For Wrath, page 16
"Feisty," John remarked, a sinister smile audible in his voice. "I like that. But remember, Agent Cross, I hold all the power here."
Morgan's jaw clenched as she nodded, choking back any further retorts. She knew he was right – for now, at least.
Despite the sound of the engine and the wind rushing through the open window, Morgan could hear John fumbling with something at her chest. The sudden absence of weight told her everything she needed to know – he had removed the tracking device.
"Can't have any unwanted guests, now can we?" John said nonchalantly, rolling the window down further. Before she could react, Morgan heard a faint thunk as the device hit the dirt, abandoned just like her hope for backup.
Damn it, Derik, she thought bitterly. Your insistence on protocol might have cost me my life. She knew she was truly on her own now, and fear mixed with anger began to bubble within her. But she couldn't let him see that. She had to stay strong, even if her heart hammered in her chest like a caged bird desperate for freedom.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Patience, Agent Cross," John replied, his tone almost sing-song. "You'll find out soon enough."
The car eventually came to a stop, and Morgan braced herself for whatever horror awaited her. The door opened, and she felt rough hands pulling her out of the vehicle, guiding her until they reached their destination.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
A few moments later, the hood was yanked off Morgan's head.
Morgan squinted against the harsh, blinding light above her. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in a sterile, white-walled room tied to a surgical chair. The smell of antiseptic filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.
"Welcome," John said, his voice dripping with false hospitality. He turned away from her, hiding his face, but there was no mistaking the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. His scrubs were pristine, providing a stark contrast to the darkness of his soul.
"Let me go, Pesci," Morgan demanded, her voice strained from the tight restraints. "You've done enough damage already."
"Ah, but we haven't even started yet," John replied, his voice filled with a sickening glee. "I have so much planned for you, Agent Cross. You won't be leaving here until I'm satisfied."
Morgan's mind raced as she struggled to think of a way to escape, a plan to save herself and Harriet Holland. But with every passing second, her panic grew, threatening to consume her.
John busied himself around the room, picking up various surgical instruments and placing them on a rolling cart. The metallic clanking of each tool contributed to the sickening atmosphere. Morgan's head was tied back, preventing her from looking down and seeing what he was preparing. Her heart raced, but she refused to let fear show on her face. She had faced down countless killers in her career – this would be no different.
"Your skin," John said, pausing for a moment to admire her arms. "It's so smooth, so young. Such a shame those tattoos mar its perfection."
Morgan gritted her teeth at his words, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine. "You're one to talk about perfection, Pesci. I've seen your handiwork."
He laughed a cold and hollow sound. "Oh yes, I'm quite proud of my work. But your tattoos...they'll have to go. The ink is poison, you see, and it will tamper with the essence I plan to extract." His voice was almost giddy as he spoke of his twisted plans.
Essence? Morgan thought, confusion momentarily overriding her fear. What the hell is he talking about?
"Whatever you're planning, it won't work," she spat, her voice firm despite the fear that clawed at her insides. "I won't let you win."
"Ah, such bravery," John mocked, resuming his preparations with renewed vigor. "But you're not in control here, Agent Cross. I am."
As he moved around the room, Morgan's mind raced, searching for any weakness, any opportunity to escape. She had endured so much, fought through so many dark moments in her life – she couldn't let it end like this, at the hands of a madman.
A soft whimper broke through the sterile silence, drawing Morgan's attention away from John and his twisted plans. She strained her eyes, trying to glance around the room without moving her head. In her peripheral vision, she spotted another surgical chair occupied by a figure barely visible through the dim lighting.
"Harriet," Morgan whispered, realization dawning on her. The hostage they had been trying so desperately to save was right there, tied down just like her. A new wave of determination surged through Morgan. She couldn't let Harriet suffer at the hands of this madman.
"Ah, you've noticed our guest," John said, turning to face Morgan for the first time since she had been restrained in the chair. His deformed, wrinkled visage loomed over her, but she refused to flinch, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. "She's been eagerly awaiting your arrival, Agent Cross."
"Get away from her, you sick bastard," Morgan spat, her voice steady as she maintained eye contact with John. He smiled at her defiance, clearly amused.
"Such protective instincts. Admirable, really," he mused, his eyes never leaving hers. "But misplaced. You see, I have no intention of harming dear Harriet. At least, not yet. First, we have some unfinished business to attend to."
Morgan glanced sideways at Harriet, who shook uncontrollably in her chair, tears streaming down her face. The sight fueled Morgan's resolve, pushing aside the terror that clawed at her insides. She had to find a way out of this nightmare, not just for herself, but for Harriet too.
"Whatever you think you're going to do to us, it won't work," Morgan said, her voice low but unwavering. "Someone will find us. They'll stop you."
"By then, it will be too late," John replied, his tone chillingly nonchalant. "But don't worry, Agent Cross. I promise you'll enjoy the process."
"Go to hell," Morgan shot back, her anger momentarily overpowering her fear.
