The rims of Jack’s ears were red. “Just what you already know. She’s aligned herself with WEFT in a bid for the labs to make Evocane. Headman is Steiner. No one there can draft or anchor. They think that’s where the corruption started.”

“That’s a laugh,” Michael said, sifting through the tray of drugs stacked atop the filthy Shop-Vac.

“Denier has full lab access,” Jack said, clearly not liking Michael shuffling about with the vials and syringes. “He’s not told me everything, but I’ve not forced it.”

Syringe in hand, Michael turned, apparently eager to fix that.

Irritation filled Bill. “I’m doing this,” he muttered as he took it away. “Back off.”

Allen’s jaw clenched, but he did little as Bill swabbed his inside elbow of his bound arm and injected it. A weird, thin-lipped, wild-eyed expression slipped over the captive man even as the drug took him, slowing his breathing and making his clenched hands ease.

“He’s been conditioned to keep his mouth shut against that,” Jack said flatly.

Michael jumped, startled when Bill’s hand flashed out, slapping Allen’s face with an unexpected crack. Shock crossed Allen, then hatred.

“That’s why I use it in tandem with a secondary method,” Bill said softly. “Michael, you’re like a dog under the table. Back off before you fuck this up, too. There are ways to get people to talk other than assassinating their team.”

Feet scuffing, Michael retreated.

“Now.” Bill swung the room’s only free chair around, straddling it so the back was between him and Allen. “What I really want to know—the reason you’re here instead of a ditch to be found by an early-morning jogger—is why was she at Everblue?”

Allen glanced at Jack before fixing on Bill with his unswollen eye. “I don’t know.”

Bill hit him again, this time using a fist. Allen’s head rocked back, and Bill reached out, yanking him forward before the chair could tip over, smacking him lightly to make sure he didn’t pass out. “Hey. Hey! Over here, Allen. Focus now.”

Allen twitched, shrugging to get Bill’s hand off him. He spat out blood; the ugly sound of it meeting the cement floor was oddly familiar. “Hitting me won’t make me talk,” he rasped.

Bill’s face was expressionless. “I’m not hitting you to make you talk. I’m hitting you because you thought I was stupid.” Thick fingers moving with a slow precision, Bill took a bottled water from the tray. “What was Peri doing at Everblue?” he said as he dropped a straw into it and held it to Allen. “Did she demand to be there? Is she wanting to come home?”

Allen looked up from the straw, still too far away. “You don’t think the half dozen of your hired men she left for dead are enough of a no?”

Bill held it so he could drink. “She’s angry with me. She’s expressing herself.”

Licking his lips, Allen drew back from the water. “Peri will die before returning to Opti.”

“Then it’s a good thing she can reset time to make a better decision.” It was closed and uncomfortable, and the silence grew. Bill set the water back on the tray. “Why was she there, Allen?”

Twitching impatiently, Michael stepped forward. Breath fast, he grabbed the expended syringe and used his weight to push Allen’s head back. Jack’s breath hissed in, but he didn’t move as Bill was forced to rise and his chair was knocked over.

“Michael,” Bill complained, willing to give Michael a little release as he leaned heavier into Allen, lips pulled into a grimace.

“Know what happens when you shove a needle into someone’s frontal cortex?” Michael said, angling the syringe to Allen’s nose. “You wiggle it around enough, and it mimics a lobotomy enough to pass inspection.”

“He knows he’s more useful alive, Michael,” Bill said. “Knock it off.”

“He doesn’t need an eye to be alive.” Michael shifted the angle of the needle. “How about it, Allen? You want to keep both of them?”

Swollen eye slitted in fear, Allen exclaimed, “Why do you care?”

Michael tightened his grip when Bill leaned in so close he could smell the drugs lifting off the man’s skin. “You always did have a way with the anchors,” Bill said to soothe the man’s ego after the beating he’d given it. “Answer him,” Bill said to Allen. “Why was she there?”

The man’s fear was obvious, and Michael’s hold became white-knuckled. Allen was fixated on the end of the needle, and when Michael moved it, he shouted, “She’s after Michael!”

Bill made a knowing sound. Finding insult in it, Michael pressed down again. “Me?” he snarled, angling the syringe into Allen’s nostril. “You think I’ll believe that?”

“Enough!” Bill exclaimed. “If you give him a lobotomy, I swear I’ll shoot you to get you to draft and bring you both back to usefulness. Back off, Michael.”

Lip curled, Michael pushed off from Allen, throwing the syringe onto the tray where it slid into Allen’s phone and wallet and stopped. Jack stood in a corner, grim-faced and silent.

“That’s just odd enough to be true.” Bill lifted Allen’s good eyelid to gauge the level of drug in him. “Peri is nothing if not vindictive. Both her strength and weakness. Which is it, Allen? Pretend you’re on our side again and you might live out the night.”