Taken: The MISTAKEN Series Complete Third Season (25 page)

U
nder normal circumstances
, I would have told the asshole to fuck off. Considering he had the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my head, I decided to bite my tongue for the moment. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t just beaten the shit out of me. He’d already hit me twice on the side of the head with the thing, and I could feel my eye beginning to swell where he had struck me the last time.

I heard the gun click again. He was screwing with me—messing with my mind in a way I couldn’t remember ever having been fucked with before. I had to remind myself of that—
he’s just fucking with me.
The scar on the right side of my belly burned at that moment, reminding me of the last time I had thought someone was just threatening me. Just fucking with me to get information. Maybe this time was really it. Maybe I had finally run out of chances, like a cat that had used his ninth life.

The gun clicked again. I knew he was just cocking the damned thing and then disengaging it. I thought I was holding it together pretty well. I hadn’t flinched once at the sound, but it was a good thing the asshole couldn’t hear the way my heart sped up more than a few beats every time I heard the damned click.

“Just pull the trigger already.” I didn’t want to die. Not really. I had too much left to do, and there was no way they were going to break me with a gun. They had to know that. I had put up with a hell of a lot more than a gun that may or may not have been loaded pressed to my head. In a lot of ways, I’d had a metaphorical gun against my head this whole time.

Twenty-five years
. Maybe longer. I shook my head at the thought—had it really been that long? Almost my entire life that I had been stuck in this mess? I only had an idea of when it had started—I couldn’t really remember it. I had only been a little kid, and what I really remembered of my life at that time was murky at best. But I knew I was done. If I ever managed to get away from this dickhole and get out of this room, I was leaving. I wasn’t ever going to put up with this kind of shit again.

It was time to get out for good—no man should have to put up with this much for this long. It was time to get Jen out of this godforsaken country and just
leave
. There was nothing left for me here. They were done with me—I was fairly certain of that. And if they were done with me, I had no future unless I could get out of here. And I barely remembered who I was anymore—not that I had really ever known who I had been.

It was all a lie. My life was nothing but a huge, tangled web of deceit and I couldn’t remember what was real and what was made up any longer. But Jen—she was real. The aching pang in my chest I felt when I thought about her—
that
was real. It was the only thing I had left to hang onto now. But I didn’t know if there was really anything left with her
to
hang onto. Not after what had happened. I didn’t even know where she was—if she was alive or dead. I imagined it had to be the latter—if these were the guys I thought they were, neither of us was going to make it out alive. And they wouldn’t keep her alive for any reason other than to torture me—they would have made
me
watch
her
be tortured if she was still alive. Because if they were smart—and I had no reason to think they were idiots—they would know that
she
was the only thing that could break me. Jen was the only thing that had ever broken through the wall. She was the only person who ever could. And she was the only reason I had left to live at that point. And if she was gone…

The gun clicked behind my head again. My jaw clenched, my teeth grinding together. If the handcuffs that were biting into my wrists hadn’t bound my hands behind me, I would have pounded something. Anything. Because the quivering I was feeling in my muscles had nothing to do with fear anymore. Not after realizing that the only reason I wouldn’t have seen her yet was because she wasn’t there to see. And at least if I was dead, there was a chance I would see her again. Not that I really believed in an afterlife—I just had to hope that there would be something on the other side that would make it worth going through all of
this.

“Just do it.” I gritted my teeth again, waiting for the next click of the gun, which I hoped on some level would be the last.

“Hmph.” It was almost a chuckle—the asshole actually sounded
amused
by this. He clicked the gun again before he finally spoke. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Get you off the hook pretty easy.” He chuckled again—almost making fun of me.

“Either tell me what the hell you want with me or just pull the trigger.” Not that I was going to tell him or anyone else a fucking thing. Even if I did talk to him—or to any of the other people I assumed were watching through the multiple mirrored windows in the room, I wasn’t sure it was going to do any good. And it wouldn’t necessarily even be
real
. I was pretty sure I had no idea what was reality and what was fiction any longer. And these guys—they weren’t the people to tell, anyway. I didn’t know who they were, and I was positive they had no idea who I was. Hell,
I
wasn’t sure who I was anymore.

Brandon. Richardson. That was all they needed to know. If it were over—if this were the end, they would know the truth. I hoped they would, anyway. I hoped
someone
knew who I was—who I used to be. But I couldn’t break now. I knew I had failed—falling in love with Jen had made me fail
myself
. It was never part of the mission. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to be unbreakable—unfeeling. That was what was supposed to protect me. But I wasn’t that man—I wasn’t someone who could just shut off that part of me that longed to
care
about something.

I flipped through the last several years of my life like a Rolodex in my mind. I had cared about a few things. A few people. I had felt guilty about some of the things I had done. Not many, but some. It was how I was trained. It was what I was meant to be—I was supposed to be a monster that didn’t feel remorse. But I did. I always had. Whatever I had learned, I hadn’t ever really learned how to shut off that part of myself—that part that
felt
. I had learned to pretend I didn’t care—well enough that I was sent out into the world to do the horrible things I had done. But there had always been that little part of me that
knew
—that couldn’t erase the memories the way I was supposed to. And since I had stopped drinking—
Christ, how long ago had that been?
It had been hurting me all the more.

