14
FINALLY, WE CAME TO THE end of the staircase, a seven-foot door of steel and bolts just ahead of us. Brendan’s keycard brought us through the threshold and into a long path wedged between two rows of widely spaced holding cells. Each cell was sealed by solid red iron doors.
“It’s like a refrigerator in here.” Even beneath my long-sleeve shirt, I could feel the hairs on my arms stand on end. “It’s dead quiet, too.”
“By design.” Brendan’s glasses were once again neatly positioned on the bridge of his nose, his air of superiority back in full force. “The walls and the doors are all soundproof. The temperature is down in the cells too.”
“To make the prisoners especially compliant,” Rhys said. His grim expression had returned too. “Which cell is his?”
The only way I could differentiate between the identical cells were the tiny numbers carved out of black metal and nailed to the doors.
Without answering, Brendan set off down the hallway. Rhys and I followed after him silently until we reached the thirteenth cell on the right wall.
My chilled breaths disappeared into the air. “Why am I down here, anyway?”
Brendan looked at me. “He said he would speak only to you.”
A swipe from his keycard across the security pad and the door opened. The cell was deeper than it looked from the outside. Blinding white. Several feet away, Vasily’s blond hair, matted with sweat and blood, spilled over the table he’d been strapped onto. The brown leather latches pinned his emaciated body down so tightly I could see his ribs poking out through his white T-shirt. His eyes were closed, shut perhaps from the blood dripping over them.
“What is this?” I covered my mouth and stepped back as Vasily’s hands began twitching over the table. A man stood over him, hunched, though maybe it was just the natural hump of his back. I couldn’t tell if the white garment he wore was a technician’s coat or a straitjacket.
This time when Rhys grabbed his brother’s collar, anger flickered in his eyes. “You brought the Surgeon? You brought him here?”
The Surgeon. That would explain the navy-blue mask covering half his face, the same-colored cap tied around his small head, and the sharp, silver scalpel in his hands. Though judging from the jagged, bloody marks on Vasily’s bare legs, it was obvious he wasn’t trained.
“I suggested it, yes. But the Council voted,” sputtered Brendan.
“Is that your excuse for everything?” Rhys looked livid. “Someone else said it was okay? This man’s supposed to be in prison. I can’t believe the Council released him! How long ago was it? How long ago did they sneak him out and put him back on the payroll?”
“He was a Sect agent. On an elite interrogation team with the North American Division.”
“Yeah,” Rhys said with a disgusted snarl. “Until he went rogue and started kidnapping and carving up the very civilians he was supposed to protect.”
What? My blood chilled as I stared back at a man who’d used the skills the Sect had given him to mutilate innocents. We weren’t that far away. He must have heard us speaking. But the Surgeon was more interested in carving the inside of Vasily’s thigh, stopping just short of where his boxers began.
Cringing, I turned, stifling a gag behind my palm. Vasily wasn’t anyone to cry about, but this was too much.
“The Council is desperate. We need someone with the interrogation skills—”
“Torture skills,” Rhys spat.
“—to get Vasily to talk!” Brendan had had enough. With a burst of strength, he used both arms to push Rhys off of him. “Another city was just attacked by Saul,” he hissed. “You saw them screaming, didn’t you? And members of the Sect might be involved. You were almost killed last night because of it.” His eyes snapped with fire. “So yes. I called in the Surgeon. He doesn’t just use the physical. He’s known for getting inside people’s heads. Playing with their emotions. But with Vasily . . .”
As if on cue, Vasily started coughing, spitting out blood—or was it coughing? Those haggard breaths might have been laughter. Quiet laughter buried in pain. He might have been insane by now. I wouldn’t have even blamed him.
“You should have known Vasily wouldn’t crack,” Rhys said. “You’re so worried about leaks from the Sect, but you brought in someone we once jailed for going rogue.”
“We don’t have to worry about that with Agent Brighton. He’s only ever wanted one thing.”
Brendan let his grim words hang between us as he walked toward the gruesome scene. “Brighton. Give us a minute.”
