Chapter 37 - The Interrogation
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The skirmish in the woods lasted less than twelve minutes. When you fight men who are motivated by money, they break easily. When you fight to protect the very soul of your family, you become an unstoppable, terrifying force of nature. Seven of the mercenaries lay dead among the wet autumn leaves. The eighth man was alive, though severely injured, pinned beneath the heavy, mud-caked boot of my tactical gear.
He was bleeding heavily from a shattered shoulder, panting in the frigid air, his eyes wide with absolute, unfiltered terror. I crouched down beside him, pulling the night-vision goggles off my face so he could clearly see the cold, unyielding promise of violence in my eyes.
"You have exactly one minute to convince me not to leave you out here for the scavengers," I said quietly, my voice barely carrying over the wind.
"Go to hell," the mercenary spat, coughing up a spatter of blood.
I didn't blink. I simply leaned my weight slightly forward onto his shattered shoulder. The man let out a suppressed, agonizing shriek, his body thrashing weakly against the frozen earth.
"I have built a sanctuary out of the blood of men much worse than you," I whispered, leaning in closer. "Do not test my capacity for cruelty when it comes to defending my home. Who hired you?"
"Silas!" the man gasped, tears of pain streaming down his camouflage-painted face. "Silas... he paid us to breach the perimeter. To find the girl, Maya."
"Why her?" I demanded, easing my boot up just a fraction of an inch to let him breathe. "She is a nobody. Just another broken kid. Why send elite contractors for her?"
"She isn't a nobody," the mercenary wheezed, clutching his chest. "She saw the ledgers. She saw the port manifest. Silas is moving a massive shipment of human cargo next week. She knows the exact location of the containers. If she talks to the feds, his entire empire crumbles."
I stared at the man, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly locking into a horrifying picture. It wasn't just about Maya. It was about an entire shipment of innocent lives about to be sold into the dark.
"Where is Silas operating from?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
May you like
"The old shipyard in the Narrows," the man choked out. "Warehouse 44."
"Thank you," I said softly, signaling Marcus. The interrogation was over, and the war had officially begun.
