Page 73 of The Bait

And all the anger Asher had felt toward Yunho melted away. Their years of history, their pasts, and everything they’d been through came to the forefront.

Asher loved Yunho like an older brother or a father. The first person who had ever shown Asher kindness. Kindness without expectation of something in return, and that was something Asher had never had before.

Yunho had always credited Asher with saving his life. And it was true. He had.

But Yunho had saved Asher a thousand times. Not just with security and intel. But he’d shown him kindness and friendship.

Family.

And right now, what Asher had found in those damn data files didn’t matter.

Yes, he wanted answers.

But Yunho was suffering right now. Physically, emotionally, psychologically. The answers could wait. If they lived through this, Asher would ask all the questions he had.

Right now, his only focus was their survival.

And trying not to think about Harry.

God, how Asher hoped Harry was okay. He had to be. Asher couldn’t accept anything less.

Eventually Yunho’s breathing calmed down and evened out. “Hey,” Asher said softly. “I’m here. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Yunho sobbed in response.

The truck slowed then, the road underneath the tyres changing from possibly a highway, with its smooth surface and periodic line breaks in the surface, to a rougher surface like asphalt.

A smaller off-road, perhaps.

Then Asher heard the crackle of a radio, and voices. He couldn’t quite make out the words or the language. His head was still foggy, the noise of the truck too loud.

A few minutes later, they came to a slow stop. There were voices outside, a little too far away to hear. Then they started forward again, driving over a grate of some kind.

Asher tried to see out through the small gaps in the canvas canopy, catching barely a glimpse of trees and a metal gate, perhaps.

But they were driving too slow to be on another main road or highway, and Asher could hear voices and... a helicopter?

What the hell?

Where the fuck were they?

Then the light in the holes of the canvas canopy disappeared. A tunnel, perhaps? But the truck came to a stop and more voices shouted. Croatian, maybe Bosnian; it was hard to tell the difference because they were far away and were barking orders to remove the cargo.

The cargo . . .

When the back of the canopy lifted up, two men appeared in full black combat gear, pointing guns at them.

More AK-74s, Asher noticed. Russian funded, then.

Another man climbed in and hauled Asher out by his arm, and he barely landed on his feet. The zip ties cut into his ankles and his head felt woozy.

Disoriented.

He tried to take in his surroundings.

A massive open warehouse, not a tunnel. Army trucks. Soldiers in combat gear. Outside looked like... an airfield?

A military training compound?

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