Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 35

The sun had barely crested over the distant hills when Quinn stepped into the lower level of the chateau. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles etched into the skin beneath them. He hadn’t slept—not a minute.

The cool underground corridor felt like a tomb, and at its heart was the holding room where Ryan was kept.

Inside the observation space, Gary sat hunched over a mug of black coffee, wincing with every sip like it was acid. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and he looked every bit as hungover as Quinn felt tired.

Calvin stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed through the one-way mirror at the man on the other side. Ryan sat at the table, perfectly still, staring forward. He hadn’t moved in hours.

Quinn entered silently, his footsteps muffled on the concrete. He glanced once through the glass, then turned. “Where’s Sasha?”

Calvin didn’t look at him. He shrugged. “Hell if I know. I’m not her keeper. The girl does what she wants when she wants. I’m not her dad.”

Quinn clenched his jaw, frustration flaring through him. He didn’t know if it was worry or anger—probably both.

He turned back to the glass. “Has he said anything?”

Calvin shook his head. “Not a word. Not even a twitch.”

Quinn didn’t wait. He shoved the door open and walked into the room.

Ryan didn’t move, didn’t blink. He just sat there with a split lip and a faint bruise on his cheek from when Sasha had knocked him out.

Quinn paced once behind the chair, then slowly sat down across from him, the air charged with the kind of tension that made skin itch.

“You’re going to talk,” Quinn said, his voice low and cold. “I want to know who’s running The Hand of Justice. I want to know what they’re planning to do with the list.”

Ryan’s lips curved into a ghost of a smirk. “You already know what they’re doing. They’re cleaning up your government’s messes.”

Quinn ignored the jab. “Who’s in charge?”

Silence.

Quinn leaned forward. “Who. Gave. The. Order.”

Ryan tilted his head. “And what? You’ll go storming into another building guns blazing? You don’t even know which side you’re on, Quinn.”

Quinn’s hand slammed down on the table, the sound echoing off the walls. “Don’t play games with me.”

Ryan’s smirk deepened. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle the truth? You want something to punch, huh? You want some truth, fine.” He leaned in. “Want to know what Alicia used to whisper when she snuck off to meet me?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed, jaw flexing.

“She used to say she needed a real man. Said pretending with you was exhausting. She'd let me bend her over the sink in the safe house, f**k her hard—then come back to you and kiss you like nothing happened.” He chuckled low. “Sometimes right after she'd suck my d**k, we'd joke about how you would kiss her after—”

Quinn snapped.

He lunged across the table and slammed his fist into Ryan’s face. Then again. And again.

Blood spattered across the concrete wall as Ryan’s head snapped back, his body crumpling sideways in the chair under the force of the blows.

The door burst open—Calvin and Gary rushing in.

“Quinn!” Calvin barked, grabbing his arm.

Gary got the other, pulling him off as Quinn struggled, fury burning in his eyes.

“That son of a—”

“He’s trying to bait you!” Calvin growled, shoving Quinn back. “You’re giving him exactly what he wants!”

Ryan coughed blood onto the floor and laughed through swollen lips. “Touched a nerve, didn’t I?”

Quinn was breathing hard, chest heaving. His knuckles were raw and smeared red. His thoughts were a storm of betrayal, rage, and regret.

Calvin pulled Quinn toward the door. “You need to cool off before you ruin everything.”

Gary, still groaning from his hangover, muttered, “I miss the days when bad guys were simple.”

They left the room, Ryan still laughing behind them.

Quinn didn’t stop walking. He needed air. He needed Sasha.

But she was still nowhere to be found.

Quinn paced the room like a lion in a cage, each step marked with silent frustration and restless energy. His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. The buzz of blood in his ears drowned out everything except the thud of his steps on the cold concrete.

Gary, still hugging a lukewarm mug of coffee like it was his last lifeline, groaned. “Jesus, Quinn. You’re making me dizzy just watching you. Sit down or something.”

Quinn didn’t answer. He kept moving, eyes flickering toward the sealed interrogation room.

Then—without warning—the door slammed open.

