Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

Severe pain slithered its way through his groggy mind. The inside of Rivet’s elbows dug into the wood of the chair he was tied to. His breathing mimicked sleep, and he kept his eyes shut. He ignored the ache in his neck and back from his uncomfortable forward-hunch. An earthy scent and the muted smell of plastic mingled in his nose with every steady breath. He heard various pairs of boots on hardwood floor, along with voices, which seemed to be in a next room over.

The wire tie around his wrists bit into his skin, drawing blood. Despite the pain, he pulled his wrists tighter against the hard plastic to use his blood as a lubricant to pull his hands free. Alternating between pulling and turning his wrists, he tested his ties and let out a frustrated breath as they didn’t loosen at all. He moved his thumbs to a middle point between them on the plastic. He slowly began scraping the plastic with his nails, preparing himself for a long wait.

Rivet forced his sluggish mind to compile a list of knowns and unknowns. The flinty, gruff tones of the presumably armed men’s chatter were unfamiliar. He couldn’t even pick up the dialect. He mentally shook his head, flipping through the languages of the world. He didn’t understand what they were saying and couldn’t possibly discern where he was, if he was even still in the country.

“You caused quite a bit of trouble,” said a man’s voice as two pairs of footsteps approached him. “I haven’t seen that much fight in a person for a long time. Have you, honey?”

“I haven’t either, dear,” said a woman’s voice.

His chin was raised by a small hand as the two pairs of footsteps stopped in front of him. “We know you’re awake.”

He took a breath and opened his eyes, blinking them to get accustomed to the harsh light. A middle-aged couple stood in front of him, smiling. They were both well-fed and would’ve seemed welcoming if not for the sinister gleam in their dark eyes. The woman was about a head shorter than the man.

“Welcome to our home,” said the man.

“You’ll have to forgive the covering,” the woman gestured to the plastic drop cloth situated under Rivet, “last time we brought somebody home, it took ages to get all of the blood out of the floor.”

He quickly glanced at his surroundings. His chair was set in the middle of the kitchen, which was bare of furniture. A hanging light loomed over him, illuminating the otherwise boarded up room.

“Look at us being rude,” gasped the woman hand to her chest. “We teach our children manners and forgot our own.”

“You’re right, dear,” said the man, kissing her temple. “The media calls us ‘les Gens de la Vérité’,” the man stopped and frowned. “Why is it Americans love making things French? People of Truth, is just fine to me.” He shook his head and continued, the too happy smile stretched across his face. “You can call me Papa or Sir, if you chose. This here,” he placed his arm around the woman’s waist, “is Mama, or Ma’am. You put up a hell of a fight against our children. We could use that in this family.”

“What do you say?” asked Ma’am, smoothing her cotton blouse down. “You can be Brother R.”

Rivet inhaled sharply. They knew his real—

“—R would be for rage of course.” She giggled and bumped her hip against Sir’s. “A couple of our sons can attest to your great display of strength while in a fit of rage.”

“You will be punished for your indiscretions,” said Sir, he wagged his finger at Rivet. “Fighting is not tolerated under our roof. You take your punishment and all is forgiven.” He smiled opening his arms in front of him.

Rivet worked his brain, pulling the information he was given and the information he hacked before he was captured. “Joseph and Cat Miller.”

The showy smile was wiped from Joseph’s face. “How do you know our names?”

He stared into Joseph’s grayish-blue eyes, taking measured breaths.

“Son S,” said Joseph as he turned his head slightly toward the open doorway, but kept his stormy eyes locked to Rivet’s.

“Yes, Papa?” asked a short, thick-shouldered man. His steps were heavy as he stomped across the drop cloth.

“Why don’t you see if you can,” Joseph paused and tilted his head side to side, “convince our guest to give up his source.” Joseph turned his back, facing Brother S and grabbed Cat around the waist. “Mama and I are going to go upstairs to our room for some adult time.”

Brother S smirked. “Yes, sir.”

Rivet increased his efforts to scrape a weak spot in the wire tie while Brother S’ attention was on his faux parents’ ascent of the stairs. A sharp blow to his temple brought his attention to Brother S. He shifted his weight to keep the chair upright.

“Who do you work for?”

He went with the blows, focusing on weakening the tie around his wrists instead of the fierce pain coming from his body as Brother S rained blows down on him.

“Are you going to talk?” panted the stocky man, sweat speckling his brow.

He blinked, staring into Brother S’ eyes, mouth firmly set.

Brother S bent to his level, putting their faces within inches of each other. “I’m going to take pride in being the one to break your defiant spirit.”

He could feel blood cascade down his skin, trailing over his swelling face and matting his hair curtaining his head. His breathing was labored, and he figured he had a couple broken ribs. He couldn’t open his left eye, and that side of his face burned sharply. His head throbbed with every heartbeat, and the slow, threaded beat was starting to worry him. He blinked and opened his eyes when a heavy boot slammed into his already tender ribs.

“Still awake, I see.”

“Cat and Joseph always have you do their dirty work? Or are you too stupid for anything else?” he smarted and spat blood at him, which earned him a punch to the ribs. He could feel the ties loosen on his wrists and worked harder to weaken them.

