Flex

 

     The light inside was dim, but I could make out the single metal folding chair that sat dead center in the room. I had plenty of experience with interrogations. Fortunately, for most of those, I had been the man asking the questions. The larger man, the one the probie called Reaper, pushed hard against my shoulders, ushering me closer to the VIP seat with a drain set in the floor just beneath. Nice addition, I thought. Too bad I didn’t want to be the reason for their easy clean-up.

     I fell into the seat with a grunt and allowed my eyes to quickly take stock of my surroundings. A long, green garden hose wound neatly around two hooks fastened in the wall to the left while all manner of gleaming sharp tools and various chemicals lined the shelves on the opposite side. The room smelled strongly of bleach. From the outside, anyone else would assume this building was nothing more than a storage shed for grounds keeping, but to an MC it was the perfect space for holding interrogations and torturing anyone who pissed in their yard.

     Reaper didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. There was no warm-up period to start the conversation, and in a twisted way I admired his approach. That was until his tatted fist delivered the hardest hook I could ever remember. Spots dotted my vision as I reached up to rub along the space he struck, thankful that I was still able to move my jaw at all.

     My hands quickly disappeared, pulled backwards and bound to the back of the chair by the prospect behind me as Reaper paced in front.

     “Call Pres and the VP,” Reaper ground out as though he was teetering on the precipice of control. He bent down to eye-level and fixed me with a hard stare. “I’m not going to ask your name because I already know who you are, motherfucker.”

     “How nice for you,” I chuckled, quickly regretting the decision to play the bad-ass.

     I could only imagine how Reaper earned his road name. Our impromptu meeting didn’t bode well for me, even if this was Preacher’s plan all along. I was too fucking careful to get caught by accident. I was sitting here on purpose and I knew full-well what that made me. Stupid and maybe dead before night’s end. I didn’t have much choice in the matter though. Not since Preacher had taken Aaron under his wing. That bastard was in the way and I needed to do this to get close to Preacher again.

     Reaper straightened before his fist met my face a second time. I didn’t recover as easily as the first. I slid my jaw back and forth a few times to work out the building pressure before Reaper turned his attention to something the other man was saying.

     “I couldn’t reach Pres, but Clutch is on it. They should be here in a few. Clutch said to keep him entertained until then,” the prospect relayed.

     “Hear that? I got the green light to have a little fun, Cop,” Reaper scowled in my direction and with that last word I knew I was officially fucked.

     “Cop? What the hell, Reap?” The unsuspecting prospect was slowly piecing together what Reaper said in his fragile little head.

     “That’s right. I had plenty of time to research over the last year. Flex, here, is deep cover DEA. Aren’t you? In fact, I’m of the opinion you’re so deep, DEA doesn’t even remember who the fuck you are anymore.”

     Shit! The only way someone in Reaper’s position could have that information is if the agency had a mole or if Reaper was a fucking hacker genius. Undercover identities were practically sealed in stone, covered in concrete, and buried in the bottom of the deepest sea. My name shouldn’t even be a pin-sized blip on anyone’s radar, let alone this Pandemonium outlaw.

     After two years of living outside the agency, wandering in the dark among a group of hell hounds without much to report, maybe the higher-ups wanted answers bad enough to let information slip. There were a few bastards in posh positions at the agency corrupt enough to do it. My partner was six-feet under because of the agency so I knew they were not about to leave loose ends. Primarily, me.

     When I didn’t answer Reaper’s question, he unleashed his rage on my face and ribs without mercy. By the time he finally stopped I didn’t think I could form a coherent sentence even if I tried. I wheezed with each new blow to my bruised chest, wondering if he swung any harder would it be enough to puncture a lung and put me out for good. It seemed to be taking the top brass of Pandemonium a lot longer to get here than the situation called for, though since I was swimming in and out of consciousness I had no reliable gauge of time from when the bastard found me trying to break through the fence line. I had been sloppy on purpose, for Preacher’s plan to work, and I was paying the price for it with my body. 

     Seconds, minutes, hours passed before new voices surrounded me. I barely registered what they said, my ears throbbing from taking multiple hits to the side of my head. The sensation was like being tossed into a metal barrel and rolled down a steep hill. The room spun against efforts to open my eyes more than a slit. I knew they would be swollen shut soon enough and even sooner than expected if the big guy took another swing.

     One of the voices came closer and I tried to recall where I had heard it before.  

     “Reap, ease up brother. Anymore from you and he won’t be able to tell us shit,” the man confirmed what I knew to be truth. I was seconds away from a permanent nap.

     My head lolled back and I embraced the darkness. At least, behind the curtain of consciousness, I was numb, my own personal pain killer. I just needed to buy more time for Preacher before Reaper killed me.