Anna climbed out of the SUV with me right behind her. The armed men shuffled us away from the back seat and shut the door.
Stocky walked around the front end of the vehicle, snapped his fingers, then pointed at the entrance. His goons stood on either side of Anna and me. They each grabbed our arms and followed him inside the building.
We passed through the doorway and down the corridor toward the dungeon-like space we were kept in. The lights overhead flickered, illuminating the dull, gray tone of the cinder block walls. The long, fluorescent tubes hummed from the surge of electricity running through them.
A dark-red dot glowed, then flashed from the center of the security camera mounted between the wall and ceiling. It lingered for a few seconds, then faded away.
“Looks like they’re making progress with the generator,” Stocky said, glancing up to the flickering lights. “This is the longest they’ve been on since we’ve lost power. Maybe they’ll get it fixed for good.”
The lights overhead crashed, casting the hallway in darkness. The beams from the flashlights cutting through the black void guided our way.
Anna looked up and concern flooded her face. Her eyes enlarged some. I parroted the expression, then wiped it away.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, trying to mask the trepidation in my voice.
Stocky looked to the side. “Do you know anything about generators?”
“No. Not really.” I shrugged.
“Then it doesn’t matter, now does it?” Stocky walked past the room they kept us in. The men walking at our sides tugged our arms.
Anna turned toward the open door and took a step forward.
Stocky raised his arm, stopping her. “You’re not going in there.”
“I’m not?” Anna asked, puzzled. “Where am I going, then?”
“You’re coming with me. The big boss man will want to speak with you.” Stocky pointed at me, then to the room. “You’re staying right here.”
“What?” I glanced at Anna, then to the dark ether of the room.
“It’ll be fine,” Anna said. “Don’t worry.”
The armed guard shoved Anna past Stocky and escorted her down the hallway. She turned and looked at me, giving a simple nod as they vanished around a corner.
Stocky turned and looked down the corridor, then faced forward. “I’m afraid for you this is as far as you go. Put him in there.”
I planted my feet and leaned back, refusing to go inside the dark abyss. His armed minion dressed in black-tactical garb rammed his rifle into the small of my back, weakening my legs. I fell to my knees, then over onto my hands.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you, yet,” Stocky said, taking a step toward me. “I am going to torture and break you for shooting me at that house. When you beg for death, I’ll consider stopping.”
The armed guard shoved his boot into my backside, shoving me inside the room. My arms gave out, and I fell flat on my face.
“Tune him up a little bit,” Stocky said. “Don’t kill him, though. I just want him broken in some before I get back down here.”
I rolled over to my back, then eyed Stocky.
“I’ll see you soon, cowboy.” He winked and walked away, leaving his large goons standing in the doorway.
I backed away from the entrance, scooting across the floor and away from Stocky’s men. My mind worked in that dire moment, struggling to figure out my plan of attack.
They walked inside the cold, dark room, shinning their flashlights at my face. I held my hand up, blocking their beams.
My back hit the far wall. I slid up the rigid surface until I was on my feet. I eyed both men, watching to see who’d come at me first.
Black Tactical removed the sling of his rifle from his shoulder and leaned it against the wall near the doorway. The light shone at the ceiling, brightening up the room a bit more. I spotted the dark lantern on the floor.
He removed his dual-filter mask and tossed it to the floor next to the rifle. He cracked his knuckles, then popped his neck.
Burly holstered the P320 on the side of his hip and stood guard at the doorway. He looked at me with a blank stare and kept his flashlight trained in my direction.
I raised my arms and balled my fingers into tight fists. A brawler by nature, I could take a beating, but I could also dish one out.
Black Tactical parroted my fighting stance and came at me. We traded blows, hammering each other with right crosses and jabs. His fists felt like blocks of cement. He moved fast and hit hard.
The two men swapped, taking turns at me. Both dished a hearty meal of punishment that seemed to span for a lifetime.
Blood seeped from my nose. I favored my right side. My face throbbed from the heavy-handed goons striking me. I landed a few good shots on each, busting Burly’s bottom lip and blackening Black Tactical’s left eye.
I grew winded, tired from the constant barrage of being attacked and fighting. My muscles burned, struggling to keep my guard up. I dropped to my knees, head dangling toward the floor. I spat a wad of blood against the concrete.
Burly towered over me, just as spent. He placed both hands on his hips and gasped for air. I eyed the P320 near his hand.
Black Tactical took a breather across the room. He bent over with his hands resting on his knees. Each breath sounded labored—strained.
“Are you getting tired of me handing your ass to you?” I asked through panted breaths.
Burly grabbed my coat, then yanked me from the floor. He threw me back and pinned me against the wall with his large hand. He drew his arm back.
A muffled gunshot sounded from the dark hallway. Burly stopped, then peered over
