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His compliance was his lifeline, and they both knew it. The compound, once a fortress, had become a mere backdrop to their quiet exodus.
As they approached the exit, Rachel allowed herself a momentary exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing just so. But there was no room for relief, not yet.
The chill of steel pressed against the lieutenant's back, a stark reminder of his precarious fate. Rachel had him pinned against the cold concrete wall just beyond the reach of the compound's floodlights. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body trembling like a leaf caught in a tempest.
"Please," he whimpered, tears carving clean lines through the grime on his face. "I've got a family."
"Then you'll understand why I can't let you go." Her voice was steady, her grip unyielding. "Family is exactly what this is about."
He sobbed, a pathetic sound muffled by the darkness enveloping them. Rachel's own childhood echoed back to her—a maze of unanswered questions and hushed whispers about her parents' vanishing. She shook off the memory. Focus.
"Talk to me about the Blackwoods. The heist." Each word was a hammer, forging fear into leverage.
He went still.
"Talk," she hissed in his ear.
"I... I can't..." he stammered. His eyes were wide, darting left and right, searching for an impossible escape.
"The truth now saves you more pain later." Her thumb caressed the hilt of her weapon, an ominous click in the night.
"Please—"
He had the attitude of a number cruncher, a book-keeper. Not some hardened criminal working for a cartel. But he was the boss; she'd seen as much. Which meant he was protected goods, or he brought in a lot of cash.
They stood in the shadowed portion of the warehouse, hidden from prying eyes. The two guards that normally would've patrolled through here were currently unconscious, zip-tied in the shadows of the retaining wall.
"Help isn't coming. Information. Now." Rachel's heart pounded, the rhythm blending with the distant thrum of the city. Time was sand slipping through her fingers, and each grain took with it a chance at the truth.
Rachel's stare drilled into the lieutenant, her eyes as piercing as the icicle daggers hanging from the eaves of a winter cabin. The gossamer thread of control she'd spun around him tightened with each passing second, threatening to snap under the weight of his fear. She dug the knife into his back.
He gasped in pain. "Who are you?" he hissed.
"Doesn't matter. Tell me about the heist. Ten years ago. A billion dollars."
She still didn't know if it was all bullshit, if her sources had fed her a whole heap of nothing.
But the man's shaking voice and his soft inhale confirmed she was on the right track. "It was about the auction," he whispered. "Look... I was barely involved. It was before my time."
"Bullshit."
"I only helped with the numbers! That's all."
"Tell me about the auction," she pressed, her voice a low growl.
The lieutenant's Adam's apple bobbed painfully, his complexion now a lifeless shade of gray. The cold steel of her resolve reflected in his wide, terror-stricken eyes. His lips parted, but no sound emerged—a mime trapped in his own silent horror show.
"Speak," Rachel commanded, her patience fraying at the edges like worn fabric.
But he remained mute, his jaw locking up as if his very words were prisoners too dangerous to be set free. It was a silence that screamed louder than any confession, a silence that confirmed what Rachel already suspected—her parents were somehow involved. She'd been fed good information.
She weighed her options, the gears of her mind churning rapidly. Time was not a luxury she possessed, and brute force had its limits.
"Fine," Rachel clipped out, a decision made. "You won't talk here, but maybe you'll find your voice elsewhere."
She stood back, eyeing the lieutenant—a mix of disdain and strategic calculation—and hoisted him to his feet with an efficiency borne of necessity. Her movements were measured, betraying none of the urgency that pulsed through her veins.
"Walk," she ordered, nudging him forward with the cold blade of her weapon. Each step they took was a countdown, each breath a stolen moment from the enemy.
