These boys do not like to do as they are told! Another nightmare chapter...although I think I'm blaming Jeff this time! Thanks for sticking with me.
Virgil didn't need to tell his brothers their dad was changing course - they saw it in his demeanour as soon as he stepped out of the cockpit. Adrenaline was masking his aches but he wasn't alone: Gordon's eyes were glinting and there was a dangerous expression on John's face. They were ready – nothing was going to stand in their way now they knew where their brother was.
Sinking into a seat, Virgil dragged a hand over his face.
"Here," John said, shifting so he was in-between them and balancing his laptop precariously. "This is where we're going."
He indicated the area and they passed some time using every satellite John had access to (through whatever means necessary) to try and work out precisely where they were going and what would be waiting for them. Unfortunately, John's previous assumptions seemed to be true: whatever complex was there was sunk into the ground and they couldn't find plans anywhere. They were going in blind.
When Virgil said that out loud, Gordon stood. He shifted and pressed on a panel. It slid back and Virgil gaped. There was a mini-armoury concealed in the plane: rifles, handguns and what looked like a grenade were securely placed on specifically designed shelves.
"You have to stop doing that," John said. "Seriously."
Gordon winked and Virgil decided he didn't want to know.
"It's for Dad. Brains doesn't trust the rest of the world," Gordon said. "More like he doesn't want anyone getting their hands on the plane. But still… I'm not complaining."
Gordon pulled out a handgun, testing the weight before putting it back. Virgil knew there would be time for that later – they needed a plan before they could decide what to take.
"How'd you know about it?" he asked. Their father must know – Brains wouldn't have installed it without his boss's permission. But John's surprise had been genuine; he hadn't known any more than Virgil had.
"Dared Al to steal the blueprints, didn't I?" Gordon shrugged, then saw their expressions and rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't tell the kid what Brains had in here. Give me some big brother credit."
Virgil stood up. He joined Gordon, one hand ghosting over the weapons. He longed for one in his hand. For the first time since Blag's men had jumped him outside the penthouse, he would be able to fight back. He wanted one now - he wanted to be there and end this.
"We need a plan," he said, turning his back on the guns and facing his brothers. That was what Scott would do: plan it out, know what he was up against and be prepared.
"In. Get Scott. Out."
John sniggered at Gordon's words and Virgil grinned, despite himself. They had no idea what they were walking in on.
It wasn't possible to plan.
"You know what Scott would say to that?" John said quietly.
Virgil shared a look with Gordon. "Consider the variables," they said together. It was their brother's favourite phrase when they were on a rescue and not certain what they were up against.
Before anything else was said, the cockpit door slid open and their father appeared.
"I need to know what I'm flying into," he said. "If you're asking me to risk your lives, the least I can do is know what we're up against."
His tone stopped them from arguing: they all knew he could still turn the plane around. It made sense: Virgil was forever pestering Scott for additional details when he was on the final approach to a danger zone on a rescue.
Virgil looked out of the window as Gordon admitted they didn't have one. They were closing in on Scott's location even as they spoke. Virgil hoped they weren't too late.
"I've contacted our agent," their father said. "She's in contact with the authorities but struggling to make them listen – she has no proof to show them and everyone has avoided these areas since the nuclear explosions years ago. They won't go in without evidence."
John instantly pulled his laptop closer.
"I'll give her something," he muttered. Virgil knew he would leave a trail for the authorities to follow while making it look authentic.
Virgil glanced at Gordon when their father continued to look at them.
"What?"
"I want positionings. Order of command, weapons, ammunition… I want a plan."
"We don't-"
"You should stay by the radio, Dad," Gordon said, nudging Virgil. Virgil took the hint and stayed quiet. "In case something comes back from Llina. We'll have a plan by the time we get there."
The note of confidence in Gordon's voice made it hard to protest. Their father rose, looked as if he was going to say something, thought better of it and returned to the cockpit. Gordon shadowed him, making sure the door was shut behind him.
"You don't want him coming in with us," Virgil said, watching him. Gordon shook his head as he returned to his seat.
"He has more experience and training than the rest of us put together. Even you," Virgil pressed.
Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Blag started this to make Dad co-operate," he said, his voice low. John's fingers faltered, indicating he was listening. "Dad goes in there and we're playing right into his hands. We'd do anything to get Scott back, right? How far do you think Dad would go with us in there too?"
Virgil didn't have an answer. Neither did John. His brother snapped the laptop shut, rolled his neck and sat forward.
"We need a plan," he said.
