Chapter 17
The abandoned warehouse in the industrial district was a cavernous, rotting structure smelling of rust, damp concrete, and old blood. It was a place designed for screams to go unheard. Richard Sterling was strapped tightly to a heavy steel chair in the center of the room, directly beneath a single, harsh halogen bulb. His shattered wrist had been crudely bandaged to prevent him from bleeding to death, but the pain was clearly agonizing.
Stallone stood in the shadows just beyond the ring of light, watching the billionaire sweat. Victor stood beside the chair, a pair of heavy iron pliers resting on a small metal table nearby.
"The clock is ticking, Richard," Stallone said, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. "Twelve hours. If you die in this chair, my brother dies in his cage. But there are ways to keep you alive and in excruciating pain long past the twelve-hour mark."
Sterling gritted his teeth, his arrogant facade cracking under the immense physical pain. "You... you don't understand, Sylvester. You think you’re in control because you took the Cross empire back. You’re a dinosaur. The world operates on data now, not bullets. The cage holding your brother is entirely automated. No human guards. Just code."
"Where is it?" Stallone demanded, stepping into the light.
"It's not in the city," Sterling wheezed, blood dripping from his chin. "It’s an old Cold War bunker in the Catskills. Deep underground. But even if you find it, the blast doors are locked by a biometric deadman's switch. You need my retina and my fingerprint simultaneously to open it. Cut off my hand or gouge out my eye, and the system recognizes the lack of pulse. It locks permanently."
Victor looked at Stallone, his expression grim. "He’s telling the truth about the tech, Boss. Sterling’s companies develop high-end biometric security for the military. If it’s his personal vault, a brute-force breach will take days. We don't have days."
Stallone walked slowly up to Sterling. He grabbed the billionaire’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. "Then you are going to walk me down into that bunker, Richard. And you are going to open that door yourself."
Sterling let out a weak, desperate laugh. "And what happens after I open it? You shoot me in the head. Why would I sign my own death warrant?"
"Because if you open the door, I will give you a quick death," Stallone whispered, his face inches from Sterling’s. "A single bullet. No pain. But if my brother suffocates in that cage... I will keep you alive for a month. I will peel your skin off in strips and feed it to you. I will make you beg for hell."
Sterling stared into Stallone’s eyes and saw the absolute, terrifying truth. This was not a negotiation. It was a promise. The billionaire swallowed hard, the last remnants of his bravado shattering completely.
"The Catskills," Sterling whispered, his voice trembling. "Route 28. An abandoned logging road near the reservoir. I’ll show you the access point."
May you like
Stallone let go of Sterling’s hair and stepped back into the shadows. "Victor. Prep the convoy. We leave in ten minutes. And patch Sterling up just enough so he doesn't pass out on the drive."
As Victor moved to cut Sterling loose, Stallone looked at his watch. They had eight hours left. Eight hours to undo a decade of betrayal.
