Ball & Chain

Ty ran his hand through his hair, sucking in a ragged breath as the walls edged closer and closer to him. The weight of the earth pressed down from above. Even though he knew they were no longer under the mansion, they were still under tons and tons of dirt. What if they were under the hill? What if the lighthouse ruins were up there, weighing down, crumbling, threatening the integrity of the stonework?



“Oh God,” he whispered, grasping at his chest.



“Ty?”



“I can’t breathe, man. We need to double-time this.”



“What’s going on?” English asked.



“He’s claustrophobic,” Deuce told the others.



“So let’s fucking call for them and get out of here.”



Ty shook his head, but he looked at Deuce almost desperately.



Deuce met his eyes in the light of the flashlights, his jaw jumping. “You promise me you’ll get to them first.”



Ty took a deep breath. “We’ll get to them, Deacon, I swear to you. I swear.”



Deuce handed Ty his flashlight and stepped toward one of the tunnels, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out for the kids. His voice shook as it echoed through the tunnels.



Each man held his breath, waiting. The blood was beginning to roar in Ty’s ears when a small voice echoed along the corridor. Deuce gasped.



“Go!” Ty whispered harshly. He pointed at English. “Go, go!”



The three men started down the corridor in pursuit of the child’s call. Ty took a moment from his panic to admire their precision. He really hoped none of them turned out to be bad guys, because he liked all three men, and he hated killing people he liked.



Deuce tugged Ty’s good arm. “Come on, Ty, hold on a little longer.”



Ty ran with him, helping Deuce on his bad leg and relying on his brother to lead him through the obscure, cramped spaces.



A silenced gunshot boomed through the passages ahead of them, followed by shouts and cries that seemed to echo and multiply. Deuce cursed and quickened their pace. Ty had no idea how his leg was keeping up. He supposed the concern of a parent overrode everything else. Their flashlight bounced off beams from the Snake Eaters’ lights, and they came upon all three men taking cover at an intersecting passage. The muffled wailing of a baby came from around the corner.



“Who’s shooting?” Ty called.



“Kid shot at us when we tried to open the door,” Frost answered. “They’re locked up in a room, looks like an old root cellar.”



Ty glanced at Deuce and nodded for him to go around the corner. “Call out, tell them who you are.”



“Cooper! It’s Deacon, buddy, we’re here to take you back. Open the door, okay?”



Ty heard the boy’s muffled response through the hole he’d shot in the thick door. “Nick told me not to open the door unless someone gave us the password! You might be with someone who’s making you say it’s okay!”



Deuce looked back at Ty, eyebrows raised.



“Goddamn it, Nick,” Ty grunted. He closed his eyes against the thought of the narrow passages pressing down on him. “Fucking password.”



“Smart kid,” English said. He was still crouching against the wall, his gun and flashlight in his hands, his large body stooped and hunched to fit into the narrow corridor.



Ty closed his eyes. He was beginning to hyperventilate, struggling for the breath to stay calm, to keep his mind clear. He’d never make it out of these fucking tunnels if he didn’t leave soon. Now. They had to get those kids out and moving right now. “Cooper, open the door!” he shouted. “It’s Ty and Deacon, kid, we need to get you back to your parents!”



“What’s the password?” Cooper shouted back.



“Damn it,” Ty hissed.



“That’s not it!”



Frost and Park both covered their mouths to muffle their laughter.



Deuce took Ty’s good arm. “Come on, Ty, you know Nick better than anyone. What fucking password would he give these kids?”



Ty shook his head, gasping for breath. He groped at the stone walls, searching for something solid. Cool and solid and immovable. Something strong enough to hold up the thousands of pounds of dirt and rock above them. “Oh God.”



Deuce grabbed him and pulled him toward the door, grasping Ty’s face in both hands. “Breathe, brother, come on. Calm your mind. Think. Please, Ty, my baby is in there.”