They started running through every scenario they could think of. If they found five, ten, a hundred men inside… If Scott would help or hinder them… If their brother could or couldn't move…
What they would do if they found Blag.
They all knew they had to end this. Prison couldn't hold the madman – the fact they were even having this discussion was testimony to that. John suggested the Global Defence Force and, verbally at least, both Virgil and Gordon agreed. They had facilities more secure than a prison and the isolation might prevent Blag from orchestrating another break out. They couldn't be sure though… Leavenworth was supposed to be one of the highest security facilities and he had walked out.
But Virgil looked away when he spoke. When he looked back, Gordon was pale, his eyes overly-bright. John was massaging his shoulder absently, not knowing he was doing it. Two distance cries of terror rang faintly in Virgil's ears: his own screams when Scott had been taken years ago, and his brother's shouts when Blag had dragged him out of the crypt.
This man had destroyed their family.
He shuddered, suddenly cold. At the same time Gordon stood and paced to the window, staring out at nothing. None of them had come through this unscathed and the thought of locking Blag up only for him to break out again was not an option. They had to end this – or lose themselves and each other to their demons. Virgil wasn't certain what he was capable of when it came to protecting himself. When it came to saving his family, however, Scott was not the only one who would do whatever it took.
Eventually, they ran out of plausible scenarios. Their father checked in a few times but Gordon always deflected questions and refused to commit to specifics, claiming they needed more time. Virgil knew he was afraid of letting on that he didn't plan on the man accompanying them. Until they had arrived - until leaving without Scott wasn't an option - Gordon was keeping quiet.
"I'll take point, John," Gordon said quietly, holding up a hand to stem their protests. "I've got the quickest reactions: I'll get us in."
John nodded, although the reluctance was obvious in his face. Virgil felt he had been punched, stealing his breath. He knew there was something he was missing from Gordon's plans and couldn't believe it had taken until now for him to catch on.
"No!" His heart was hammering hard as he stared at his brothers, fingers gripping the armrest. They both stared back, their expressions unwavering but Gordon couldn't hold his gaze. "I'm coming with you."
"You're not."
"You're not side-lining me!
"Sorry, kid." John was calm, his expression the same one Virgil had known his entire life when he'd had an idea and John thought he was being an idiot.
"I'm the one he kidnapped!" Virgil protested, "I'm the one he killed!"
"Exactly." Gordon's voice was deadly serious and Virgil was once again reminded of how like John he could be when he wanted. Gordon finally looked at him.
"You were only released from hospital hours ago," John continued, his voice calm. "You're not ready for a fight. Besides-,"
He broke off and Virgil knew he wasn't going to like what his brother said next.
"Blag knows you. He took you to use you against Scott. If he sees you, if he gets hold of you again… do you have any idea what that would do to our brother?"
Virgil winced. Unfortunately, John was right. He wouldn't be instrumental in breaking Scott – if it wasn't already far too late for that. But his brothers were also wrong: he had no intention of being left behind. He would simply have to make certain that Blag didn't get the upper hand over him again.
They continued to discuss scenarios, although they were repeating what they had already said: there was nothing left to talk about. Virgil played his cards just right; his brothers believed he was reluctant to stay behind but he would do what they asked. John watched him suspiciously, but he gave no sign he realised Virgil was planning something.
Virgil was all too aware he had only just been released from hospital. But he had been there for a week – an entire week that Scott had been at Blag's mercy. His own 'death' would have done more harm to his brother than anything Blag could do, and he had to make that right.
"We're landing," Gordon said, moving to the window. "It's so white out there!"
Virgil joined him while John picked up a gun. The plane touched down smoothly but the only thing Virgil noticed was a dark concrete door. The roof of the bunker was visible only through a bulge in the snow, but his gaze fixed on the door.
Scott was down there…
"Report." Their father appeared and Virgil reluctantly turned his gaze away while Gordon outlined the plan. Their father nodded once when Gordon said that only he and John were going in, then held out his hand. Gordon looked nonplussed.
"Gun," the man ordered.
"But-,"
"It's a good plan, Gordon. But you're not going in there alone."
"Dad, no."
"We don't have time for this," John murmured, standing by the door. "They'll have heard us."
"Then let them come." Their father didn't even look around. "I'm coming with you."
John's hand was on the switch to operate the door. There was a wild desperation on Gordon's face and Virgil sighed. He shared his brother's fears: this had all started because Blag wanted to coerce their father. The idea of losing Scott made him feel light-headed. But the thought of something happening to their dad...
