and closes.
I curl my fingers around his index and bend until I feel the snap. He screams,high and wet, his shoes scraping the floor, trying to twist, but Shane’s locking his shoulders down.
“Already chose for you,” I say. “So now you listen.”
Jay crouches beside him, sets one of the stolen rifles down, slow and casual. “Here’s how this works,” he says, like he’s explaining a menu. “You took something from us, and if you want to keep breathing, you’re going to give it back.”
Aranya’s eyes are glued to his hand, still trapped under mine. His breathing is fast, a small wince with every inhale.
“Our nyra,” I growl. “Where is she?”
“I—I don’t—” His voice cuts out when I take the middle finger in my hands and press until I hear the bone crushing.
His eyes go wild as he screams, drops of sweat pouring from his pale skin, already turning a little green. This piece of shit isn’t good with pain. Only two fingers and he’s ready to pass out.
My voice is even lower. “I’ll ask again, and if you don’t give me a direct answer, this time, I will slip my index finger inside your eye socket, and I will pull your eye out.” I stare into his eyes so he knows I’m not lying. “Where. Is. She.”
“Bushkill,” he pants.
It makes sense. Bushkill is a small, wooded area, quiet and remote. Far enough to hide someone with no one asking questions.
“Is she alive?” Shane asks.
“Yes! Just sedated!”
My hand moves to his pinky. He flinches, sweat dripping off his nose.
