Hayden Cross contemplated the time it would take for him to lunge at Jason the Madman and rip out his throat before the rest of his father's ridiculous team could take him down. He was close enough to where he could throw his shoulders forward and his weight would propel him right into Jason's gut. He was quick with a knife, but quicker with his fists. Not a lot of people knew that about him, and he loved the dazed expressions on their faces when he broke their noses.

Jason sent another smirk in his direction and Hayden felt his blood begin to boil. He would enjoy breaking this man's nose. Or his cheek. Maybe he could fracture his orbital bone. Whatever it was, the bastard wouldn't know what happened until it was too late.

Abigail must have sensed it because she cleared her throat and shifted closer to him. When he didn't spare her the glance he knew she wanted, she blatantly elbowed him in the ribs. In front of Jason. In front of Hayden's father. As if he were a small child being scolded. He swung around to stare daggers at the red head but she didn't care.

Don't you dare, her hardened expression said. She glanced over at the massive, muscular men and women standing exceptionally close to them. Hayden wanted to tell her fuck it and release the weeks of rage that made his skin crawl but something stopped him.

The look on Ember's face on the rooftop—the horror, the pain, the shock—stopped him. He wasn't going to let the opportunity to skin those monsters alive get away from him that easily.

"How can we trust him?" Hayden finally said, his question directed to Matthew.

"We have our ways," he replied and Jason burst into laughter.

"And very deep pockets," the traitor chuckled. "Tell me, Cross, did you ever figure out who was undermining Mr. Rodriguez?"

Flashes of angry meetings with Derek and his commanders made his stomach knot. "For a second, they thought it was me."

The air in the room thickened. Jason seemed the least bit bothered. In fact, his eyes glimmered in the dim light, revealing his true insanity. "How's that little pest you love playing with so much? Your girlfriend? The blonde? Ember, was it?"

Like he didn't know her name. That asshole.

Hayden wasn't sure why he asked that question. But the second Jason opened his mouth, he regretted it with every fiber of his being. "What about her?"

"She seemed very smitten with the enemy." He paused. "And Nate seemed very smitten with her too."

The name hit him like a ton of bricks.

Nate Lincoln, the one who introduced Hayden to the seedy underworld of The Punishers, was the traitor. He set up Hayden to take the fall. And he was the reason why Ember's mother was shot.

* * *

I don't know how long it's been since Derek's—or Nate's—or both?—minions have brought me to this warehouse. Time crawls slowly across my skin. The only indication of the time of day comes from a slight crack in one of the high, paint-covered windows and a single ray beam perfectly in my face for most of the day. Because of course it does. The Universe really wants to wring this thing for all that it has.

And I hate every single minute of it.

I don't know what Derek is planning with me. Or Nate. The minute I try to ask anyone for a chance to talk to Derek, I'm met with insults or dead silence. When I scream that Nate Lincoln is the traitor, some stare at me with a devilish glint in their eyes while others snarl at me like I'm crazy.

No one believes me. The ones who know the truth have spun a web so intricate, they can pull on any tether to set themselves free.

I have to talk to Derek. I have to convince him out of all people of what's going on. That might be the only thing that'll save me. It's like someone has poured sand down my throat and listening to the distant trickle of water from a leaky pipe is agonizing.

"Can I at least go to the little girl's room?" I call in the direction of a shadowy corner where Keith is making out with one of his guns. I hear footsteps, but there are no words. Somewhere above me, a groan of the metal catwalk sends birds flapping away to freedom, and more hurried footsteps echo through the warehouse. Someone is in a hurry to get across.

Ahead of me, large metal doors open to flood the room with white light that attacks my eyes with such ferocity, I hiss like an animal. Four broad-shouldered silhouettes step out of the light.

"Good morning, princess."

If Keith and his shotgun are coming in now, what in the world have I been hearing this entire time?

I shudder. There's no way I'm puking tied up. "There's nothing good about it."

Keith cracks a smile. "That's what I like to hear."

"You wanna know what I'd like to hear?" I growl. "Either the sound of your nose breaking or someone bending your piece of shit of a gun in two. I'm not sure which one yet. Both would be preferred."

Keith clicks his boots into my line of sight. "Go ahead, princess. Be as dramatic as you want. I don't care."

"Dramatic?" I tug on my restraints. "Don't mind me being dramatic when I'm sitting in the middle of a scene from Mission Impossible."

"I've always loved those movies," a new voice muses from the daylight. Derek comes to stand beside Keith and I lurch forward, my mind screaming to tell him everything right then and there. When our eyes meet, goosebumps crawl from the top of my skull to the tips of my toes. "The passion they have for the craft. It gives me chills."

Craft? What kind of craft? The craft of drug dealing and thievery?

"I've only got passion for one kind of craft and it's the cheesy kind." I tell him. "I'm sorry but I can't relate."

"You've got quite the mouth on you," Derek snorts and leans forward so we're face to face. "There's no wonder you're bleeding." The brown of his eyes grow darker than I ever thought possible as Derek slowly probes the tender skin above my brow.

Not everyone in The Punishers is as patient as Keith and his shotgun. I said one too many words to the wrong person and ended up face down on the ground, still tied to my chair.

Blood covers the tips of his fingers and he lifts a hand to stare at the scarlet liquid. I hold my breath, waiting for his next move. He only stands there, fascinated by my blood before turning his gaze back to me.

"So fascinating," he whispers in a thick voice, dragging the bloody fingers down my cheek to my jaw and then to my neck. "You look so fascinating in red."

I hold back a whimper and force my body from trembling violently under my restraints.

"We can bathe her in red if you'd like, Derek," someone suggests all too eagerly.

Keith cocks the gun. "Shoulder wounds heal."

