Ruins (The Jewel Project #6)

12. Prison Gates

"Do you morons need pictures? Don't you understand the notion of identical twins?"

A painful pounding overtook Sam's entire being. Words. There were words he couldn't make sense of, but they ignited an ache that spread over his numb body.

"Does he look like any of them?"

Something wasn't right. Where was he and why? Fighting against the slight nausea and the general soreness overtaking him, Sam focused on his muscles. They were heavy and unresponsive, but he could feel himself existing. If he had a sense of self, then he could extend his focus on his surroundings.

Before opening his eyes, there was the matter of figuring out his position. The angry voice meant danger, so until he came to properly, he wasn't giving himself away.

With inhuman effort, he forced his fingers to dig deeper into the surface he lay upon. It was hard and rough. A clenching of his hand confirmed it was stone. The air around felt stiff and a little cold. Where the hell was he?

"You bumbling idiots!"

Left with no other information he could gather without moving, Sam cracked open his eyes. Dull grey stone and a set of iron bars came into view. Outside his prison, there were three sets of feet, one wearing dress shoes, and the other two, dusty work boots. There was also a body wearing dark clothes he couldn't make out properly. He couldn't see who it was, but they were limp and unresponsive.

Even if he dreaded the outcome, he forced his mind to join the world of the conscious. There was no way he could ignore the danger. More details assaulted him, adding to his headache. The suited man was Von Crooken and the other two were a bunch of random goons Sam had seen before, but didn't know the code names of.

Great, it was Snitch Gravel who had kidnapped them, not the Agency. It didn't make things better.

"He's useless." Von Crooken released the body, and it fell to the floor completely.

The breath caught in Sam's throat. It was Herrison. Or at least what was left of him. Half of his face was a purple mess, and both his eyes were swollen and closed. From the dirt and blood on his face and the boot marks on his clothes, it was obvious that the goons hadn't been gentle with him. His nose seemed to be broken and there was a deep gash on his cheek.

A crippling sense of fear took over Sam as he realized he was most likely alone in his cage. Where was everyone else? Were they all in the same shabby condition as Herrison? He tried to focus on his own body, but he couldn't tell if the pain came from the drug or being abused in some way while he'd been knocked out.

The desire to do something to fix this battled with the need for self-preservation. There was nothing he could objectively do to help Herrison right now. Not when he couldn't move and they were separated by iron bars. Was he the one locked up or Herrison? The world was to squed for him to tell.

Herrison's eyes managed to somehow crack open. There was a very slight widening as he realized Sam was awake. With obvious effort, he reached out one of his hands, as if he hoped Sam would pull him to safety.

It was stupid and logic told Sam there was no way he could reach Herrison. He was too far away, and even if he did manage to take his hand, it wasn't like he could pull him between the iron bars. And yet, he couldn't help it. The terror and despair in Herrison's eyes left him no choice. He reached out as well, even if just to give Herrison the least bit of comfort.

"Boss." One of the goons nodded towards Sam.

"Ah, he's awake." Von Crooken moved closer to the bars of the cage and crouched, his foot stopping an inch from Herrison's head. "It's the little snitch."