The Surgeon didn’t speak, though he was clearly reluctant to tear himself away from his patient. I could see it in his tiny, deep black eyes, too close together—the only part of his face he’d left uncovered. Slowly, he stepped back as if the hump of his back made it difficult for him to move. Then Brendan waved me over.
I would rather have been anywhere but here. The sight of Vasily turned my stomach. Between the blood and torn flesh, it was all I could do to keep from throwing up. But Vasily would only talk to me. I didn’t know why, but I intended to find out.
The moment I moved, Rhys grabbed my wrist and pulled me around. I was looking up at him, the hard lines on his strong face melted by a sudden rush of something delicate. The worry was clear in his eyes even as he held me resolutely in place.
“Maia, this is ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to see this. You shouldn’t have to be here.”
The way he reeled me nearer to him made my heart contract for a painful second. He was scared for me. He wanted to protect me. Me.
“Please,” he continued. “I don’t want you to get hurt by this.”
He loosened his grip, and his hand slid down my wrist until I could feel his fingers grazing my palm. “Come on. You don’t have to do this. Let me take you out of here.” His hand closed around mine as he silently pleaded with me.
This was the Rhys I’d come to know. Even with all the questions and mysteries, even with the ever-present fear of what he could be, this was the Rhys that made my pulse quicken. And I—the girl who barely had friends or family, the girl who’d never known how it felt to have someone like him, beautiful and strong, look at her with his deep gaze—had no idea how to resolve the warring impulses in me. Should I fear him or not? Should I believe Natalya or not?
“He’s tied up,” I told him quietly in lieu of an answer. “I’ll be fine.”
“It’s Vasily,” Rhys whispered. “That won’t matter.”
That was when I realized that I was close enough to hear his whisper. Willing myself calm, I pulled out of his grip.
“It’s okay,” I assured him.
Vasily seemed to stir as I approached. When I called his name, and only when I called his name, he pried open his bloodied eyes and grinned wide as if nothing had changed—as if he weren’t strapped to an operating table with blood oozing out of his shallow wounds.
“You came.” Vasily’s light chuckles were overtaken by a coughing fit. “Let me have a look at you.”
“Excuse me?” I scowled, my skin crawling as he lifted his head as much as pain would allow, his eyes sliding down my face before settling on my neck. “What are you doing?”
My neck. Something came alive in his eyes as he hungrily devoured the sight of it. In the next moment, he laid his head back down and closed his eyes, satisfied.
“Don’t tell me you’re into me,” I said, disgusted at the thought. “I mean, you’re not a bad-looking guy, but the sociopath thing is kind of a turnoff.”
Vasily smirked. “Don’t worry. I would never take what Aidan clearly wanted. We used to be such close friends, after all. I wonder if it’s your innocence that intrigues him.”
Both Rhys and I stiffened, but I didn’t check to see if his face was flushing like mine. My skin was too hot. Otherwise I would have asked how he’d even surmised something so—
Ridiculous. Was it ridiculous? Or obvious?
I swallowed the lump in my throat and focused. This was supp
osed to be an interrogation.
“I brought her.” Brendan folded his arms over his chest. “Now talk.”
“No offense, but I was never that interested in her, to be honest.” Vasily shrugged. “I just wanted to confirm . . . her beauty . . . with my own eyes.” Opening one eye, he added, “You are beautiful, Maia. I understand now why Rhys almost murdered me to protect you.”
I hadn’t realized my shoulders were raised up so high. Without looking back at Rhys, I relaxed them. “You just wanted to see me? Why don’t I believe you?”
Blood spurted out of his mouth with a cough. “I just like to confirm things myself is all.”
“So do I.” Brendan positioned himself on Vasily’s right side, bearing down on him as if the blood didn’t bother him at all. I stayed at the foot of the table. “Now tell me—or if you’d like to think of it this way, tell her—who ordered you to free Saul last April?”
A light, speckled mustache, darker than the strands on his head, lined the top of Vasily’s thin upper lip. Both lips were pale and cracked, aching for water. Maybe they’d been starving him. “Saul did. Or haven’t you figured that out?”