"No—"

I watch humanity evaporate from Derek Rodriguez's eyes and I've never felt such fear before. Derek whirls around and grabs the shotgun from Keith's hands faster than my heart can pound in my chest. This is it. This is how I'm going to die. I brace myself for the heat of the bullet in my forehead, determined to stare my killer down until the very end, but instead of slamming his finger on the trigger at me, he smashes the butt of the gun into Keith's face. Keith staggers back and crumples to the ground, still conscious, and gapes when Derek twirls the gun once more and unloads three rounds into the figure behind him. It was the previous voice—the man who wanted to bathe me in red. The shots echo through my ears and I watch him hit the ground with a thud.

Nobody moves. Nobody breathes.

Derek turns to look at me, ice in his eyes, no remorse to cloud them.

"Change of plans. I have some business to take care of, Ember. We'll talk later."

And with that he's gone. I'm left alone in the warehouse with nothing to do but stare at the dead man in front of me.

* * *

Hayden paced the length of the room. He paced and paced and paced until a sweat broke out on his forehead and his bare feet were rug burned. He didn't know what else to do. If he broke anything, Abigail would break him. He was convinced he wouldn't find any satisfaction in anything until the golden lamp in the far corner of the living room was in pieces.

He eyed the lamp. The golden lampshade elongated into a head with golden hair. Green eyes and an irritating smile began to manifest, arms and legs appeared, until Nate Lincoln was standing right in front of him.

Nate was the one who introduced Hayden to the parties thrown by Derek Rodriguez in the shady parts of the county. Hayden had friends on the football team. Wherever they went, he went. Nate crossed his path on more than one occasion until they were friendly acquaintances. It was his idea to go to Springfield to a party one of his brother's was involved in.

Hayden was confused as to how one of the Lincoln brothers would be associated with anyone in that area. It was only until a few years later that he learned it wasn't his biological brothers Nate was talking about.

Nate Lincoln was the one who kept in contact with Hayden when he was sent to the juvenile detention center. Hayden remembered that night clearly. It was right after his sentencing. His mother had been on the phone crying to her brother, Hayden's uncle, about everything that happened. His uncle told her that the second Hayden got out, she should send him to live with him in Cleveland.

"I'll straighten him out if that good for nothing cop can't," Hayden heard his uncle say.

But his uncle's children, Hayden's cousins, Melody and Beth, were too young and too impressionable for that to seriously happen. Who would want a delinquent living in their garage?

That was when the doorbell rang. That was when Hayden Cross and Nate Lincoln sat on the porch and spoke for hours about anything and everything. Nate told him about having friends at the same facility who would watch his back. All he had to do was do them a favor or two.

One favor became one more: drop this off here, take this letter there. Harmless work for protection, and eventually, a pretty penny.

Somehow through it all, Nate became his partner in these schemes. Hayden worked on the inside, Nate worked on whatever it was outside. It wasn't until the judge released him that Hayden learned exactly who The Punishers were and what Derek wanted to do with them. By then it was too late.

A loud crack yanked him back to reality, followed by a blistering pain in the palm of his hand. He looked down to see fragments of the lamp in his hands and broken glass digging into his skin. That would be Nate Lincoln's neck. Soon.

"You know, you might need your hands to be working if you want this thing to go smoothly," someone said from behind him. He quickly whirled around to find a girl braced against the couch at the edge of the room, watching him with familiar dissatisfaction.

She wasn't very tall, but she wasn't the pint-size he'd become accustomed to, with dark eyes glistening with a faraway look in them, tan skin, and a reddish brown hair pulled into a ridiculous braid.

"And who are you?" Hayden asked. "Are you even old enough to drive?"

The faraway look fizzled until her eyes were sharper than an obsidian blade. "Thank you for letting me know how my skincare routine works." At a second glance, he noticed a maturity to her face. "I'm going to be your babysitter tonight. My name is Officer Zyrelle."

Hayden clenched his jaw. "Babysitter?"

"You were attacked on the roof of a safe house and your girlfriend was kidnapped." Zyrelle looked angry. "Your little Informant mission is over, Hayden. I'll be protecting you while the recovery operation takes place."

"Like hell I am!" He'd come too far to sit around like a child! He needed to be there!

"They obviously made you," she continued. Hayden hated the fact that she was right. "Your friend Jason will be taking your place. The meeting is going to go as planned and we will stop The Punishers before they have a chance to kiss any rings."

His father spoke like Officer Zyrelle; everything was always an easy assessment and an easy mission. They didn't take into account that these wonderfully simple operations had massive consequences. One of which involved Hayden. Matthew always talked about his work like it involved picking daisies out of a field, when in reality, most of the stress was taken out on him or his mom. Hardly ever physically. Mostly in words and broken furniture.

"My dad put you up to this?" Hayden asked.

"Him and his bosses."

Hayden shook his head. He liked to argue. He really did. But arguing with her? No use. So instead, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to have a first aid kit on you, would you?"

"I'll get stuff from the bathroom."

He looked at his phone. The meetings were still happening today. He only had a handful of hours to figure out how to ditch the young police officer and get to Ember. She returned a few minutes later with a first aid kit, soundlessly wrapping his stupid injury, while a radio on her belt chattered with nonsensical information.

"Can you at least tell me what's going to happen?" Hayden finally asked when the silence became unbearable.

She ignored him. There was a knock on the door and a second officer pushed inside.

Great. Just. Great.

He wanted to explode. Exhaling a breath, he forced himself to relax. Long moments passed and he stared at the ceiling, the floor, the window, and the empty walls. He didn't come all this way to do nothing. He flipped on the TV and aimlessly flipped through channels while his mind raced. He didn't fight some frat boys and almost broke Corry Chance's arm to spend his evening watching Dateline.

Think, Hayden. Think.

And suddenly, he had an idea.

* * *