Risk and Rebel

34: HOW CLOSE IS TOO CLOSE?

[ THIRD PERSON POV: CONT. ]

The library was huge, but that didn't stop Legion and Sergeant from finding a computer and claiming it as theirs. Gunner sat across the table from them right as Legion produced a USB card plugged it into to the computer.

"Reach out to Catatonic's connections first," Sergeant said from beside his partner. He looked up at Gunner. "Like we said, Cat's more social. Low'll probably be with him, so that saves us time. After Catatonic, we'll try for Team Delta, and from there, Rage."

"Rage is the least likely to be anywhere on radar," Legion explained, already tapping away at the keyboard.

"Kind of figured," Gunner said with a nod. "He was always in headquarters least . . ."

"Comes with the territory," Sergeant shrugged. "You try being a survivalist and a woodsman and enjoy using technology at the same time."

Gunner raised his hands, "I wasn't making fun."

"Shut up, Sarge," Legion said, waving a hand at his partner. His attention was on the screen, and his brows had furrowed right after he'd spoken. "One of Cat's contacts answered already ... and you're not going to believe this."

"What?" Sergeant asked, leaning in to try and read over Legion's shoulder.

Legion didn't look up, and his brow furrowed further, his lips thinning into a line as he appeared to read and reread the message on the screen before him. "The quickest to answer is also the closest, and they said he and Low are nearby, too."

Gunner's brow furrowed then, too. "How close?"

It was only then that Legion finally looked up, his surprise evident. "Here. In Munich."

--

[ BACK TO RISK ]

When Charlotte grabbed my arm, it took all of the self-restraint in my body to keep from lashing out in response. Instead I yanked my arm away from her claw-like hold and turned to face her with new fire in my eyes.

She'd stopped me just short of following Rebel into the room we were going to use to interrogate Walski. As I faced her, I found myself wanting to punch the smug smirk right off her face.

"I think I should be in the interrogation," she said. Her voice was too calm, too level. When her hazel eyes flashed between myself and the room behind me, I felt my rage spring up anew. "I have more experience interrogating people."

"Yeah?" I challenged, arching a brow. "I have more experience hurting people. And unless you want a first-hand demonstration of that, you won't touch me again."

Charlotte's brows arched in mock-surprise. "Is that a threat, Risk?"

"Oh, we're far past threats," I retorted without hesitation. "You can consider it a promise."

Everyone else had gone silent during our exchange. They were all seated in a large room directly across from us and had a front-row view to the exchange. Desmond watched on with wide eyes, his laptop open on his knees, his fingers frozen over the keys. The other mercenaries stood at a safe distance; everyone watched the two of us carefully. Even Gray didn't make a move to intercede.

"What, you really expect me to believe you're going to fight me?" Charlotte asked with a derisive snort, her hands on her hips.

"Not fight," I corrected, my voice cold. "Fighting would suggest you have some chance of winning."

She was evidently taken aback by that, because she didn't answer right away. Instead her eyes widened fractionally, and for a split-second she glanced over at Rebel, almost as though she was expecting he'd speak up — maybe drag me away.

She had no such luck.

The moment she looked back at me, I made my move. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't nice. I sprang forward, grabbing one of her arms, and twisted it hard, efficiently maneuvering her into the position I wanted her in. Her arm was pressed firmly up between her shoulder blades, and with a kick to the back of one leg, she was down on her knees.

When her free hand went for her gun, I grabbed it by the pressure point in the soft of her hand, and wrestled my same arm around her neck, pinning her other arm to her chest.

"Risk," I heard Gray say then, and though the authority in his tone usually would've garnered my attention, this time it went ignored.

I squeezed the pressure point in her hand harder. "If you don't stop squirming, you're going to force me to knock you out," I said calmly, keeping one of my knees positioned against her lower spine.

Charlotte didn't listen.

I couldn't say I was disappointed.

All it took was a slight change in position; the subtlest release of one hand in favor of gaining a better hold on her head. Several seconds later Charlotte was out cold on the ground, and I was straightening back up and facing Gray.

His displeasure was obvious. His usually professional and stoic features were twisted in annoyance, his brow creased, his lips turned down in an uncharacteristic scowl. "You should not have done that," he said, his hands clasped behind him.

I granted him a toothy smile without a hint of remorse. "You're not the boss here any more, Gray," I said.

"LASAR is gone," Rebel spoke up from behind me. "We're not your subordinates, and you're not in charge of us. You should consider yourself lucky that we've followed you this far."

Gray's jaw clenched at that, but he made no further move to speak. The rest of his mercenaries watched the two of us with mingling uncertainty and apprehension, but they all kept quiet.

"Just let us interrogate him," Rebel said, giving Walski a good shake for emphasis, "so we can get a move on."

"Fine," I heard Gray say as I headed past Rebel into the room. "Try to make it quick."

"No promises," Rebel retorted, though his voice was as level as Gray's had been.

I waited inside the room, leaned against the sole table.

Rebel pushed Walski in, and paused in the doorway with his hand on the door; "You might want to get her ice. She's going to have a killer headache," he said before closing the door. He turned to Walski. "Sit down."

Walski didn't argue — the fact that Rebel looked like he could tear him limb from limb and still have a good day probably had something to do with that — and instead took a seat at the chair nearest to me, his dark eyes flicking between Rebel and I. "Now what?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Now," I said, in mock-cheerfulness, "we're going to have a nice chat."