Page 55 of Savage Reckoning

“In the dungeons.” Gabe gets to his feet. “I was just on my way down to chat to him. He passed out on the way back, so we never got a word out of him.”

“Didn’t you say he was injured?” I put in. “I’ll come with you.”

Gabe’s brow creases. “I don’t think—”

“Stop that.” I resist the urge to thump the table. Just. But they have to get it into their heads that I’m a part of this team and not just some bleeding-heart drowning in compassion. “I understand what’s at stake here and I won’t interfere. But if he’s hurt, I should—”

Jack forestalls any further discussion. “Gabe, take Tony with you. And it would be good to have the doctor on hand.” He levels a stern glower on me. “There’s a time and a place for mercy, Megan. I trust you to know the difference.”

At last, someone on the same wavelength as me.

“I do.”

I follow the two men out of the conference room.

It’s a very subdued young man we find in the cells. He sits on the edge of the stone bench set into the wall of the cell, looking thoroughly dejected and shit-scared. He tries to get to his feet when we enter, but his ankle won’t hold his weight. He collapses back onto the bench with a sob.

I sit next to him. “Can you tell us your name?”

“Frances,” he sniffles. “Frankie.”

“Frankie what?” Gabe presses him.

“Sillitoe.”

“How old are you, Frankie?” I ask, my tone considerably gentler than Gabe’s.

“Sixteen,” he replies. “I’m seventeen next week.”

“We must remember to get you a cake,” Tony sneers. “If you’re still alive by then.”

The boy pales. “What are you going to do? I just…”

“Nothing,” I blurt. “Nothing will happen to you as long as you answer the questions we ask you. Can you do that?”

He nods vigorously. “What do you want to know?”

I don’t miss the look exchanged between Gabe and Tony, a look which says, ‘Is it really this easy?’

I stand and pull Gabe to one side. “He’s just a scared kid,” I whisper.

He regards the boy icily. “Maybe. We’ll see.” He takes my place beside Frankie. “How’s the ankle?”

“It hurts, man.” The boy is biting back tears.

“We can help with that.” He gives me a nod.

I settle on the other side. “I’m a doctor, Frankie. I’m going to examine your ankle, okay?”

He sniffles and nods.

I move to kneel on the floor in front of him and gently lift the injured foot onto my lap. “I’m going to take your shoe off.”

He bites his lip and nods.

I undo the laces and ease the expensive training shoe off, followed by his sock. The ankle is swollen to twice the size of its twin and sporting a kaleidoscope of colours.

“That looks sore. I need you to tell me where it hurts the most.”

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