Page 110 of The Devil's Wrath

His head snapped back from the force of the blow, blood spraying from his split lip. He spat out a mouthful of crimson, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Theo, please . . . let me explain . . .”

“I don’t want your excuses!” I roared, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up, the chair legs lifting off the floor. “I want to know where they took her!”

Archer placed a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Theo, this isn’t the way. We need him conscious if we’re going to get any information.”

I shrugged off his grip, my eyes never leaving Gage’s battered face. “You have one chance to tell me where she is, or I swear to god, I will rip you apart with my bare hands.”

“I don’t know. I swear it, Theo. All I know is I owed money to The Benson Family.”

His words hung heavily in the air, his ragged breathing the only sound in the tense silence that followed.

Gage licked his split lip, winching at the sting. “I didn’t even know it was Benson money I was losing. I was invited to one of the parties his son hosted a year ago. I got in too deep, and they called in my debt by sending this Russian psycho to collect. He’d show up everywhere I went, threatening me. He told me if I didn’t pay up, he’d take something dear to me in payment.”

“Russian psycho?” I asked, a wave of dread settling in my stomach.

“I think his name was Igor.”

I almost passed out. If Igor had Wrenly, she might already be dead.

“Where would they have taken her?” I demanded, my grip tightening on Gage’s collar. “Think, damn it!”

“I-I don’t know for sure,” he stammered, his eyes wide with fear. “But I overheard them talking about a warehouse outside the city. Something about using it for ‘special cargo.’ That’s all I know, I swear!”

I released my hold, letting him slump back in the chair. I turned to Archer and Kai, my expression hardening with resolve. “Gather the men. We’re going after her.”

Archer nodded grimly. “We’ll need more firepower than we have. The Collectors and The Petrov Family won’t go down easy. When we do this, we’ll need to have as many men as we can find. I need to call my brother.”

Atlas King’s reputation as a ruthless underground crime lord was well-known. He had no interest in assuming the throne after their father, Cassian. Instead, he held darker aspirations—tastes that The Brotherhood couldn’t satisfy. He had been given the keys to hell long ago, operating in the shadows, his reach extending far beyond the city limits. The man was as unpredictable as he was dangerous, and his involvement could complicate an already precarious situation. But if we were going to take on The Collectors and The Petrov Family, we needed his help.

“Make the call,” I said.

It was time I faced my demons and destroyed Igor Petrov once and for all.

THIRTY-NINE

WRENLY

The ground was hard and the air was cold. I opened my eyes to find myself still in the metal cage I had fallen asleep in. My body ached from the unforgiving steel bars pressing into my flesh and the frigid draft seeping in through the narrow bars. The dingy gray walls of the warehouse stretched out before me, illuminated only by the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. How long had I been trapped in this miserable prison? Hours? Days? Time seemed to blur together in an endless monotony of despair. At some point in my journey, I had procured a black jacket, and it smelled sweet like jasmine, the only reprieve in the musty confines I was trapped in.

I slowly sat up, my muscles protesting with each movement. Reaching out, I gripped the icy bars, pulling myself to my feet. The cage was barely large enough for me to stand, my head brushing against the low ceiling. Through the dimness, I could make out the shadowy outlines of other cages stretching into the distance. Low moans and whimpers echoed through the cavernous space.

I strained my eyes, trying to discern any sign of life or movement in the neighboring cages. A sudden cough broke the eerie stillness, followed by a weak, raspy voice. “You’re finally awake.”

I hesitated, unsure whether to respond. I turned in the direction of the voice, making out a small figure in the adjacent cage. A woman’sface emerged from the shadows, a pair of cognac eyes staring back at me. There was dirt smudged on her face, but there was no denying the classy beauty underneath.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse. “How long have you been here?”

The woman shifted, her movements slow and labored. “I’m Luna,” she replied. “I’ve been here for . . . I don’t know. A couple of days? What day is it?”

“Saturday, the 5th, I think.”

“Um . . . then it’s been seven days now.”

“Do you know where we are? Or why we’re here?”

She leaned forward, her delicate hands gripping the bars of her cage. “I wish I knew. One night, I was walking home from work, when someone grabbed me from behind. The next thing I knew, I woke up in this cage.” She shuddered at the memory. “I’ve heard others screaming and begging to be let go. But no one ever comes except to bring us food and water.”

“Have you seen who brings the food?” I asked.

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