He had to do something – Blag would know they were here and there was nothing stopping him from killing Scott now just to prevent a rescue. He also really needed his father to stay in the plane – they couldn't leave it unmanned and Virgil had no intention of staying behind, regardless of what his brothers thought. He concentrated on all the aches and pains and knew when John frowned at him that it was working; he was turning pale.
"Go," Virgil said. He stepped forward, then stopped and blinked rapidly.
"Dad-," he made his voice faint. As the man turned to look at him, Virgil fought against his instincts and let his legs crumble. He didn't hit the floor though; his dad caught him, just as Virgil knew he would.
"The door's opening," John cried, twisting to peer through the window. Virgil heard his father swallow.
"Go," the man said gravely. "Get your brother."
John slammed his hand onto the switch and the door started opening. Both John and Gordon leapt out without lowering the steps. It saved precious seconds and the snow cushioned their drop.
His father helped him into a chair.
"The radio," Virgil murmured weakly, pushing at his father. "I'm supposed to monitor the radio."
"It will be okay-," his father began, trying to feel his forehead. Virgil pushed him away, attempting to rise.
"No. I have-," he gestured vaguely in the direct of the cockpit. His father pushed him back into the seat.
"I'll check it," the man said, humouring him. He rose, crossed to the cockpit and vanished from Virgil's view.
Virgil sprang out of the seat, then was forced to pause for a second as a genuine bout of light-headedness protested his sudden movement. He slipped to the door and locked it. He knew Brains – knew there would be an override switch, probably an override of that one as well – and it wouldn't hold his father for long. But it gave him a few precious moments to work with.
He moved to the window again. There was a figure lying motionless in the snow and Virgil knew their arrival had indeed been detected. The door to the bunker was open, and Virgil shuddered at the blackness that oozed from it. Then he steeled himself. Scott was in there, meaning it was where Virgil had to go.
He opened another panel, grabbing supplies and tossing them on the chair behind him while he searched. Eventually, he opened a small case and grinned. Brains hadn't just given them a way to defend themselves; he had ensured they could patch themselves up again afterwards. There was a well-stocked first aid kit that would have made Virgil laugh at Brains' paranoia if he didn't have need of it now.
The muscle relaxer made him sigh as it eased the aches running through his body. He kept the other needle in his hand, knowing he had to move fast as soon as it started working.
He moved towards the cockpit, hesitating. His dad hadn't tried the door yet and Virgil hoped that Llina had made contact and was even now reassuring them that the authorities had listened and were on their way.
Muttering an unheard apology to the man, Virgil gripped the needle and jammed it into his arm, pressing the plunger. He gasped as adrenaline flooded him and, suddenly, it didn't matter that he had just got out of hospital.
Scott was the only thing that mattered.
He grabbed his father's previously discarded gun and extra ammunition before making the same drop his brothers had, swearing when he landed in the cold snow. It was hard running in such conditions, but Virgil sprinted for the door, adrenaline overcoming his caution.
He nearly fell down the steps, the darkness obscuring them. Virgil ducked away from the door, knowing he would be an easy target with the brightness of the snow behind him. Once he was shrouded in shadows though, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. After a moment, he could make out dim shapes and set off, carefully this time.
He was in a long corridor. There were objects lining it; crates or boxes of some sort. Virgil saw two figures crouched behind one and knew his brothers hadn't got very far. He wondered why, then a burst of gunfire made him duck and sprint to join them.
Gordon heard him coming and turned, gun raised defensively. Anger overtook his expression as Virgil skidded to a stop, crouching behind their shelter.
"What the hell are you doing?"
John turned at Gordon's words. Virgil opened his mouth, and all three of them ducked as a round of bullets slammed into their crate.
"Go back," Gordon hissed.
"No."
"You-,"
John held up a hand, silencing Gordon. He then called something down the tunnel. Virgil recognised Russian when he heard it, even if he didn't understand what his brother said. There was no answer – either verbal or more gunfire.
"What did you say?" he asked, aware Gordon was also staring at John. His brother shrugged.
"That we were friends." He paused, then frowned. "Or we didn't like fish; they have a very strange dialect."
John lifted his head, peering over the crate. Gordon yanked him back down just as someone took another shot.
"That answers that," Virgil muttered, but speaking only drew Gordon's attention.
"Get out of here."
"No way. I've done-,"
"WASP, remember?" Gordon spat. His hand was shaking and Virgil knew it wasn't anger – it was the adrenaline of the entire situation. "Don't say you've done more fieldwork and don't you dare try and pull the big brother card on me."
"I can handle it," Virgil retorted, "I'm more experienced than John."
"Virg, you died!"
"I'm fine!"