“There’s much to be said about American bravery. Do you think your employer cares whether you live or die? Who will be at your funeral?”

Rivet broke the remaining piece of his ties with a quick turn of his wrist. “Who’ll be at yours?” He snatched the front of Brother S’ shirt and headbutted him. He stood and kneed him in the stomach, throwing him to the side. He stumbled through the kitchen and into an open space with crates and computer monitors showing surveillance of the house. He glanced at the scene before fumbling around the mess of wires atop another crate and finding his phone. He powered it on, glancing at the stairs, mere yards from him, at the monitors, and behind him at the kitchen. He dialed a number into his phone and hit send, bringing it to his ear as he disabled one of the monitors, sifting through the computer’s hard drive.

“Who are you?”

He heard the downed Brother S groaning in the kitchen. “Alpha. Niner. Foxtrot. One. Seven. Zulu. Four. Niner. Five.”

“Designation?”

His eyes darted across the screen, retaining information in mere moments before moving on. “Clearance two one. Papa. Hotel. Tango. Mike.”

“Where are you?”

He shook his head. “Follow my GPS. I need backup and medical attention.”

There was a moment of silence on the other line. “Agent Phantasm, we know where you are. Help is on the way.”

He nodded once. “Confirmed.”

“Bet this wasn’t what you thought would happen, eh, Cowboy?” gasped Brother S as he stumbled into the doorway, leaning heavily on the doorjamb.

Rivet turned to face him, freezing as he saw the bloodied grin and tangle of wires and explosives.

“You’re not making it out of here,” said Brother S. “Not in one piece.”

He forced his body into a sprint, leaping the back of the stairs as Brother S flipped the switch. A harsh snap in his ears brought tears to his eyes. He blinked rapidly, scrambling toward the other side of the house and away from the smoke. He saw the front door and made a break for it. Something hard slammed into his back, sending him sprawling on his stomach. He flipped over and grabbed Joseph’s foot, stopping it from crashing down on his chest.

Joseph’s face was red, and his lips were pushed back in a rabid snarl. Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth. The glint of metal caught Rivet’s attention and he flicked his eyes to the side and saw Cat stalk over, aiming a double-barrel shotgun.

He rolled away from her at the last moment, causing her aim to move and misfire directly into Joseph’s leg. Joseph crumpled to the ground, holding his leg. Rivet used her momentary shock to snatch the shotgun from her and fire. He flinched against the blood splatter and stepped over Joseph, knowing he was bleeding out quickly. He hunkered down in the corner of the room, facing the hinges of the front door. He watched Joseph silently screaming at him, detached. Blood rushed in his ears and blocked all other sounds.

His vision wavered, and he shook his head to clear it. He looked to Joseph and saw him still lying limply on the floor. He opened the shotgun and emptied the spent shells onto the floor. He frowned as the plastic casings bouncing along the floor, no noise reaching his ears. He opened his mouth and screamed, but nothing came out. No, he was certain he screamed, but why couldn’t he hear it? It’s temporary. It has to be. What good was he damaged? He sunk to the floor in the corner facing the only entrance and exit. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision.

He had to get out. How many comprised the syndicate? He searched his brain, but the throbbing wouldn’t let any recall transpire. He gripped the shotgun tighter. He knew this. How many? How many?

The front door flew open, sending Rivet into action. He kicked the gun away from the first intruder, striking out with the shotgun to the next. The shotgun was ripped out of his fingers as he threw a haymaker at the now unarmed intruder. More pushed through the door, stepping over the two he incapacitated. He stumbled over Joseph’s dead body and strong arms wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides.

He lunged and struggled, throwing his head back and trying to step on the feet of the person holding him. The strong arms held on tight. He could feel the vibrations of his captor talking to him, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to get out.

“Release me you son of a bitch,” Rivet yelled through gritted teeth, struggling as much as his weakened state would allow. “Let me go.”

He was pinned against the wall and forced to look at the person to whom those arms belonged. His brain registered the face in parts. The dark brown eyes, pupils, blown wide. The naturally tanned skin. The thin moving lips and the jet-black hair with its long strands mussed and fighting for freedom from the rubber band. The muscles in his arms relaxed, dropping to his sides in fatigue. He knew this face. The adrenaline drained from his body and the hands pinning him held him in a warm embrace.

“Jonas?” asked Rivet.

Jonas allowed relief to enter his eyes. “Yes, Rivet. It is I.”

He blinked sluggishly as he read Jonas’ lips. “We have to vacate the area. Call the agency,” Rivet said, barely able to say what was going through his chaotic mind. His eyes darted around the dark room, not recognizing much of anything. A warm hand grabbed his chin and gently guided his head to look Jonas in the eyes. Jonas was talking to him, but his vision was blurry, and he couldn’t read his lips. “I cannot hear. The explosion… the explosion. I was directly next to it.”

Jonas’ eyebrows furrowed and his grip tightened. Rivet closed his eyes and dropped his head, unable to hold it up any longer. His body sagged into Jonas completely, and he gave into his pain.