The Devil You Know

by Kit Rocha

“When she sees what I have in store for you, Sergeant Gray? I believe she will.”

  The door swung open. A massive guard dragged Maya through, one rough hand locked so hard around her upper arm her boots left the floor when he swung her around to face Richter.

  She had dirt on one cheek and her wrists secured behind her back, but she looked physically unharmed. Her gaze was wild as it skittered over him though, the depth of her panic a gut punch before she managed to lock it down.

  “Oh boy,” she drawled. “He’s literally plagiarizing himself.”

  Gray offered her a reassuring smile. “You didn’t expect him to be original, did you?”

  “I guess not.” The smile seemed to ground her. He could still see the panic in her eyes, but her voice dripped lazy disdain. “Someone should tell him that sequels never really capture the magic of the first time.”

  Gray tensed as the new guards shoved Maya down into the other chair. One flickering glance at Richter’s face showed he’d caught the reaction.

  He smiled slowly. “Enjoy your moments of levity, Miss Chevalier. They will be brief.”

  Maya held Gray’s gaze as if clinging to a lifeline. Her lips moved in a silent whisper. I’m sorry.

  That wouldn’t do at all, so he shook his head firmly. “Remember what I said, Maya.”

  Richter reclaimed the stool and rolled it closer to the table—and his villainous collection of torture devices. “Shall we begin?”

  Maya’s breathing hitched. “Gray—”

  “Remember what I said,” he repeated. He knew she did, so he could only hope she understood.

  I will never let myself be used as a weapon against you.

  Then Richter lifted the scalpel, and Gray folded in on himself. It was the only way.

  KNOX

  Knox had successfully sprung his share of traps from the inside. The key, unfortunately, was being underestimated by your opponent.

  No one was underestimating him today.

  A bullet dug into the wall in front of him, shattering concrete in a tiny spray. Knox swore and swung around the corner, firing off three rapid shots that forced the approaching soldier to dive back under cover.

  A spray of automatic fire forced him back. The assault was followed by the clink of a canister skittering down the cracked floor.

  “Dani!” he roared, but she was already moving. A blur of black clothing and blond hair darted past him to scoop up the grenade. She’d tossed it back and whipped back around the corner in the space between heartbeats, and the building rattled as the explosion shook the hallway.

  A fresh hail of bullets was the response, and Knox flinched as another spray of concrete pelted his face. He checked his magazine and swore. “I’m out.”

  Nina frowned. “Me, too.”

  “Here.” Dani tossed two 9mm magazines their way, and Knox caught them.

  “That’s the last of it,” Mace said flatly.

  The slides had locked back on both of Ava’s pistols, indicating the magazines were spent. She threw them aside, exchanged a silent look with Nina, and received a nod in return.

  “Toss a smoke grenade, Captain,” Ava said without looking away from Nina. “Give us three seconds, then follow.”

  Knox didn’t argue that he wasn’t a captain. He didn’t ask questions. He jerked the pin from the grenade, waited until the last moment, and sent it skittering down the hallway, spewing heavy white smoke.

  Ava dove after it, with Nina hard on her heels.

  One.

  Gunfire exploded. A man screamed.

  Two.

  Something thudded hard. A body skidded out of the smoke, eyes wide and blank, staring upward.

  Three.

  Knox dove into the hallway, holding his breath. A flash beside him marked Dani’s passage, disappearing toward the sounds of combat ahead. Mace was a shadow behind him, covering his back.

  Bodies littered the hallway. Knox leapt the final one and broke free of the smoke and into a room that looked like it had once been a cafeteria.

  Right now, it was anarchy.

  Half a dozen bodies already littered the ground. Two dozen more were battling for their lives against an absolute maelstrom of graceful destruction with Nina and Ava at its heart.

  He’d never seen anything like the way they moved together. Calling it a dance felt inadequate. Knox had learned to move with Nina, but their connection paled in comparison to the instinctive, complete understanding between Ava and Nina. They flowed through the soldiers with perfect awareness of each other and everything happening around them.