“But it’s not just Saul, is it?” Rhys stalked up to us. “You take orders from Blackwell. Always have.”
“Not always.” Vasily let his head fall to the side, but his catlike eyes stayed on Rhys. “Once upon a time, I took orders from you, friend. Though I wasn’t the only one.”
I could feel Rhys go rigid behind me.
I had to fight the urge to react. Vasily was trying to take control of the interrogation, flip it to his favor. I wasn’t about to let him win. “Did you know? We’ve been seeing your old friends around lately. From Fisk-Hoffman in Greenland. Some of them can do some pretty interesting things now.”
Vasily’s eyelid twitched from the blood slipping onto his long lashes. “Is that so?” he asked, but unlike Rhys, he was not in the least bit surprised that they hadn’t died in the fire that took the facility. If they were Saul’s soldiers, then even without the powers, so was he.
My frown deepened. “Was it Saul who ordered Jessie to attack us last night? Or someone within the Sect?”
Vasily stretched his pale lips as wide as they would go the second he heard the name. “Jessie?” Vasily rolled his head to the other side, his arms squirming just a little beneath the leather straps, as if her name had given them life again. “So you had a little reunion without me. I’m sorry I missed it. And she used to have such a crush on you too. Did she give you that?”
He flicked his chin up, and by the time I turned, Rhys’s fingers had already instinctively gone to his cast.
“Classic Jessie.” Vasily began coughing, but the fit didn’t deter him from taunting his old friend. “You should have known how vicious she’d be, Aidan. You were the one who taught her how to survive down there. You taught us all.” The saliva smearing Vasily’s white teeth glinted underneath the overhead lights. “You should never feel ashamed of what you did, friend. You were wonderful.”
“Who in the Sect is working with you? I need names!” As Brendan’s voice rocketed across the walls and up the ceiling, Rhys and I froze, helplessly staring at each other for different reasons. For Rhys, the horror of a tightly woven secret beginning to unravel rooted him to the spot.
For me, it was the horror of the secret itself.
Brendan considered him silently. Then, with an impatient sigh, he pulled out his cell phone and began clicking.
“Who are you calling?” I hissed, but he answered by flipping over the phone and showing Vasily the face on the screen.
It was the ID photo of a young woman with sunken eyes, her sallow skin almost matching the pallor of her wispy, pale blond hair, which was tied in a strict ponytail at the base of her neck.
And for the first time since I’d met him in that little town in Quebec, Vasily’s features softened. His grin unraveled; his lips sagged as deeply as the woman’s miserable expression.
“You recognize her, don’t you?” Stepping closer, Brendan held the phone to his face so he wouldn’t mistake her.
Vasily turned his head. The waver in his eyes was a foreign sight to me, all the malicious glee evaporating in that moment. The fading blue of his pupils mimicked the dead eyes of the woman he refused to look at.
“She was an agent of the Sect,” Brendan continued. “A top agent. And yet even her superiors knew there was something not quite right with her. Look at her.”
He grabbed Vasily’s chin and forced him to see her, flinching only slightly when Vasily sputtered out blood in a series of angry hacks.
“Maybe it was the training regime back then that finally took its toll.”
“Shut up,” Vasily hissed, and his body gave a violent jerk. I couldn’t tell if it was a spasm or if he was fighting against his binds.
“In the end, Irina Volkov took her own life that day eleven years ago,” Brendan said, “leaving her seven-year-old son an orphan. It’s a shame.”
Vasily spat blood in his face. Brendan flinched from the impact, but he wouldn’t lose this war of wills. He wiped the dripping blood and saliva off his cheek.
“Is that why you fought so hard to get recruited into Fisk-Hoffman like your mother did?” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Did it make you feel closer to her?”
“Brendan.”
Rhys had spoken up this time, a burst of concern that surprised even him. Vasily noticed. Silent words passed between them as they locked eyes.
It wasn’t long before defiance returned to Vasily’s voice. “Don’t worry, Aidan,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You think Brighton never mentioned my mommy in all these days he’s been fiddling with my flesh? Try a little harder, at least.”
