Dom woke slowly. Consciousness dripped in like raindrops until he became aware that he was on a concrete floor. He shifted and groaned when his head protested first and then the rest of him followed. He tried to raise his arm to touch his head and almost panicked when he couldn't seem to move them until he realised they were tied to some kind of metal post in the ground. He tried to open his eyes but quickly felt the barrier of the rough fabric blocking his vision. He shifted awkwardly into a sitting position and tried to hear what was around him. Silence.

'Hello?' His voice came out shaky, terrified and Dom pressed his lips together as if to stop the sound escaping. He took a deep breath and tried to think past the rising panic. His voice had echoed and the floor was concrete. Maybe he was in a warehouse of some description. Some abandoned warehouse where there was no danger of his cries being heard as his captors hadn't bothered to gag him. That he was still alive at all amazed him but hard on the heels of that thought was the understanding that he must have been kept alive for a reason; they thought he could tell them something. Torture. They were going to torture him.

Dom sagged back against the wall behind him. He'd been tortured before as a POW and once…once when Edward Sallis had taken him hostage to lure Alan Hawke into a trap…

Dom tested the bonds on the ropes that bound him to the chair. They were tied tight; the knots firm and holding. His last memory was of walking into his motel room after finishing a meal in the diner across the road. He'd been alone; Alan had gone to phone Jane and check in with his family.

'I would stop struggling.' The sound of the deep, cultured voice had Dom freezing into position and he cursed the blindfold that prevented him from seeing.

'What do you want with me?' Dom asked.

'What do I want with you?' The voice whispered very close to his head. 'You've been following Sally around.'

'Sally?' Dom frowned. 'I don't know…' He suddenly realised who the voice was referring to and he shut up abruptly.

'Coming back to you now?' There was a harsh laugh. 'I shouldn't worry. By the time I'm finished with you…all your secrets will be coming back to you.'

There was a sharp click; the sound of switchblade being opened.

'Now this isn't going to hurt a bit…' there was a harsh chuckle, 'it's going to hurt a lot.'

'Are you awake, old man?' The rough shake jolted Dom back into consciousness. It was an unfamiliar voice to Dom; young with the hint of a Southern twang.

'What do you want with me?' The echo of words said long ago roughened Dom's voice.

'I think you know, old man.'

Dom was kicked without warning; the blow drove the breath from him, had him curling up to protect the ribs that were bruised and wondered briefly if one was broken.

'I don't know.'

'Well, maybe you'll tell me something you do know.' His head was yanked back and a knife placed at his throat. He could feel the sharp edge against his skin. 'I want to know where Alan Hawke is.'

Dom gave a grunt of laughter. 'He's dead.'

'No.' The voice said sharply. 'He got put in witness protection but I'm betting that you know where he is.'

'Alan's dead.' Dom repeated. 'You can visit his gravestone…'

The blow snapped his head to the side and he fell sideways. He took a shaky breath.

'I'm going to get the truth from you.' His tormentor whispered in his ear. 'You can count on that.'