Ratchet floors it, the van's engine screaming as we tear through the streets towards the airport.
My phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number.
My wife screams beautifully. Want to hear?
An audio file follows. My thumb hovers over the play button, trembling with rage and terror. I know I shouldn't listen. Know it'll destroy whatever sanity I have left. But I need to know she's alive.
The sound that emerges from my phone's speaker isn't human. It's raw, animal, the kind of scream that tears something fundamental inside your chest. Charlotte's voice, broken and desperate, calling my name through whatever hell Terrance has created for her.
“Thor! Please, Thor, I need?—”
The audio cuts off.
“Motherfucker,” Ratchet snarls. “He's baiting you.”
“I know. And it's working.”
Another text comes from the same number.
Still thinks you're coming to save her. Isn't that sweet?
A photo loads—Charlotte's face, bruised and swollen, eyes glazed with whatever drugs Terrance has pumped into her system. Her lip is split, blood trailing down her chin.
This is the last time you’ll see my wife alive. Enjoy it.
“New plan. We don't wait for backup. We don't scope the location. We go in hard and fast, and we paint the walls with their blood.”
Ratchet glances at me, concern flickering across his face. “Thor?—”
“No.” I cut him off, checking my weapons with mechanical precision. “They want to play games? Send me pictures of what they're doing to her? Fine. But when I get my hands on Terrance, I'm going to show him what real pain looks like.”
Ratchet's hand clamps down on my arm, his grip like iron. “Stop.”
“What?” I snarl, jerking away.
“He's baiting you. Sending photos and audio, he wants you charging in blind with your dick swinging and your brain offline.”
“Fuck!”
“If they figure out V has that smart watch on him...They'll know we're coming. They'll move Charlotte or worse.”
I force myself to breathe, to pull back from the precipice of rage I've been teetering on. “You're right.”
“Of course I'm fucking right,” Ratchet mutters. “Someone's gotta be the brains of this operation while you're busy planning your suicide run.”
Every cell in my body screams to respond to Terrance's taunts, to promise the slow death I'm going to deliver. But Ratchet's right. Silence is our only advantage now.
I stare at my phone, the glow of Terrance's message burning my retinas. My fingers hover over the keypad, itching to respond.
“Toss it. Wipe it and toss it out the window. Now.”
“What?”
“Your fucking phone, Thor. Ace might have his own V. If he can send you messages, he can trace your location. We can't risk leading them straight to us.”
Of course. I'm thinking with my dick instead of my head, exactly what Ratchet warned me about.
I quickly reset the phone to factory settings, watching as years of photos, messages, and contacts disappear in seconds. When the Apple logo reappears, I roll down the window and hurl the device into the darkness. It bounces once on the asphalt before shattering, lost to the night.