But I knew I hadn’t imagined the waver in his voice.
“Vasily,” Rhys started, his voice hollow. “Philip is dead. So is Alex. This isn’t the time to play games.”
At this, Vasily clenched his teeth. “I . . . didn’t know that,” he said after a period of silence. A few beats passed again. “That’s a shame.”
“But you did know about Jessie,” I said. “You’re working with Saul.”
“And you’re not the only Sect member,” Brendan added. “Why? What’s the end goal? What are you getting out of this?”
“What am I getting out of it?” Vasily’s laughter had a bitter tinge, almost incredulous, as if the answer should have been obvious. “If you want to know that, you’ll have to ask me another question. What happened in the Devil’s Hole?” It was the question I didn’t dare speak aloud. Rhys flinched at the name. “Come on, Maia. I know you want to know.”
I could see Rhys’s Adam’s apple bob up and down his throat as he finally pulled away and stared down at the floor.
“Eyes here.” With a quick snap, Brendan straightened his back. “I asked you a question.”
“What happened?” Vasily’s eyes were wild. “Ask me, Maia.”
“Stop it. Stop it.” I darted to Vasily’s side, pushing away the table full of bloody tools, one of them a common industrial drill. The Surgeon didn’t seem to mind. He stood at the side of room, quietly waiting his turn. I could see Rhys shaking. “Leave Rhys alone! Just answer our questions, damn it. Why are you working with Saul? Who else is involved in the Sect? What are you planning?”
“Whatever sins Saul has committed, it’s nothing compared to those of the Sect.” Vasily sounded calm, but his bloody hands had clenched into fists. “You remember, don’t you, Aidan? All the people there with us. The staff, the doctors. Dr. Gladstone? You remember, right, Aidan?”
“That’s enough.” Rhys lowered his head, but I could see his unfocused eyes widen. Even as he caught his trembling left hand with the other, he didn’t move from his spot. The name had frozen him to it.
Vasily let his head dangle awkwardly at one side, his lips creeping into a crooked grin when he added, almost wistfully, “Let’s go, Aidan. One day, let’s go back together.”
“Enough!” Rhys charged past Brendan, nearly pushing him out of the way to grab Vasily’s neck.
“If we ever did go back . . . I bet you we’d still find Gladstone’s body down there.” Vasily’s raspy voice scraped up his throat as Rhys squeezed it. “But we both know she didn’t die in that fire. A shame. She liked you too.”
“Stop lying.” And Rhys turned to me, frantic, pleading. “He’s lying. Don’t believe him. Don’t believe anything he says.”
“Aidan! Let him go,” Brendan warned, lifting his arms as if to stay a wild beast.
“Rhys,” I said, more gently. “It’s okay.”
That’s all I had to do. The sound of my voice was what snapped him back to reality. Rhys stared at me as if he’d woken from a dream, searching my worried eyes for answers. Then, finally noticing his own hand around Vasily’s neck, he let out a gravelly breath and stumbled back in shock.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Whether it was to Vasily, to his brother, or to me, I didn’t know. Maybe it was to all three of us. Regardless, it didn’t matter. Without raising his head, he strode out of the room.
“Now that you’re here, I have something to tell you, Maia.” Vasily swallowed painfully, as it seemed he’d overtaxed himself. He shifted uncomfortably beneath the straps as the blood started to ooze from his right wrist, adding to the dried stains on his shirt. “That day in France, I was wrong to try to kill you. I acted on my own, but I was wrong, and I apologize.”
He wasn’t the first person to say that to me. But I wasn’t buying it.
“So now you’re sorry for trying to kill me, but you didn’t have a problem setting Saul free and sending him right after me,” I said.
“Saul doesn’t want to kill you.” He twitched beneath his straps. “We’re not your enemies, Maia. The Sect . . .” His expression turned cold with a violent twitch. “It’s the Sect that’s wrong. Not me. Not Saul. Not Jessie. Yes, Jessie . . . Maia, when the time comes . . . make sure you listen to her. Listen well.”
Siege of Shadows Page 17
