Page 30 of Avenger of Sins

Gray ignores her disgruntled words. At the end of the corridor is another steel door like those in the main tunnel. Though it is open now, it is surely ready to snap shut.

He approaches slowly, senses alive to any sound or smell that might betray the nature of the trap before them. The whisper of mortal breath drifts to him, accompanied by the tang of wet stone, the whiff of rotting roses.

He approaches cautiously, Night nothing but a flickering shadow behind him. As they draw level with the door, a frantic voice calls out.

“Who’s there? Help! I’m a prisoner here! Oh god, please help me!”

Men dressed in paramilitary gear streamed out of the open door into the corridor, their M-16 rifles trained on John. “Drop your weapons!” one yelled.

John held his hands up, willing his heart to calm its frantic racing. “I’m John Starkweather, Special Agent, Strategic Paranormal Entity ConTRol. My badge is clipped to my belt.”

“I said put down any weapons!” the man yelled again.“Now!”

Fuck. “I’m going to reach into my coat and take out a Glock,” he said, as calmly as possible. “I’ll put it on the ground in front of me.”

He moved slowly, and thank Sekhmet, none of the guards—mercenaries?—pulled a trigger as he removed his Glock and carefully laid it on the floor.

The second the weapon was out of his hand, they rushed him. His back slammed into the wall, and the barrel of a rifle ground into his temple, while multiple pairs of hands searched him. One picked off his badge and handed it to their leader, who glanced at it absently before putting it in one of the pockets on his tactical vest.

“I’m an agent of the federal government,” he said firmly, even though it seemed they didn’t care. He’d hoped it might give them at least some pause, but no one even looked straight at him.

“He’s clean,” reported one of the men who’d patted him down.

The leader nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

They pulled him off the wall and hustled him down the hall they’d come through. About twenty feet down, they gathered around what looked like an office door, albeit one with an electronic lock. One man swiped a card across the door’s sensor. The moment it clicked open, three other men swung into the doorway, rifles trained inside.

“He’s still out!” one called.

“Proceed.”

John found himself quickly shoved inside. The door shut behind him with a definitive click as the lock engaged.

The room looked like a hastily repurposed office, all of the decorations and furniture removed except for a couch.

And on the couch lay Ryan.

John bit back a gasp and hurried to him. He looked terrible, the area around his eyes deeply bruised, dried blood forming a crust beneath his nose.

There were no obvious wounds, but that didn’t mean anything. John shook Ryan by the shoulder, was rewarded by a sharp moan of pain. Ryan’s eyelids fluttered, revealing eyes so bloodshot there was no white left, only red.

“Fuck,” John muttered. “Ryan? Can you hear me?”

Ryan’s brows drew down, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing. “John?” Then his gaze sharpened, and he grabbed John by the wrist. “John!”

Ryan flung his arms around him. And, Goddess help him, John found himself hugging Ryan back. Despite everything—the murders, the burning building, the coercion—Ryan still felt like family.

“I should have known you’d show up,” Ryan said, voice rough. “Fuck, my head.”

“What happened to you?”

“Tranq dart.” Ryan made a face and touched his shoulder, where John had gripped him earlier. “Got me right here.”

Tranq darts weren’t cleared for use on unpossessed people. It was too easy to get the dose wrong. But he had the feeling Armaros Corporate Solutions didn’t really care much about the law.

John sat back. Now that his relief over finding Ryan alive had passed, the bitterness and anger began to seep back in. “You controlled my mind. Against my will; without my consent.”

Ryan struggled upright. “I know.”

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