  While Knox scrambled to assess the situation, Nina slid beneath Ava’s outstretched arm to hamstring a man as Ava slit a second’s throat. Spinning with the momentum of her knife stroke, Ava hooked elbows with Nina and vaulted her back into the air, flying at an opponent.

  Nina crashed into him and carried him down in a dizzying roll that snapped her opponent’s neck before momentum carried her through a graceful leg sweep that tripped the man trying to close with Ava.

  Deprived of her current target, Ava swung and swatted a bullet from midair with a negligent swipe of her shiny, silver arm bracer. The bullet ricocheted with terrifying precision into one opponent, but Ava had already turned to fling a knife in a deadly arc toward a soldier who’d made the mistake of targeting Nina.

  Six men eliminated in a heartbeat. A seventh staggered by, screaming as he clawed at Dani’s arms. She was riding his back, stabbing him repeatedly.

  Two dozen men didn’t have a chance.

  Static wailed over their comms, followed by Rafe’s panicked voice. “Fuck. Can anyone hear me?”

  A man charged—whether at Knox or just trying to get to the exit, he didn’t know. His gun rose, and Knox charged, knocking his arm up so it fired uselessly at the ceiling. Then he engaged his comms. “Rafe. Sit rep!”

  “They have Gray. Maya’s missing, and Conall’s been shot. Three times, center mass. One round made it through his vest.”

  Mace ducked behind a column. “Where’s he hit?”

  The sound of Velcro ripped over the comms. “Right upper quadrant.”

  “Exit wound?”

  “I don’t see one.”

  “Vitals?”

  “He’s tachycardic at 115, with a weak, thready pulse. BP is low—90/55. Resps are shallow.”

  “He’s hypovolemic. Got your IV access?”

  “Working on it.”

  Mace stepped out of cover, took slow, careful aim, and used one of his last rounds to bring down one of the Ex-Sec soldiers. “Talk to me, Rafe.”

  “Got it!”

  “Good. Run a green bag, wide open. And Rafe—” Mace exhaled. “You have to open him up.”

  “A laparotomy,” Rafe said flatly. “In the back of a fucking van?”

  “I know,” Mace soothed. “But if you don’t get a handle on the bleeding, he’s going to die.”

  Rafe cursed. Then a flurry of sounds interspersed with his panicked breathing tickled Knox’s ears—paper ripping, metal clinking, and one low, pained groan that froze Knox’s heart in his chest.

  Then Rafe sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. “His liver’s shredded, Mace. Massive parenchymal disruption.”

  “Pack it with med-gel dressings.”

  “Will that even—”

  “Just do it!” Mace barked. But his expression had melted into one of sick, resigned dread.

  No. No.

  The massive Ex-Sec soldier grappling with Knox dropped his gun and whipped a pressure injector from his vest. Knox jerked his arm out of the way, but the man jammed it into his own neck. His eyes glazed over as he let out a feral roar.

  Before Knox could react, the man gripped him by the vest and slung him across the room.

  Knox crashed into the cement wall hard enough to crack it. The window next to him exploded in a shower of glass he barely blocked from shredding his face.

  A timely reminder. This wasn’t just two dozen men—it was two dozen highly trained Ex-Sec so
ldiers with God knew what enhancements and unfettered access to top-of-the-line biochem stimulants.

  Tobias Richter had Gray. Maya, too, most likely. A tactical catastrophe and a personal horror. The secrets in her head were priceless. Gray’s pain would be the leverage Richter used to unlock them.

  Every second Knox was delayed would cost them both too much.

  “Fuck, Mace, I can’t get control of it!”

  And Conall was still bleeding.

  A chill resolve swept over Knox. He dodged easily as a table crashed into the wall where he’d been and kicked the nearest fallen chair into the air. He caught it mid-flight and whipped it back toward his attacker’s legs, turning his charge into a tripping stumble.

  “Dani!” Knox roared. “Get Mace to Conall.”

  Dani brushed her hair out of her face and pulled a fresh knife from her boot. “You heard the man, Doc.”

  Mace hesitated, then nodded. “I’m on my way, Rafe. Just hold on.”

  Dani had been Ex-Sec, too. She’d get the medic to Conall’s side in time. Knox let himself believe it for one vital moment.

