The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

“Who the hell set this up?” Hale demands. “They didn’t do you any fuckin’ favors by sending you here to meet us on your own. So give me a name. Who hired you?”

“I don’t—”

But we never get to hear whatever lame excuse this poor son of a bitch is about to give.

Sirens split the air as blue and red lights flood the area, lighting up the abandoned alley as three cop cars converge in the street behind us. Blinding lights momentarily block out everything else as loud voices cut through the air.

“Freeze! Get your hands up!”

“Put down your weapons!”

My body is moving before I even realize it, years of training and survival instincts cutting through my shock. I pivot in place as adrenaline surges through me.

Motherfucker.

We were set up.

16

Grace

Ciro taps his fingers against the armrest of the chair that’s been set against the wall in my room, staring off into space.

I wonder what it is he’s thinking about—if he’s thinking about me or something else. His eyes are just as distant when he thinks as they are when I’m talking to him, and my curiosity about his past rises again as I study him surreptitiously.

He doesn’t seem to sense my gaze, so lost in his own little world. The drumming of his fingers is a consistent rhythm, a never changing pulse. The tattoo on his wrist creeps out from under his sleeve, teasing me, flexing with the movements of his skin. He’s got roman numerals on his knuckles. I’m not sure what they mean, but judging by the way he unconsciously rubs them every couple minutes, I know they’re important to him.

It doesn’t matter, Grace. They’re not important to you.

I pull my attention away from him, trying to focus on what to do. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try to call Brian again, but it’s not looking good. After Hale, Zaid, Lucas, and their team left, Ciro brought me back up to the room like I expected him to, but he didn’t tie me up. I’m not sure if it’s because he trusts me more than the others do, or if he feels bad for what’s happened to me.

He obviously doesn’t trust me entirely, though, because Ciro hasn’t left the room once since we came in. It’s been well over an hour, and he’s sitting in the same chair, his thoughts somewhere I don’t belong. It’s almost as if his body is here, but not his mind.

I wonder…

Is it possible he’s so lost in his thoughts he wouldn’t notice if I crept to the bathroom?

I flex my calves to move off the bed, but his head snaps to me before my foot even touches the floor. For a split second, his gaze has an almost animalistic look to it, wild, burning with something I don’t understand.

And in a flash, it’s gone.

Once again, he’s completely impassive.

What happened to you, Ciro? My throat dips as I swallow hard.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask quietly, breaking the silence.

He looks at me for a second, as if he’s not sure why I would want to. But then he nods once, a quick dip of his head.

I tread carefully, remembering the last time I tried to push him for answers. That didn’t end very well.

“Why do you have me here?”

I don’t expect him to say anything, so when his deep voice fills the room, I’m surprised.

“We wanted your dad. We didn’t get him.”

Nothing in his voice betrays more than he wishes to tell, a skill I’