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He needed to plan a way out of this mess but his brain wasn’t cooperating. Really, all he wanted to do was go to sleep. But if he did that, it might be for the last time.

Stay awake. Keep your shit together and try to stay focused.

Suddenly he was spinning like a freaking tornado, making him so damn dizzy he wanted to puke. Then someone grabbed him and brought him to an abrupt stop.

He only opened his eyes just barely enough to see if the spotlight was still focused on his face. It wasn’t and, thank fuck, was pointed at his chest instead. Only, that made it difficult to see how many others were in the warehouse. Or even who.

He did not like being in a situation where he had no fucking clue what was going on.

He had to assume it was the Chens because this was not the work of the Columbus Police Department or even the feds.

“Name.”

If Reaper’s interrogator was from China, he couldn’t detect even the slightest accent. That could mean the man had been born in the States. Despite his memory being hazy, he did remember Indie discovered that the Chens’ history in the United States began back in the 1850s.

When Reaper tried to speak, his words got caught in his throat, so he cleared it and tried again. “If I give you that, what are you going to do with that information?”

Damn. It even hurt to talk. He needed water, aspirin, and a whole bottle of whiskey.

“We ask the questions here, not you.”

“Sounds like he doesn’t want to answer,” came from somewhere in the dark. Again, no heavy accent. Nothing to even hint at who they were.

This could very well not be the Chens. If it wasn’t, he had no fucking idea who captured him.

Except, not knowing made the whole situation worse.

“I heard him.”

Reaper could barely see the figure of the man—the one seemingly in charge—circling him with his arms crossed behind his back.

From what Reaper could make out in the mostly dark warehouse, his captor was short, thick, and seemed to be wearing a nice suit. “I’ll only ask one more time and if you decide not to answer, I’ll find the most unpleasant way to get that information from you.”

That sounded like a shitload of fun. “And you are?”

“Again, I’m the one asking the questions. I’ll give you thirty seconds to make your decision.”

Giving them a name was no big deal—he could give them the same fake one he gave the Russos—and he needed to pick his battles. “Peter Daniels.”

“Who hired you, Peter Daniels?”

These questions could work in his favor since their team’s whole plan was based on the manipulation of facts. If he was going to die, he might as well finish the job he started. “The Russos.”

Another man stepped up to the suit and their eyes met before the leader slightly nodded.

That looked like a confirmation of information they might have suspected. Good.

Reaper followed up with: “But you already knew that.”

“We suspected. Now we have confirmation.”

“So, I gave you the info you needed. You no longer have use for me,” he surmised. That wasn’t necessarily good since they weren’t going to just let him walk away.

“That’s quite an assumption.”

Even so, Reaper did notice he didn’t deny it. “If you knew, why didn’t you just put a bullet in my head?”

“Too easy. Plus, we don’t work on assumptions. We follow facts.”