Born of Fire

Uriah Merjack stared menacingly at Syn, wishing to all that was holy he knew some way to break him.

As soon as they’d brought Syn into the sterile interrogation room on Ritadaria, he’d been completely stripped while they searched his entire body for weapons and contraband. Every single cavity. One could never be too careful when dealing with a man as crafty as this one had proven to be.

Satisfied that Syn had no way to fight back, Uriah had then ordered him secured to an interrogation table.

That had been nine hours ago. In that time Uriah had tried every device of torture known to them: mind probes, electrodes, orifice probes, serums.

Finally they’d decided to dispense with the table, and use a more primitive means of inducement. Securing his hands above his head with a chain and his feet with manacles, Syn was held against the wall while they tried to beat and torture the information out of him.

The light gray wall, as well as all of them, was splattered with his blood.

Still he wouldn’t break. Damn him! He wouldn’t even honor their efforts with a scream or pleading.

There was only one other person Uriah had ever come across with that kind of fortitude. “Just like a damned Wade,” he breathed under his breath.

The warden, Traysen, turned toward him. “What was that, sir?”

Uriah shook his head at the prison warden, who had overheard his mumbling. “Nothing.” He faced the interrogator who was showing signs of the same frustration. Neither of them was used to dealing with someone this damned stubborn. Most people broke within half an hour. The longest anyone had lasted to date was three.

Except for Idirian Wade . . .

Uriah looked at the interrogator. “What other means are left to us?”

The interrogator, a beefy man in his mid-forties who had the best reputation for inducing pain in the known worlds, shrugged. “Sir, I’ve tried everything. If you give me a little time to do research, I might find some ancient forms that could prove beneficial. But at this point . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Uriah clenched his teeth in aggravation. Of course not—because let’s face it, the rat held the key to his survival while the other criminals had only been nuisances. If they didn’t get this bastard to break, Uriah and his son would be rotting in a cell next to him.

So why should this go easy?

Crossing the floor, he grabbed Syn’s hair and wrenched his head back. Blood poured from a cut above one eye and out of his nose and mouth. “Tell me where the chip is, rat.”

“Still on the old block?”

Furious at yet another smartass retort, he kidney-punched him in the kidney.

Tensing with the blow, Syn sucked his breath in between his bloodied teeth and grimaced. “Who taught you to hit? Your grandmother?” He narrowed that demented dark glare on him. “The only person you’re going to scare with that is a three-year-old girl.”

Just as he drew back to hit him again, Uriah’s son stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against the wall.

Tall and slender with short brown hair, Jonas pushed Uriah back a step, then moved to brush bloody strands of hair off Syn’s face. “I know this has to be killing you. Literally and figuratively. Why not save all of us a great deal of trouble and just tell us where you stashed it?”

Syn smiled coldly, displaying a mouth full of bloody teeth. Did they really think he was dumb enough to answer that? If he gave them that chip, he was dead.

As long as he was alive, he stood a chance of escaping.

But gods, he was tired and he hurt so bad . . . Even blinking burned. No part of him had been left unviolated or undamaged.

No, not true. They hadn’t assaulted him where it really mattered.

Only his ex-wife and son could hit him there.

All Merjack and crew did was hit him on the surface, and that he could take. It felt like a typical weekend night when his dad had been on a bender and feeling particularly vicious. If they thought they could break him with these puny attempts, they had a lot to learn.

Only his father had ever reduced him to tears.

And his son.

No, this was nothing . . . just like him.

Syn laughed at Jonas’s pathetic offer. “Why don’t you try checking up your—”

Uriah punched him again. Pain exploded as he felt his ribs shift.

“Father, please!” Jonas snapped. “We mustn’t kill him. Not yet.”

The interrogator cleared his throat and addressed Jonas. “Lord President, it may be too late for that, sir. His injuries are extensive.”

Jonas looked at Uriah, his brows drawn together in concern. “We must stop this and allow him to recover before we begin questioning him again.”

Oh goody . . . What a great kindness on their part. He couldn’t wait.

Uriah nodded in agreement. Syn’s death without that chip was useless to them. Anyone could find it. Anyone could have it. And now that Syn was up against rape and murder charges on Gouran, it was more than likely he would trade the chip to the Overseer of Justice for amnesty or at least a lighter sentence.

God help them then.