Dane

It was a quiet trip back through the bowels of the building, into the stairs, and through the halls of the residential levels of the building. His father seemed deep in thought, and tense—but Dane was struggling to get a read on him. His face wasn't happy, yet there was something of a spring in his step that, Dane knew, heralded something his father anticipated with glee.

​​

So, whatever he was about to learn about, whether his father liked it or not, he anticipated something he wanted to see.

Which meant either Dane was going to hate it, or someone else would.

He was so busy trying to figure out where his father's head and emotions were at, it took him until the second level of the residential to realize they were still alone. There were no staff or support anywhere.

He looked around frowning. "Where is everybody?"

"Most of them are down in the bunker, preparing for this evening—though I still think we aren't likely to see action from the Police until tomorrow. But the rest are keeping their heads down. When we have operations going forward I prefer to be uninterrupted. Most of the non-operational staff will be working in the other building for the rest of the week."

Dane frowned, but shrugged it off. His father was distracted and certainly didn't seem bothered by how quiet the halls were. Not that this was a noisy place—people stepped carefully around his dad. But there were usually either house staff cleaning or delivering things, the administrative staff carrying messages and running errands. Dane hadn't realized how many of them he was used to seeing until the halls were suddenly empty.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Was this a trap?

By why would his father clear the halls just to hurt or kill him? He didn't seem to take any precautions when they were torturing the poor people who got in his way.

He glanced at his father from the side, but couldn't see the piercing light he usually had when he knew someone was about to die.

"Dad, why—"

"No, Dane, I didn't clear the halls for any reason to do with you. But honestly, for the sake of this conversation, it's probably better that you feel like no one else is listening, anyway."

They'd made it to his father's office, and Douglas turned the knob on the door, swinging it open with a smile, then stepping back to let Dane follow.

Dane stepped inside and his entire body throbbed.

A bulky, sandy-haired man was standing—pacing, actually—on the other side of the office. As they walked inside, he turned and their eyes met.

Chris.

Dane stopped in his tracks. Thick, hot rage coated his throat and seeped into his chest, lighting fires in his skin. He was far enough inside that his father closed the door behind him and walked quickly over to his desk, sitting down and looking back and forth between them with a smile, as if he was watching a tennis match.

"You fucking traitor," Dane snarled.

Chris stared at him, open-mouthed for a second, before turning to Douglas. "You didn't say you were bringing him."

"It was a last minute thing. But he wants in, so he needs to get used to this side of things."

Dane had to keep his teeth clenched, or he was going to reveal too much. His entire body hummed with rage, vibrated with it. His fingers twitched to be closing on Chris's throat. And he could feel his skin slowly burning with the sheer force of his fury.

Chris turned back to him, having gotten his features under control. His jaw twitched, but he watched Dane like one predator waiting to see if another would attack, and ready to fight if they did.

Dane's breath got deep and quick. Chris looked terrible. He was in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, both of which looked like they were at least three days into wear. His eyes had bags underneath. There was a scratch on his face, and what looked like a bite-mark on his forearm.

Something about that hit Dane in the guts, but he was so focused on his anger, it took seconds for the thought to form.

Lila.

"Where is she?" Dane demanded, his voice low and hard. "Who did you leave her with?"

Chris turned back to Doug. "I'm not doing this in front of him."

Doug's delight immediately went cold. "You believe you may dictate terms to me, son?"

The reference, so slight, so casual, hit Dane harder than it should.

He called Chris, son?

Why did Dane care if his father called his stepson, son? But something in him did—and that bothered him even more than the reference itself.

He was losing his mind.

Lila.

"Where the fuck is my wife, Chris!" Dane said, louder this time. Even harder.

He took a step towards Chris, but his father said, "Stop." And he did. Then he blinked. When had he started taking orders like that?

He shuddered and had to close his eyes a moment, take a breath. He sought the robot, the numbness. He wanted to be hard. He wanted, desperately, to be untouchable.

Why the fuck couldn't he get his body to shut down?! "Where. Is. She?"

Chris whirled on him. "Why, Dane? So you can go fuck her over some more?" Chris spat. "You had it all and it still wasn't enough. I saw your little home movie—stunning moves, brother. Why didn't you just crack her chest open and squeeze her heart dead? It probably would have been less painful."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Where is she? Why are you here? You're supposed to be keeping her safe."

"I know far more than you could even guess. Don't give me that shit."

"You were my brother. I protected you! And this is how you repay me?"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? I've got nothing on you! Your wife—your pregnant wife—had to watch you fuck another woman and you're going to call me the bad guy?"

"You betrayed me! You betrayed all of us!"

"To be fair," his father interjected with a smile, "I did make it rather attractive to him."

Chris shot Doug a look, but didn't hold the stare. Dane could hardly breathe. Everything in him screaming to run, to fight, to kill something—someone. Every piece of him jangling alarms—what had happened to her. Why was Chris here? And how was he going to let him walk out of here alive? He needed to think! He needed to process. But his brain was still screaming Lila's name, and his body couldn't hear anything else.

"So, Chris," Dane's father said when neither of them were able to splutter a word past their respective rage. "I think you better fill me in on today's events. They don't sound good. Perhaps Dane has some ideas about how we can… rectify this."

"Where. Is. LILA?!" Dane screamed.

Chris ignored him completely, his jaw set tight, but he faced Doug with his shoulders back and his chin up.

Doug waited, and when Chris didn't answer, he rolled his eyes. "I have the same question, Chris. Where is Lila? What has happened?"

"She found out about… my association with you."

No. Dane sucked in like he'd been punched. "What did she do?"

Without looking at him, Chris spoke to Doug. "I tried to get her to calm down, but she wouldn't and she went for her phone. We… struggled… and…"

No. No no no. Dane froze, his breath sucked in and out of his nose. "Where—"

"Were you alone? Or do others know, also?"

"No, we were alone. But I had to… hurt her."

The entire world spun and narrowed. Dane couldn't move, he couldn't move. He had to move! But it was as if all communication between his brain and his body had ceased. He stood there watching his brother speak calmly about harming his wife, and his father query the events as if it were a news story.

How? How had he gotten here? And for no gain? Lila was hurt anyway? After what he'd been forced to do to her!

"Is she dead?" Doug asked in a slow drawl that indicated he wouldn't be happy about it if the answer was yes.

"No, but… I'm worried about the baby."

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Everything slowed down and Dane saw it all as if it were happening outside himself.

The leash that had held Dane in check snapped and he came alive. In one movement he leapt across the room, sliding the gun from his back, behind his jacket and pulling it up to aim squarely at Chris's forehead—which was facing him now, because Chris, in the same breath, had pulled his own weapon, and had it trained on Dane.

They both froze panting, eyes hard as flint, staring down the barrel of each other's guns.

*****

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