Sasha stormed in, her boots sharp against the floor. Dressed in black form fitting cargo pants and a black form fitting long sleeve shirt. Her expression was unreadable, her hair still slightly disheveled from the night before. Under one arm, she carried a rolled-up leather kit, its buckles worn, its surface stained with time and memory.

She didn’t look at anyone. Not Quinn. Not Gary. Not Calvin.

Without a word, she walked directly to the interrogation room and stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Then the snap of a chair dragged across the floor. The sound of its legs jamming under the door handle.

Calvin raised a brow, arms folded. “s**t,” he muttered. “This is about to get graphic.”

Gary blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Wait—what’s in that kit?”

Calvin and Quinn just kept watching, grim.

Inside the room, Ryan still sat in the metal chair, blood drying on his lip, bruises starting to bloom along his face.

He lifted his head as Sasha approached, the leather roll still tucked under her arm.

His smile was smug, confident despite his busted face. “You can try beating me like lover-boy did,” he rasped. “I’m not saying shit.”

Blood dripped from his nose as he licked his lips, eyeing her figure up and down. “Unless… you give me a taste. Then maybe I’ll talk.”

Sasha didn’t flinch. Her face was stone, her hazel-green eyes dull and lifeless.

She walked past him slowly.

Ryan’s hand lifted, and he slapped her ass.

Still, she didn’t react. Her movements were fluid—silent—like a predator circling prey. She moved behind him, then in front. Then finally stopped.

“You’re going to wish you spoke to Quinn when you had the chance,” she said, voice flat and devoid of warmth. “You’re going to beg for his fists.”

She unrolled the leather tool kit across the table beside him.

The tools gleamed in the overhead light. Cold metal glints, each one crafted for pain and precision.

Sasha’s fingers traced along the array, delicate and practiced. Her touch made the moment eerily intimate.

Ryan swallowed thickly, but forced a sneer. “I’m not talking.”

She selected a thick, hooked blade and turned, her voice still calm. “Then Alicia will.”

Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. “She won’t say a word either.”

Sasha’s eyes flicked to his. “She will… when I start sending her parts of you.”

The cocky mask faltered.

She stepped forward.

“What part do you think she values the most?” she asked quietly, circling him again. “Your hands?” She glided the blade across one palm. “The ones you used to hold her with?”

He tensed.

“Your lips?” She traced the blade across his bottom lip with surgical precision. “The ones you used to kiss her?”

Then she stepped between his legs and kicked one of them wide open.

“Or how about your d**k… the one you used to f**k her with?”

She let the blade glide down to the waistband of his pants.

Ryan’s body went rigid. “You don’t have the balls, Sasha.”

Sasha’s mouth twitched into a small, deadly smirk. “d**k it is, then.”

In one swift, fluid motion, she grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back on the table. He gasped, choking, as she straddled his chest, knees pinning his arms down. Her back was to him, steady and deliberate as she undid his belt.

Outside the mirror, Gary’s jaw dropped. “She’s not really gonna… cut off his—?”

Quinn looked at Calvin, "Are you going to stop her?"

Calvin didn’t answer. His lips were a thin line.

Back inside, Ryan finally caved when Sasha had his d**k exposed resting the blade near the base—his voice hoarse, panicked, desperate.

“Okay! Okay—Damian Cross!” he gasped. “Damian Cross runs it! He’s the one behind the list. The Hand of Justice reports to him.”

Sasha didn’t move for a moment.

Then she got off him and stood straight.

“Now, was that so hard?” she asked coolly.

Ryan was shaking, barely able to breathe. “f**k… you,” he spat weakly.

Sasha paused at the door, her hand on the chair still barring it shut.

“Oh,” she said softly, turning back, “one more thing.”

With no hesitation, she lunged forward, slammed Ryan’s hand flat against the table—and with one precise, brutal motion, slammed the blade down.

Blood exploded across Sasha face, as his scream tore through the room. His severed hand fell to the floor.

Sasha leaned close to his tear-streaked, agonized face. “Don’t touch me again.”

She pulled the chair from the door, opened it, and walked out like nothing happened.

She passed Calvin, Quinn and Gary without a glance. As she walked by, she dropped the bloodied blade on the table, burying it tip-first into the wood.

“You might want to cauterize that,” she said to Gary. “If you want him to live.”

And she was gone.