I had fucked something up along the way. It was the only way I could have been here now—stuck in some room that I was positive was some kind of auditorium for a government installation. They hadn’t even asked me anything yet—nothing worth a squirt of piss, anyway. They had shown me some pictures, but they hadn’t asked me if I had known the men in them. It was like they wanted to see if I
reacted
to them. That was it. Just if I had some reaction.

Of course, I hadn’t reacted.
That
was something I
could
control. If nothing else, I was in perfect control of how I reacted to everything. Except when it came to Jen.

I just couldn’t help feeling there was something wrong here. If this were a government operation, they couldn’t touch me. But they had
definitely
touched me—my groin still ached from the nut shot the guy clicking the gun behind my head had given me when I had first been brought into the room. He hadn’t even given me a chance to tell him to go fuck himself—he had just kneed me in the balls. Only a government guy would feel like he had the power to just kick a guy in the crotch for no reason. This had to be the government.

If these were Ryan’s guys—or worse, Ryan’s
father’s
guys—we wouldn’t have been in the sterile, police station-like interrogation room. Those guys wouldn’t have bothered with the audience thing—they would have just tortured me to get what they wanted. Or tortured
Jen
.

Fuck.

I had to know. I didn’t want to die until I knew for sure that she was dead. And if she was dead, nothing else really mattered anymore. I just had a choice to make—did I spill my guts and tell them what I thought was true, or did I go to my grave with my secrets? It didn’t seem like a difficult choice. I had held onto them this long—it sure as hell wasn’t like it was going to matter one way or the other to me. And if I spilled, I would be betraying the one thing I had thought was
right
. The only thing I had thought was actually
honorable
—not that there was much about me anymore that could be described by that word. Honorable. That wasn’t me. I was a disgrace, in more ways than one.

But I loved Jen. And it was somehow more than that. The way I felt almost breathless when I thought about her. The way I just wanted to be with her—to hold her all the time. To feel her with me. To be one with her—shit, that was cheesy, but that’s what it was. I wanted her to be a part of me.

My heart quickened a bit again, just thinking about her. And then the gun clicked again.

I spoke through my gritted teeth. “What are you waiting for? Just pull it. Do it.” It was agony—the not knowing part. But I couldn’t feel her there—I didn’t sense her presence at all. If she had been behind one of those mirrors, I was sure I would have known. I couldn’t explain
how
I knew that I would sense her—but I knew I would. And there was nothing
Jen
here. I didn’t know if it meant she was dead or just
absent.
Not here. And I wasn’t sure I could bear what I knew would happen to my heart if I found out she was dead.

I
had
no idea how long I had even been there, listening to the clicking of that gun.

Click
.

But it wasn’t going to break me. If this guy had wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. He was waiting. He and the other people behind the mirrors were
waiting
.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. Maybe they were waiting for Jen. Maybe that was what this was about—not that I wanted her here. Not that I wanted her to see
this
. And I definitely didn’t want to see what they might do to her. But the thought that maybe she was still alive. Maybe she wasn’t being tortured. Maybe they had no idea that she and I…

Click.

That was stupid.
Everyone
knew about Jen. I had been way too careless about it. People knew—people had seen me with her. I had been photographed with her.
That
shit had never been in the playbook—hell,
she
had never been in the playbook. Not like that. And fuck it all, that was so long ago, I barely remembered anyway. Someone had talked to me about her though I couldn’t quite remember who it was. It had been a possible avenue—using her. Definitely
not
falling in love with her. That part of me was supposed to be dead—the part that could
love
or feel anything at all. But it wasn’t. I was pretty sure it wasn’t, anyway. That breathlessness—I was pretty sure I knew what it was. The stupid fluttery feeling in my gut when I saw her—they hadn’t been able to turn
that
off. I adored her. I
loved
her. That was the only explanation. They must have missed something when they trained me not to
feel
…

Click.

It was just getting annoying now. The clicking every few seconds. Click on. Click off.

I let out a long breath, almost exasperated. “Just pull it already. Fuck.” I could feel my face getting red and my jaw clenched again.

The guy let out a chuckle again.

I narrowed my gaze though there was no one else in the room to see it. “If you were going to kill me, you would have pulled the trigger already. So either do it or put the fucking thing away.”

There was no chuckle that time, only another click. A long moment passed and I heard the shuffling sound of clothing.

He had done what I said—he must have put the gun back in his holster.