John chuckled, savoring her defiance as he continued to prepare his instruments. Morgan's mind raced with plans of escape, each more desperate than the last. She knew that showing fear would only feed John's twisted desires, so she clung to her anger and determination, praying for a chance to break free and save Harriet from the same gruesome fate that had befallen John's other victims.
"Let's begin, shall we?" John said, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "I'll start with Harriet here to demonstrate what you should expect." He turned and walked over to the trembling woman, a scalpel gleaming in his hand.
"Extracting your essence, your youth, will help me prolong my own vitality," he explained as if lecturing an apprentice. "Isn't it wonderful? To be able to live longer, stronger, more beautiful?"
Morgan clenched her jaw, trying to keep her voice steady. "You're insane, John. Do you think stealing someone's life force will make you younger? It's pathetic."
John merely scoffed, completely unfazed by her words. "You'll see soon enough, Agent Cross. You'll feel the power for yourself."
"Power?" Morgan spat. "What you're doing is disgusting. It's monstrous, and it won't save you from your own twisted reflection."
For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. But it vanished almost instantly, replaced by cold determination. With a swift motion, he raised the scalpel towards Harriet, who whimpered and squirmed in her restraints.
"Stop!" Morgan shouted, straining against her own bindings. She had to distract him, keep him talking while she searched for a way out. "John, listen to me. This won't give you the results you want. The pain, the suffering you inflict on others… that's the true ugliness inside you."
"Silence!" John snapped his grip on the scalpel tightening. "Your words mean nothing. I've heard them all before, from the other women who begged for mercy. They didn't sway me then, and they certainly won't now."
"Those other women weren't FBI agents, John," Morgan said, her gaze locked on the scalpel as it hovered over Harriet's pale skin. "They didn't have a backup on the way or a team of people searching for them right now."
"Empty threats won't save either of you," John sneered, drawing the scalpel closer to Harriet's throat. "It's just you, me, and sweet Harriet here. No one is coming for you."
Harriet's eyes widened with terror as she caught sight of John's deformed face, and she instinctively recoiled from him. Her reaction seemed to strike a nerve deep within John as his face contorted in rage, and he dropped the scalpel, clattering to the floor.
"Stupid girl!" he snarled, his voice shaking with fury. "You think you can judge me? You have no idea what I've been through!"
Morgan saw her chance—John's weakness was his own twisted appearance. She knew that beneath the layers of scarred flesh, he longed for the beauty he believed he could steal from others. As he raged at Harriet, Morgan shifted her head subtly, working to loosen the restraints holding her in place. From the corner of her eye, she spotted another scalpel resting on a nearby table, tantalizingly close.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the abandoned warehouse as Derik stepped out of his car. His heart pounded in his chest, and a sick feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Morgan was supposed to be back at the precinct by now, but she'd never shown up. The tracking device on her shirt said she was there.
"Dammit, Morgan," he muttered under his breath, scanning the desolate area for any sign of her. He couldn't shake the sinking feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.
Derik's eyes locked onto a small glint of light in the dirt, and he quickly made his way over to it. Kneeling down, he brushed away the soil to reveal the tiny, blinking tracking device. It was no longer attached to Morgan's shirt, just lying there discarded and useless.
"Shit," he whispered, balling his fists tightly. He knew he shouldn't have let her go alone. Even if John Pesci demanded it, they should have found another way. Now, she was missing, and he was left with nothing but a cold, empty warehouse and a growing sense of dread.
"Where are you, Morgan?" he asked aloud, frustration seeping into his voice. "What happened to you?"
He scanned the warehouse one more time, looking for any clues or signs that might lead him to her. But there was nothing—just the hollow shell of a building and the distant rustle of wind stirring up dust.
"Think, Derik. Think," he urged himself, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what could have happened to her. Was she still inside, hiding from Pesci? Or had she gone off in search of him on her own?
"Damn it, Morgan," he growled, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet. "Why didn't you wait for backup?"
He knew she was stubborn and fiercely independent, but this was different. This was life or death, and Derik couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to her.
"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to focus. "You need to find her, Derik. You can't let her down again."
With renewed determination, he gripped the tracking device tightly in his hand and began to search for any sign of his partner. He refused to give up on Morgan—she was out there somewhere, and he would find her, no matter what it took.
The wind picked up, sending a shiver down Derik's spine as he stood in the empty lot outside the warehouse. A sense of dread began to gnaw at him, feeding on his growing fear for Morgan. He couldn't shake the horrible feeling that she had gone to face the killer alone - or worse that John Pesci had gotten to her first.
"God damn it," Derik muttered under his breath, clenching the tracking device so hard his knuckles turned white.
His heart raced, thoughts spiraling out of control. He knew what Morgan was capable of, but he also knew the monster they were up against. John Pesci was a cold-blooded killer who took pleasure in causing pain and suffering. What if...?
