Page 46 of For Wrath

"Where areyou taking me?" Morgan demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. Shecould feel the anger rising within her – at John, at herself, at the wholetwisted situation.

"Ah,patience, Agent Cross," John replied with a chuckle, starting the engine.His sick amusement made Morgan's skin crawl. "You'll see soonenough."

As the car pulledaway, Morgan tried to focus on what little sensory information she had. Thesound of the tires on the road, the direction they seemed to be turning –anything that might give her a clue to their destination. Yet with the hoodblocking her vision and her surroundings unfamiliar, it felt like trying topiece together a puzzle while blindfolded.

"Think,Morgan," she told herself, attempting to suppress the panic clawing at herchest. "You've been through worse than this. You can outsmart him. Youjust need a plan."

"Enjoyingthe ride?" John taunted, interrupting her thoughts.

"Go tohell," she shot back, gritting her teeth. It was a small act of defiance,but it gave her some semblance of control.

"Feisty,"John remarked, a sinister smile audible in his voice. "I like that. Butremember, Agent Cross, I hold all the power here."

Morgan's jawclenched as she nodded, choking back any further retorts. She knew he was right– for now, at least.

Despite the soundof the engine and the wind rushing through the open window, Morgan could hearJohn fumbling with something at her chest. The sudden absence of weight toldher everything she needed to know – he had removed the tracking device.

"Can't haveany unwanted guests, now can we?" John said nonchalantly, rolling thewindow down further. Before she could react, Morgan heard a faint thunkas the device hit the dirt, abandoned just like her hope for backup.

Damn it,Derik, she thought bitterly. Your insistence onprotocol might have cost me my life. She knew she was truly on her own now,and fear mixed with anger began to bubble within her. But she couldn't let himsee that. She had to stay strong, even if her heart hammered in her chest likea caged bird desperate for freedom.

"Where areyou taking me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Patience,Agent Cross," John replied, his tone almost sing-song. "You'll findout soon enough."

The careventually came to a stop, and Morgan braced herself for whatever horrorawaited her. The door opened, and she felt rough hands pulling her out of thevehicle, guiding her until they reached their destination.

CHAPTERTWENTY EIGHT

A few moments later,the hood was yanked off Morgan's head.

Morgan squintedagainst the harsh, blinding light above her. As her eyes adjusted, she realizedshe was in a sterile, white-walled room tied to a surgical chair. The smell ofantiseptic filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.

"Welcome,"John said, his voice dripping with false hospitality. He turned away from her,hiding his face, but there was no mistaking the gleam of satisfaction in hiseyes. His scrubs were pristine, providing a stark contrast to the darkness ofhis soul.

"Let me go,Pesci," Morgan demanded, her voice strained from the tight restraints."You've done enough damage already."

"Ah, but wehaven't even started yet," John replied, his voice filled with a sickeningglee. "I have so much planned for you, Agent Cross. You won't be leavinghere until I'm satisfied."

Morgan's mindraced as she struggled to think of a way to escape, a plan to save herself andHarriet Holland. But with every passing second, her panic grew, threatening to consumeher.

John busiedhimself around the room, picking up various surgical instruments and placingthem on a rolling cart. The metallic clanking of each tool contributed to thesickening atmosphere. Morgan's head was tied back, preventing her from lookingdown and seeing what he was preparing. Her heart raced, but she refused to letfear show on her face. She had faced down countless killers in her career –this would be no different.

"Yourskin," John said, pausing for a moment to admire her arms. "It's sosmooth, so young. Such a shame those tattoos mar its perfection."

Morgan grittedher teeth at his words, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine."You're one to talk about perfection, Pesci. I've seen your handiwork."

He laughed a coldand hollow sound. "Oh yes, I'm quite proud of my work. But yourtattoos...they'll have to go. The ink is poison, you see, and it will tamperwith the essence I plan to extract." His voice was almost giddy as hespoke of his twisted plans.

Essence? Morgan thought, confusion momentarily overriding her fear. Whatthe hell is he talking about?

"Whateveryou're planning, it won't work," she spat, her voice firm despite the fearthat clawed at her insides. "I won't let you win."

"Ah, suchbravery," John mocked, resuming his preparations with renewed vigor."But you're not in control here, Agent Cross. I am."

As he movedaround the room, Morgan's mind raced, searching for any weakness, anyopportunity to escape. She had endured so much, fought through so many darkmoments in her life – she couldn't let it end like this, at the hands of amadman.

A soft whimperbroke through the sterile silence, drawing Morgan's attention away from Johnand his twisted plans. She strained her eyes, trying to glance around the roomwithout moving her head. In her peripheral vision, she spotted another surgicalchair occupied by a figure barely visible through the dim lighting.

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