  Then he locked it away. Turned.

  Ava and Nina were still dancing their path of elegant, glorious destruction through the Ex-Sec squads. Fast and brutal, there was no doubt they would persevere. Eventually. But every second they lingered here would be measured in Maya’s and Gray’s agony. Tobias Richter would hurt them.

  Just like he had hurt Mace.

  For the first time in eight terrible months, Knox eased his iron grip on his own anger. He let himself feel the pain, the loss, the bone-deep rage. He let himself feel everything he’d been holding back since Mace’s reappearance in their lives.

  It must have shown in his eyes. The soldier about to close with him took a stumbling step back. Knox lunged, grabbing him by the front of his armor with both hands and swinging. He released the man with a roar and watched him plow through two of his squadmates, knocking them all to the ground.

  Knox didn’t let them recover. His resolve absolute and his rage like fire in his blood, Knox threw himself into the dance.

  TECHCORPS PROPRIETARY DATA, L2 SECURITY CLEARANCE

  Order a full psychological assessment on 66–793. He was recruited before I adjusted the sniper evaluation criteria. We will not have another 66–221.

  Recruit Analysis, April 2068

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Gray hadn’t made a sound.

  The scent of blood had lodged in Maya’s throat like glass. Not that there was so much blood, really. Richter had been precise with the application of pain. But a dozen shallow cuts in sensitive places meant to cause slow-burning agony had failed to provoke the desired response.

  Gray didn’t flinch. He didn’t gasp or hiss. He didn’t give any indication that he noticed Richter’s attempts at all. The gentle warmth in his blue eyes never faltered as he held Maya’s gaze, willing her to remember.

  I will never let myself be used as a weapon against you.

  The effort had to be costing him. He was burning through the months he should have had left, spending the strength of his body to protect her heart.

  She had to move faster.

  Her wrists were already rubbed raw from her slow attempts. Her arms ached with the effort of holding rigidly still and giving nothing away. But gentle flexing had allowed her to work the bracelet Dani had given her around until her thumb could just brush the catch.

  Such a clever gift. Much more practical than trying to smuggle a fork everywhere. The guards hadn’t even given it a second look when they roughly searched her for weapons. It was just a pretty little thing of hammered silver, a useless accessory.

  Except nothing Dani chose was ever useless. Maya finally managed to trigger the catch, and the fastening parted with a silent click. A tiny blade no thicker than her thumbnail and twice the length slid from the clasp—not enough of a weapon to do much damage against trained soldiers.

  But plenty of knife to saw through the zip ties holding her.

  She exhaled and glanced at the guards. They stood on either side of the room now, dispassionate gazes fixed on Gray in tense anticipation of him exploding into violence. Neither showed the slightest concern for the literal torture playing out in front of them.

  Just another day on the job at the TechCorps.

  The scalpel flashed out of the corner of her eye. Maya had tried not to look, but now she couldn’t help it. Richter slid it along Gray’s upper arm, parallel to the bone, peeling up a thin layer of skin, and Maya couldn’t choke back her whimper of protest.

  “The mountains,” Gray murmured. “Most people think of them in the winter or fall, but they’re beautiful in the springtime, too.”

  “We’ll go see them,” she promised him, setting the blade against the plastic tie on her left wrist. The tip jabbed into her skin, and she ignored it and flexed slowly, grinding the sharp edge against the plastic. “After this. Another road trip.”

  “How offensive.” Richter turned his icy-blue gaze on her. “Sergeant Gray isn’t offering you false promises.”

  “They’re not false,” she snapped, hating the fact that her voice audibly shook. Not fear this time, but rage. Gray might be able to sit there, holding it all in, but hatred smoldered inside her. “The two of us are walking out of here over your fucking corpse.”

  “Classy.” He held her gaze as he reached down and dug his fingernails into Gray’s partially flayed arm.

  Her fingers slipped. The tiny blade jabbed into her skin again. Maya took a shuddering breath and fought for the control Birgitte had taught her. But the metallic scent of blood scraped over her already raw nerves, dragging her back toward panic.