They could hear Amelia wailing inside the room. The gunshot had come from the silenced weapon Nick had taken off the nanny, but it had still probably been incredibly loud and frightening in that enclosed rock room.



Enclosed and locked.



Enclosed, locked, and under tons and tons of rock.



Ty rested his forehead against the thick wooden door and fought the urge to be sick. Deuce’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing, keeping him grounded, but his head was swirling with panic and terror.



What word would Nick give them? One word to let them know they were safe. One word he would trust someone else to say to them in his absence, since he’d fully expected to be killed or at least maimed by Fraser when he left them. One word. One word that, in Nick’s mind, meant everything.



Ty took in a deep breath. “Oohrah.”



Zane and Kelly sat together on a bench seat in the great hall, watching the door to the game room in silence. The walls were so thick, they couldn’t really hear anything from inside. Zane was thankful for that much.



“I should be down there helping look for Amelia,” Zane insisted.



“You should be right here,” Kelly said. “When Nick gets answers, we’ll need you here. Ty’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”



Zane glanced at him, trying to convince himself Kelly was right. If Fraser gave them information, Zane was the only one who had enough pieces of the puzzle to do anything with it.



He cleared his throat. “When Nick gets answers. You really think he’ll be able to?”



“Nick has extensive experience with, uh . . . enhanced interrogation techniques,” Kelly said, his voice flat.



“What?”



“The alternative set of procedures?” Kelly said, turning his head to meet Zane’s eyes. He wasn’t smiling.



“What the fuck are you talking about?”



“Torture. Nick was trained to torture.” Kelly returned his gaze to the door, his expression unchanging.



Zane stared at his profile for several seconds before turning his attention back to the door.



Darkness had fully set in, but they’d lit every fireplace, candle, hurricane lamp, and lantern they could gather. It made the mansion feel truly gothic, with flames flickering everywhere, shadows being cast in all directions, and the fireplaces crackling and giving off enough warmth to make walking into a room feel like coming in out of the cold.



Zane would have really enjoyed a blackout like this, in a place like this, if it weren’t for all the dead bodies piling up in the freezer.



There was a bang and crash from the kitchen, and voices began to echo up the steps. Zane and Kelly both stood and started toward the stairwell, shining flashlights down and holding their guns at the ready.



The first person to come into sight was John English, a frightened child in each of his massive arms, clinging to his neck. He raised his head when the lights hit him.



“You found them, they’re all safe?” Zane blurted, lowering his weapon.



English nodded and continued up the steps. Frost and Park followed behind him, the two older boys between them. The kids were all smudged with dirt and spiderwebs, their clothes dusty and covered in some sort of white rock dust. But they were all safe.



English and his Snake Eaters headed for the dining hall, where they could reunite the children with their parents. Deuce and Ty were having a harder time mounting the stairs, mostly because Deuce was clinging to Amelia and refusing to use the hand railing to help him up the steps, and Zane instantly recognized Ty in the throes of a very real panic attack.



He and Kelly darted down the stairs to assist.



Deuce refused to let his little girl out of his arms, so Kelly helped him up the steps, taking his weight.



Once Deuce and Amelia were in safe hands, Ty slid down the stairwell wall and refused to move. Zane knelt in front of him, setting his light on the step above them.



“You’re okay, doll,” he whispered. He gently touched Ty’s cheek.



Ty gasped in breath after breath, shaking his head. He wouldn’t open his eyes, so Zane simply leaned in and kissed him. Ty wrapped his arms around Zane’s neck, clinging to him, unable to even speak.



Zane didn’t know how he’d made it out of those walls without breaking down completely. He slipped his arm around Ty’s waist and hefted him to his feet. “Come on. Big and open upstairs.”



Ty’s fingers dug into Zane’s shoulder as Zane helped him up the steps. As soon as they made it out of the stairwell, Ty let go of him and awkwardly lowered himself to the ground with one hand, flattening out on the cool marble. He pressed his cheek to the floor and stroked his fingers over the tile. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he cooed to it.



