Kiss her because she distracted him in all the best ways.
Kiss her because affection had been a rarity in her life.
Kiss her because he just fucking needed to kiss her.
A fist slammed into his jaw, dragging him back from the more provocative image of the woman he loved, to stare at the ugly mug of the grotty little fuck in charge of today’s abuse.
He faced Dirk.
Mistake
Dirk smiled, even as he tasted the copper on his tongue. The lucky shot had cut the inside of his cheek against his teeth. Wrapping his hands around the chain holding him up, he hauled himself up as he latched his legs around the dumbass’ neck and shoulders. Too late, the fucker saw his mistake.
Too late for him anyway.
A sharp crack echoed through the dark chamber, and the guy’s eyes went blank as death took him. Dropping his legs, he let the corpse land at his feet and then relaxed against the chains again to resume just hanging there.
He’d almost gotten used to the looseness in his shoulders from having to hold his weight up constantly. No one had rushed in to save the bastard, nor had they rushed in after he died. Hopefully, they’d show up before the corpse began to stink, but without the distractions, he focused on Valda again.
She’d been on the cusp of waking when they’d been taken. After five, long, brutal years, they’d finally succeeded. Largely because of the damn hot shot pirate changing the rules. A part of him wanted to thrash him for his reckless behavior, but it had been the right decision. Valda had found her own way out of the memoriam, but it would never have happened without Hatch’s choices.
Granting her access to her memories of every iteration as they’d tried to get through to her had been genius. And as if they’d been summoned by her ejection, Blossom Foundry sent in their mercs. Dirk should have realized, should have planned.
He had planned. Didn’t change the fact that they’d shown up in the first place. It made sense, they’d been sniffing around since Hatch acquired their tech and began making adjustments to it in order to save the woman they loved. It had been a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it worked.
A curse because it had taken so many years and so much pain to get them there.
Then these fuckers took him before…
The door opened on the far side, and Dirk dragged his eyes open almost lazily. Affecting boredom wasn’t a challenge. He was bored with the endless beatings and zero questions. Frankly, he wouldn’t ask himself any questions either. His training had included resistance to torture, survival techniques and more. But it wouldn’t have mattered.
These guys could have only wanted one thing.
The memoriam or Valda.
They’d get neither out of him.
The man who entered stood a little over six feet, his dark hair circled his head like a coronet, leaving the center bald from his forehead to his mid-crown. Fine lines marked the corners of his eyes and deeper grooves at the edge of his lips. A man used to frowning and smiling. Unlike the fatigues every other bastard employed here wore, he dressed in a silk suit that probably cost a mint to have made.
High quality items were expensive before the first wave of the pandemic. After? They were obscene. The man had to be wearing a few hundred thousand dollars right down to his fine leather shoes. One would think the man could afford hair plugs with clothing like that.
Pulling a handkerchief from inside his jacket pocket, he placed it almost delicately over his nose and mouth. Blood-flecked spittle flew from Dirk’s mouth as he barked out a laugh.
Dark eyes focusing on him, the man cocked his head to the side. “Death amuses you?”
Letting his eyes half-close to mere slits, Dirk didn’t respond. Changing tactics from brutality to gentility wouldn’t work, so he just let them play it out however it went.
“And still…” the man said as he lowered the handkerchief to study him. At least he possessed the intelligence to stay out of reach. Dirk didn’t care how many of them he had to kill. He’d take them all if it meant affording Valda safety. Hopefully, Oz and Andreas had the sense to get her out of the compound as soon as she was able. “You refuse to speak. I would have thought my men were exaggerating, but I have reviewed all of the footage.”
Campbell would have gotten them out of there. Extraction plans existed for a reason. He would have acted swiftly the minute Dirk and Hatch had been taken. Refusing to pull that thread, he emptied those thoughts though.
“No matter what we do, neither of you say a word.”
One method of interrogation was to offer information, an exchange and a sense of alliance.
If that was his goal? Boy did they pick the wrong person.
Still, Dirk maintained his silence.
Pressing the handkerchief to his face again, he snapped the fingers of his free hand. The metal of the door gave a hiss as it slid open, allowing four other men into the room. These looked more like the dead Yank on the floor, right down to the same olive-green fatigues, military cuts, and dead eyes.
Maybe they’d created replicants. That, or he found this whole batch from the training camp of Soulless, Fucked, and Damned.
Two of them removed the corpse. A third set a chair down for his guest and then followed the other two out. The fourth remained, his ramrod straight posture almost painful where he stood a foot behind the suit, hands clasped behind his back.
So, the suit might be the brains or the money, but the other was there for protection or to just begin delivering the next beating.
As such, Dirk ignored him.
“Now,” the suit said as if they were sitting down to tea. “Where were we? Oh yes, you’re not talking and neither is the other man. Hatch is his name, yes?”
No answer. Eventually, the man would grow tired of being ignored and order the beating to continue, and Dirk could go back to entertaining dreams of Valda living her life again.
Even if he couldn’t be there to see it, he would be satisfied with having made it possible.
“I can have this conversation with myself, Captain. I’m very well aware of your past and with the assignment that took you to Dr. Bashan in the first place. I think we are both adults, and we can stand to talk about this in a civilized manner.”
If he was so aware, then he really didn’t need Dirk’s participation.
“Had you not fought back when my men attempted the approach, perhaps we could have had this conversation under better circumstances.”
No comment.
“The simple fact is we need your assistance, and I can assure you that your friend and Dr. Bashan require you to cooperate.” The man stated it as though it were a fact, so Dirk focused on relaxing his bruised and abused muscles. He might as well take advantage of the break.
The silence dragged out, and the man let out an almost aggravated sigh before he said, “Bring the other one.”
“He’s not regained consciousness yet.” The merc didn’t betray an ounce of emotion in the terse statement.
“I don’t need him to be conscious for this. Just bring him. Crider’s plan has gotten us nowhere, and we’re changing how we handle this today.”
“Yes, Mr. Smithson.”
Without another ounce of argument, the man strode from the room, leaving Dirk alone with Smithson. The man in question dabbed the handkerchief against his face before he tucked it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. A jacket he then shed before he began rolling up the sleeves of his crisp, dark blue shirt.