  Panic would be worse than rage. She exhaled on a hiss and let the anger curl around her like fiery armor. “Dani won’t need a knife to peel your face off. She’ll do it with her bare hands.”

  “They’re already dead.” His voice was matter-of-fact, without a shred of victory. “There’s only you two left. And you’re making him suffer needlessly, Marjorie.”

  The lie was so cool, so confident. Maybe it wasn’t even a lie, maybe it was just the reckless overconfidence of a bully who wasn’t used to being told no. Maya didn’t believe him either way.

  But Gray was suffering. He was killing himself to hide it, but she knew his face too well now. The tightness around his eyes. The sweat at his brow. His breathing was off, hitching and a little raspy. How much of this could he take before his body gave up?

  Buy time, whispered Nina’s voice in her head. Keep his focus on you. He won’t physically harm you.

  “You haven’t even asked me a question yet.” She let her words tremble this time. Richter’s arrogance would read it as fear. “What do you want to know? Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “Are you interested in a deal?” The scalpel hit the table with a clink, and Richter reached for a small box with a switch on one side and two metal probes jutting from one end. “If you were open to negotiation, perhaps you should have offered before I started peeling pieces off poor Sergeant Gray here.”

  “Isn’t that the fucking point? To make me talk?”

  “You still think you’re in control of this. The point is to remind you that you are not.” His thumb ran along the side of the box in a chilling caress. “I will break you this time.”

  Maya heaved in an unsteady breath. Not entirely an act—she wasn’t sure she could have matched Gray’s even, steady breathing—but her body shook with the force of it, and it hid her desperate attempt to saw through the rest of the zip tie. “So come break me,” she snarled.

  Richter made a disappointed noise. “You know better, Marjorie.”

  “Wait—”

  He turned and jammed those cruel probes against Gray’s body and flipped the switch.

  Even Gray couldn’t hide involuntary responses. His muscles seized and his body lurched as the electricity tore through him. He clenched his jaw tight, refusing to make a sound, but his agony raced over Maya. Her o
wn body shuddered in response, sympathetic pain racing along her own nerves ahead of a growing wave of helplessness.

  How could she take a risk when none of the consequences would hurt her? Anything she did would rebound on Gray. He’d pay for her bravado, her fury, her failure.

  He’d pay and pay and pay, and the rest of her life would be a living nightmare, locked in the memory of this terrible, chilling silence. Gray, loving her too much to put more scars on her heart.

  As if knowing she was the cause of this wasn’t going to shred her heart to pieces.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  Richter kept going for another three more horrifying seconds that felt like an eternity, grinding in the conviction that nothing about this was within her control. Rubbing her face in her own helplessness. When he lifted the box, Gray’s body slumped back into the chair.

  “Maya,” he rasped. “Look at me.”

  “Yes, Marjorie,” Richter mocked, jamming the cruel little box and its torturous probes back against Gray’s chest. “Look at what you’re doing to him.”

  The switch flicked. Gray’s body jerked. His muscles locked. Rage, panic—Maya couldn’t tell them apart anymore. Nothing felt real and everything hurt. Her heart pounded in her ears so viciously she felt her own scream before she heard it, the pain of it shredding her throat as she jerked against her chair. “Stop it, stop it.”

  Gray’s lips pressed together, bloodless with the effort. Her voice was the only sound in the room, an echo of terror and grief that rattled her bones. When Richter pulled away this time, Gray sagged in the chair. The strain carved deep lines around his eyes. But when she met them—

  Warm. Soft. The gentleness that he always saved just for her. “Trust me,” he murmured, that honey voice a sweet balm over shredded nerves. “Trust yourself.”

  His eyes flicked down and to the side, just for a heartbeat. Toward where her arms disappeared behind the chair. He’d noticed, as the guards and Richter hadn’t. He knew about Dani’s gift. He’d seen the telltale movement.

  Everyone else thought she was helpless, but Gray never had.

  Gray was waiting for his moment. Maya had to give him one. She held Gray’s gaze, even as Richter applied his nasty little torture box a third time. She let the faith in his blue eyes form a wall against panic. She used his words as a shield, conjuring them from too-perfect memory, imagining him whispering them against her ear as she focused on the blade and her bindings.