"Focus, Derik!" he scolded himself, forcing his mind back to the present. Panic wouldn't help Morgan now. What would, however, was finding her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Morgan's heart thundered in her chest as she strained against the ropes binding her hands. Sweat beaded on her forehead, the effort to free herself leaving her muscles trembling. All the while, John Pesci approached Harriet with a needle, his deformed face twisted in cruel anticipation.
Come on, damn it! Morgan thought desperately. She could feel the rope starting to give way, but she needed more time. Time she didn't have.
"Please don't hurt me," Harriet whimpered, tears streaming down her face as she stared into the eyes of her tormentor.
"Shh," John cooed, an unsettling smile curving his lips. "This will only hurt for a moment, my dear."
"Hey, Pesci!" Morgan shouted, hoping to buy herself those precious few extra seconds. "Why don't you come over here and deal with me instead?"
John hesitated, glancing over at Morgan with a look of irritation. "You're not going anywhere, Agent Cross. I'll deal with you in due time."
"Your time's running out," she spat back, her fingers finally finding purchase on the knot.
With one final, desperate tug, she felt the rope give way. The sudden release sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she seized the opportunity.
"John," Morgan interjected, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "She didn't mean anything by it. Don't take it out on her. Focus on me."
The distraction seemed to work as John turned his attention back to Morgan, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you playing at?"
"Nothing," she replied, her heart pounding. "I just know that whatever you're going through, hurting Harriet won't help."
"Save your pity," he spat, taking a step closer to Morgan. "I don't need it."
"Maybe not," Morgan conceded, her fingers twitching toward the loosened restraint. "But there's something else you do need, isn't there? Something you've been chasing all this time."
"Shut up," John growled, but Morgan could tell she had struck a nerve. She continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke.
"Beauty, John. That's what you want, isn't it? You think these... experiments will make you beautiful again. But they won't."
"Enough!" John roared, but Morgan pressed on, knowing she was close to freeing herself.
"You can't steal beauty from others, John," she said, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of the scalpel as she finally wrenched her hand free from its restraint. "No matter how many women you hurt or how much youth you try to extract—it won't change who you are. Your actions have made you monstrous, and it won't save you from your own twisted reflection."
"Silence!" John shouted. Good. It was working. She needed him away from Harriet. Once he got close enough, she'd get him.
"You're an ugly piece of work; you know that? You look old, wrinkly, disgusting. No wonder you're so obsessed with youth."
John stopped in his tracks and turned away from Harriet, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he focused on Morgan. She smiled smugly, knowing she had successfully diverted his attention from his hostage.
"Excuse me?" he snarled, taking a menacing step towards her. The needle in his hand gleamed under the harsh overhead lighting.
"Face it, Pesci," Morgan taunted, her heart racing as she fought to maintain her composure. Her mind raced, devising a plan to free herself from her restraints and save Harriet. "You're hideous. All this time, all these lives you've destroyed... and you still look like something crawled out of a sewer."
"Shut up!" John roared, his face contorting in rage. The veins in his neck bulged as his fury grew.
Morgan's palms were slick with sweat as she discreetly worked on loosening her bonds more, using John's distraction to her advantage. Her fingers ached as they fumbled with the knot, but she couldn't afford to waste any more time.
"Can't handle the truth?" she goaded, her pulse pounding in her ears. "No amount of stolen youth will ever make you beautiful, Pesci. You'll always be a monster."
"Enough!" John bellowed, advancing towards Morgan with murderous intent. His deformed features twisted into a snarl, casting grotesque shadows across the room.
As he loomed over her, Morgan's hand finally slipped free of the rope. Suppressing a triumphant grin, she flexed her fingers, feeling the blood rush back into them with a tingling sensation. She had to time her next move perfectly.
"Go ahead," she taunted, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "Do your worst. But just remember – you'll always be ugly on the inside and out."
"Shut up!" he screamed, and then he lunged toward Morgan.
With a surge of adrenaline, Morgan's hand shot out, and her fingers closed around the cold handle of the scalpel. In one swift movement, she jabbed it into John's face.
"Argh!" he screamed, stumbling backward as blood spurted from the wound. His hands flew to his face, trying in vain to stem the flow.
Seizing the opportunity, Morgan quickly freed herself from her remaining restraints, her heart hammering in her chest. She had only seconds to act before John regained his composure.
"Harriet," she whispered urgently, "I need you to stay calm, okay? I'm going to get us both out of here."
But even as the words left her lips, Morgan knew she hadn't been fast enough. John snatched up another scalpel from the table, his eyes burning with rage as he moved swiftly towards Harriet.
"Stay back!" he snarled, pressing the sharp edge of the blade against Harriet's throat. The young woman whimpered, her eyes wide with terror as she looked helplessly at Morgan.
"Please!" Morgan shouted, fear constricting around her heart like a vice. "Don't hurt her!"
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," John spat, his voice thick with venom. "She doesn't mean anything to me. But you – you're something special, Morgan."
"Then let her go, and take me instead!" Morgan implored, struggling to keep her voice steady despite the panic rising within her. "She has nothing to do with this! It's always been about you and me, right?"
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