Zane barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “Nice to see I was missed.” He bent and put a hand on Ty’s head. “Are you okay?”



Ty nodded jerkily, finally opening his eyes. “We found her.”



“I noticed. Come on.” Zane helped him off the ground and headed for the bench where Kelly was once again sitting. Ty’s steps were wobbly, but he seemed to be shaking the panic off. He always did.



Zane sat next to Kelly, and Ty stood for a second, his brow knitted in confusion. “What are we doing?” he asked.



“Waiting for Nick,” Kelly answered. He pointed at the door.



“Is he okay?”



Kelly shrugged. “He is. I wouldn’t put bets on Jockie Fraser, though.”



Ty looked from him to the door again. “Nick’s in there with him?”



“Getting information,” Kelly provided.



“Oh no. No, no,” Ty murmured. He started for the door.



“Ty, we gave the man a chance to talk,” Zane called after him.



“It’s not Fraser I’m worried about!” Ty shot over his shoulder.



The door opened before Ty could reach it. He stumbled to a halt in front of Nick. Zane and Kelly both lurched to their feet. Nick stepped out, glancing around the hall and at Ty. He met Kelly’s eyes, then Zane’s, and beckoned them in with a jerk of his head.



“We need Earl, too,” he said quietly.



Zane frowned in confusion, but turned and called for Earl to join them. They followed Kelly into the room, closing the heavy door behind them.



Jockie Fraser was slumped in the chair. His face didn’t look any worse than it had when they’d left him in here, but since it had already looked like he’d gone a round with an MMA fighter, that wasn’t saying much.



His hands, still tied to the arms of the chair, were quite obviously broken. Zane had no doubt there were other injuries they couldn’t see.



Nick walked up to stand beside and a little behind Fraser’s chair, and Fraser winced away from him with a whimper. Zane stared at him in morbid fascination.



“Tell them what you told me,” Nick ordered.



“The man who hired us,” Fraser gasped. He licked his lips and took shallow, rasping breaths like he couldn’t get enough air. “His name was Burns. Richard Burns.”



Chapter 12



Nick had known the name would cause a shock wave, but he was so eager to get the hell out of that room and away from the man he’d been questioning, he hadn’t cared about what sort of responses to expect.



Ty remained motionless, staring at Fraser with the sort of blank expression that said he was rapidly playing through all the possible reactions in his head to find the most appropriate one. Zane and Kelly both made noises of confusion and disbelief. And Earl turned on his heel, storming out of the room under a cloud of curses.



“Bullshit,” Ty finally whispered.



Nick lowered his head and started for the door, brushing past Ty as he went. He didn’t intend to be here for the second round of questioning.



Ty grabbed his elbow and frowned. “Are you okay?”



Nick glared at him. “Next time you need help, you call Digger.” He stalked out of the room before Ty could respond, and sought out the darkest, most remote corner he could find, treading into territory of the house he hadn’t explored. He didn’t care, though; he just needed to get away from that room and get the blood off his hands. His back hit the wall of the alcove he’d found, and he slid to the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and curling his fingers through his hair.



The captain who’d strolled through camp one day fifteen years ago had plucked Nick from the canteen and told him he had extra duty for him. When Nick had learned they wanted him to train with CIA interrogators, he’d flat out refused, insisting he wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing. They’d told him that was the very reason they’d chosen him.



Well, fuck them. Nick had been right. He wasn’t cut out for it.



The scuff of a bootheel alerted him to someone near, and he raised his head. His night vision was still ruined, but it didn’t matter. The beam of a flashlight swept across his bare feet.



“Nick?” Kelly whispered. He came closer, the flashlight remaining on Nick’s feet instead of climbing higher. All Nick could make out was Kelly’s silhouette. He knelt and handed Nick a bundle. “I got you a change of clothes. Are you okay?”



Nick nodded and took the shirt. He leaned forward and slipped it on, realizing that he’d been freezing and hadn’t even noticed. His fingers were shaking when he tried to button it up.