Dance With The Devil

The Lion's Den

The interrogation room at the 4th Precinct was a concrete box that smelled of bleach and desperation.

Zain Vardis sat in the middle of it, his hands cuffed to the steel table. He looked less like a prisoner and more like a king waiting for his court to assemble. He hadn't touched the glass of water they had given him. He was watching the two-way mirror, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.

The heavy door creaked open. Elena Vance walked in, a thick file tucked under her arm. She looked pale under the flickering fluorescent lights. She didn't sit down.

"You’re a lunatic," she whispered, leaning over the table. "Graves and his men are outside this building. Half the cops on the night shift are on Moretti's payroll. You didn't walk into a sanctuary, Zain. You walked into a slaughterhouse."

Zain looked up, his dark eyes calm. "Sanctuaries are for the weak, Elena. I needed a theater. And look—the lead actress has arrived."

"This isn't a joke!" she slammed her hand on the table. "The gold on that ship? It’s gone. It vanished before the police could process the container. Moretti’s men intercepted the transport. You played your hand and you lost."

Zain tilted his head, the metal of his handcuffs clinking softly. "Did I? Or did I just give Victor exactly what he wanted so I could see where he hides his treasure?"

Elena froze. "What are you talking about?"

"The gold wasn't the point, Elena. The GPS trackers I hid inside the gold bars are. Right now, Mina is

tracking that 'vanished' shipment. It’s currently being moved to Victor’s private vault—the one the law has never been able to find. The one that contains the ledgers for every politician in this province."

Elena felt the air leave her lungs. "You used a billion dollars as bait?"

"A billion dollars is a cheap price to pay for a map to the devil's heart," Zain said. He leaned back, the steel chair creaking. "But we have a more immediate problem. In approximately three minutes, the lights in this precinct will go out. The 'loyal' cops will take a coffee break. And Graves will walk through that door to finish what he started six months ago."

Elena’s hand went to her sidearm. "I won't let that happen."

"You can't stop it, Elena. Not legally," Zain said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet. "But you can do something else. Take off these cuffs. Give me the key. And when Graves walks in, I want you to turn your back and count to sixty."

"I’m a prosecutor, Zain! I don't 'turn my back' on murder!"

"Then don't think of it as murder," Zain whispered, leaning forward as far as the chains would allow. "Think of it as a hostile takeover."

Suddenly, the lights flickered and died. The hum of the air conditioning cut out. The silence that followed was absolute—and terrifying.

From the hallway came the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Elena looked at the door, then at Zain. His face was a mask of shadows, his eyes glowing with a predatory light.

"The key, Elena," Zain prompted. "The music has started. Don't leave me without a partner."

With a trembling hand, Elena reached into her pocket. The lock clicked. The steel fell away.

The door to the interrogation room swung open. A massive silhouette stood there, the red dot of a laser sight dancing across Zain’s chest.

"Zain Vardis," a gravelly voice growled. It was Graves. "Time to go back to the grave."

Zain stood up, stretching his neck until it popped. He didn't look at the g*n. He looked at Elena.

"One... two... three..." Zain began counting softly.

Elena closed her eyes and turned toward the wall. "Four... five..." she whispered, her voice shaking.

Behind her, the sound of a struggle erupted—the sharp c***k of bone, the muffled grunt of a dying man, and the terrifyingly calm breathing of a ghost who had finally found his prey.