Taken: The MISTAKEN Series Complete Third Season

by Peak, Renna

  “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.

  2

  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 l
ife. 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.”

  3

  “At least tell me what you want. Tell me why in the hell I’m being held against my will.” I yanked again on my bound hands, rattling the chair.

  He only lifted a brow, not saying anything.

  We sat there like that, staring at each other, for what seemed like an eternity. I’m sure I could have guessed what he wanted—what information they wanted to get from me. But this was the strangest interrogation that I had ever been a part of. It made no sense—he hadn’t asked me any questions. No demands had been made. It was almost like I wasn’t being interrogated at all. Other than the photos, there had been nothing. Just the pistol whipping and the clicking gun. It was bullshit—if they really knew how to interrogate people, they would have done something. At least told me what they wanted to know.

  Maybe the guy was just a sadistic prick—someone who loved to torture for no reason. Not that anything he had done so far was actually torture. I could imagine a hell of a lot worse things than being teased with a gun at the back of my head. And that was what this was like—a tease. Not torture in the truest sense. Just … something else.

  I let out another sigh. It was almost one of boredom—sitting in a room, staring at someone too stupid to know how to get information from me. “So. Are we just going to sit here looking at each other? It’s not like I don’t have other shit to do. I’m sure you do, too. So—“

  There was an almost imperceptible nod of his head. It was so slight that I might not have even thought it was real if the door behind him hadn’t opened at that moment. His head turned only slightly at the noise of the door opening, but it was enough to let me see that he had something in his ear. It was tiny, but it was definitely some kind of communication device. Someone was telling him what to do. He wasn’t too stupid to know how to torture me after all. He had just been following orders.

  I’m not sure what it was about that knowledge that made my heart race so fast it felt like it might explode in my chest. Other than my hands clenching the bars of the chair behind me so tightly that I was sure my knuckles had turned white, I was completely frozen.

  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead when the three men entered the room. One was another suit—similar to the guy sitting in front of me. One of the official men, though I still had no idea who they were or where they were from. It was the other two guys who made my legs stiffen, ready to run if I’d had any opportunity.

  Military. The other two—the non-suits—there was something about them that screamed military.

  I clenched my jaw again, trying like hell to cover up my quivering chin. They couldn’t just torture me. Not without trying to crack me first. They wouldn’t just start with the hardcore torture. No one had even asked me to talk. No one had asked me a goddamned th
ing.

  The two military guys lifted my chair with me in it in one fluid, coordinated motion—like it was nothing. Like I didn’t weigh anything at all.

  I didn’t want to kick my legs like a little girl, and it wasn’t like I could have even if I had wanted to. The way they picked me up, chair and all—each had a hand clamped over my ankle, strapping me to the chair.

  I hadn’t noticed anything behind me. I hadn’t been able to look behind where I was sitting—not with the gun clicking over and over against the back of my head. But I somehow knew what was back there. Something inside me knew exactly what was about to happen to me.

  The new suit walked over to supervise as the two guys expertly unclamped my legs from their hold against the chair. Before they could do anything else, I arched my back, pulling myself out of their grasp. I fell to the floor, the chair landing on my chest, twisting my arms awkwardly to the side.

  It was like everything happened in slow motion—one of the men picked up the chair and shoved it so hard into my chest that it knocked the wind out of me. Then he did it again in the same spot. And again. It was only a moment before I was rendered incapacitated—I was just lying there, unable to suck in a breath.

  They lifted me again, strapping my ankles to a narrow board and somehow maneuvering the rest of my body onto it. They released one wrist from my cuffs before strapping it to a shackle and then doing the same to my other arm before strapping my chest down as well. If I’d had any amount of fight left in me, I would have tried to take a swing at them before they could chain me down. But every ounce of energy I had was going into trying to get a single breath. It was an impossible struggle. I knew I had already lost before I had really even begun.

  Flat on my back, I knew what was coming. I knew they were going to tip me upside down—I knew there was some kind of vat of water below me. They were waterboarding me, and they still hadn’t asked me to talk.