Another long moment passed and he finally walked around to sit on the opposite side of the table. I hadn’t seen him since the initial blow to my balls—he had stood behind me since, striking me with the gun twice before the incessant clicking of the safety had started. I still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened or how I had come to be there. The last thing I remembered before waking up in this room had been having seen Jen in the back of a car—I had
thought
it was Jen, anyway. I wasn’t positive about it—I wasn’t sure about anything if I had to admit it. But I had
felt
her—the same way I knew it was Jen before I saw her. It was all pretty woo-woo—the same kind of bullshit I had given my grandmother crap about. And I didn’t like it—I especially didn’t like that I couldn’t explain it. But I had known it was Jen in that car. And then … nothing. Blackness until I woke up here.

I had dreamed that she was screaming. I fucking
hoped
I was dreaming, because it was horrible. My stomach twisted into a knot just thinking about hearing that scream—it was the worst thing I had ever heard in my life. I was supposed to protect her—that was what people who loved each other did. I was supposed to get her out of this mess—
my
mess. My fiasco. It was mine, wasn’t it? This was all my doing; at least I thought it was. I was sure I had caused most of this disaster. And I owed it to her to get us both out. That was my only objective in coming to Vegas—so we could get married and get out.

It was old-fashioned, sure. And I blamed my grandmother—it was what she would have wanted. I loved Jen and I only wanted to make it official. It would have made everything else easier, too—that was a bonus. Getting her to the altar without a shred of prenuptial paperwork would have made
everything
easier.

I hated this—the uncertainty. I wasn’t a waffler. But I couldn’t be decisive about anything until I knew what in the fuck was going on—who was holding me here, at least. The why part wasn’t as important.

I looked over at the man who had sat down in front of me. I hadn’t ever seen him before in my life. He was a little older than me—maybe in his late-thirties. About my height, but not as muscular. I was pretty sure I could take him, especially if he didn’t see it coming. His neck would snap without too much effort. If I could get my hands on the pen that was on the legal pad in front of him, I could stab him in the neck. That was probably the better option—messier, but quicker and equally lethal.

But then I remembered the mirrors. Even if I could somehow get out of the handcuffs, there would be someone else in this room before I could escape. I could kill
this
guy, but probably not the half-dozen that I was sure they would send in if I attacked him. And then I
would
be dead, and I would never know if Jen was even alive.

The guy was a douchebag—I could see it on his face. The amused little smile that never left his face made me want to kill him just for that, regardless of the fact that he had been holding a gun to my head for fuck knew how long.

My teeth almost ground together, my voice a low growl. “What the fuck do you want from me?” I pulled on my handcuffs, which didn’t just bind my wrists, but were also threaded through the back of my chair for good measure. The chain made an almost banging sound as I pulled my wrists back and forth against the bars of the chair. “I don’t know any of those men.” I wrenched my arms back and forth again, mostly just to display how pissed off I was at the situation. “Don’t you at least need to read me my rights? Aren’t I entitled to a lawyer?” Not that I really wanted one. I just knew how much it pissed off the law enforcement-types when someone said they wanted to lawyer up. I had no use for a lawyer. There was nothing legal about me—not a single thing that an attorney could have helped me with.

The man just shook his head, the same almost amused smirk on his lips.

“Then tell me what the hell you want from me.”

The asshole chuckled again. “All in good time, friend.”

“I doubt that you have any friends.” I banged the chair again with my wrists. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere and that they were never going to remove them. “Are the cuffs really necessary?”

He lifted a brow. “I would say so. Yes.”

Fuck. That meant he knew who I was. Or at least he thought he did. It had been worth a shot, though—and it just reinforced my opinion that they guy wasn’t a total fucking idiot.

There wasn’t much I could do—the chair was metal or I would have at least tried to break the rails that held my hands to it. My legs weren’t shackled—if I could have broken my hands free from the chair I could have jumped the cuffs and at least had my hands in front of me. I could have killed him with the chain—choked the life right out of him. It was amazing how those were the things that stuck—that was the part of the training that hadn’t left me, even after all these years. The part that had faded was the part that would have allowed me to feel nothing afterward—not that I would have regretted killing this asshole. Much.

If I was going to live, I needed to get that part of myself back. The part that Jen had helped me find without even knowing it. The part that was able to care. To love. The part that was supposed to be dead, but somehow wasn’t.

I kicked the leg of the table, making the guy almost jump out of his seat, his eyes widening with what I could only describe as terror.

I narrowed my gaze. “Was that why you were fucking with the gun on the back of my head? Afraid of me?”

His own gaze narrowed. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

My brow furrowed as I looked him over again. There was nothing familiar about him. He had a small scar over his right eyebrow—it was the only thing unusual about him. It was how I remembered faces—everyone had
something
unusual or unique about them. I flipped through the mental Rolodex again, but nothing came up for him. There were no right eyebrow scars that I remembered—and I was positive that it was the one thing I would have recalled.

He smiled, rubbing his temple right above the mark I had been studying. “You’ll remember soon enough. And I’ll lobby hard to be the one to pull the trigger when the time comes.”

I shrugged. “I told you to just do it now. I’m not afraid to die.” I gave him my own small smile. “I’m ready when you are.”

He nodded. “And that’s why you’re chained to the chair. And will stay that way for the time being.”