"What did you take?" John asked and Virgil shifted under the look. There was a reason why Gordon didn't want Virgil pulling that trick on him: none of them were immune to a big brother's stare.
"Does it matter? I'm here. You guys are here. Scott's here – somewhere. Let's skip to the happy reunion part?"
Gordon looked as if he was going to protest but John shook his head. "If you die – again – I have permission to say I-told-you-so from now until eternity?"
"No," Virgil said. "Gordon does."
It was his peace-offering to his brother and Gordon took it with an eyeroll.
"We're not going to get anywhere if we can't get down this corridor," Gordon muttered. Virgil nodded, stood and let off a wild shot down the corridor. There was a thud and a yell of pain and the three brothers exchanged startled looks. Virgil hadn't even been aiming.
"Go!" Gordon shoved the pair of them, darting past before running down the corridor, yelling as he did so. Virgil exchanged looks with John.
"Subtle, isn't he?"
But Gordon's shock tactics worked – no one fired at him and Virgil quickly followed him, John on his heels. They found themselves in a small room with three corridors leading off. One was the way they had just come, then two went in either direction. Virgil paused, looking between them, but Gordon grabbed his arm and pulled him down behind a table before flipping it, using it as a shield. There were sounds coming from one of the corridors and Virgil assumed that was where the shooters were regrouping.
"Now what?" John asked. All of their plans and discussions vanished now that they were in. They both looked at Gordon, who was chewing his lip as he looked around.
"Virgil, take that corridor," he said, gesturing one way. "And find Scott."
"What about you guys?"
Gordon checked his gun before grinning. "We'll hold them here. We don't know how many men he has: stay alert. There's at least half a dozen in that corridor though – we'll keep them here."
Virgil nodded. For all he knew, he was about to walk into an ambush. But they knew this was never going to be easy and he was more than prepared to take a few down with him if that was what it took to save Scott. He started to rise but John grabbed his wrist.
"Wait," he said. "What if Blag's down there?"
Virgil lifted his gun. "I'll make sure he doesn't have lackeys to hold me back this time."
John let go, although Virgil saw too clearly the reluctance in his expression. He always overthought everything, always liked to have a plan in place. With two younger brothers in the midst of it, Virgil knew how hard John was finding this.
"We'll be okay, Johnny," he said, "I promise."
Virgil never gave promises he couldn't keep and John knew it. His brother nodded and Virgil stood. Gordon tossed him something and Virgil pocketed the small laser-cutter, knowing full well it was the only reason why Gordon had been able to pull him out of the crypt in time.
Gordon covered him as he ran for the corridor and he disappeared into the darkness, hearing the shooters emerging from their hiding places and converging on his brothers. He prayed they had trapped all the men Blag had but his finger never left the trigger as he darted down the corridor.
He slowed. The strip lighting was feeble and flickering but anyone coming would be announced by their shadow. Virgil moved carefully and before long, came to a row of doors set into the wall. He peered into one, and shuddered. It might have been a survival bunker originally, but it was clear the place had been used as a prison since then.
But the cells were empty and Virgil shivered when he realised the corridor was sloping, leading deeper into the ground. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and kept moving. Scott was down here somewhere.
So was Blag.
He caught the first man by surprise, having caught a glimpse of his shadow before the man came around the corner. Virgil's gun slammed into his head before the man even had time to aim and Virgil took great satisfaction in locking him in one of the cells.
The next couple weren't as easy, but adrenaline and anger was pounding through Virgil and he didn't notice any blows they dealt him. He was surprised they didn't just shoot him, but it gave him the advantage; he was able to disarm and neutralise the threat with nothing more than a bloody nose. Gordon – and Scott – would be proud of him.
As he continued, Virgil was convinced he was alone. Blag couldn't keep a vast number of men underground without it backfiring – the thugs he was hiring wouldn't be able to live together peacefully for long. Once he had Scott contained, he would only need a few to keep him under control – Virgil knew first-hand that he had drugs and restraints to do half the work for him.
He didn't know how far he had gone but he couldn't hear the sounds of the fight above him any longer. When a door suddenly swung open just in front of him, Virgil jumped but he wasn't the only one taken by surprise.
"Chekov," Virgil snarled, the gun lifting. He felt the hard tarmac pressing into his knees, craning his head to look up as Chekov drugged him before dragging him onto the plane. Blag's causal discussion of the way the man had set up his own brother. Chekov's blows when he beat him on Blag's orders…
The man raised his hands, but there was a mocking smirk on his face. He wasn't afraid. He didn't need to be: Virgil had experienced first hand what the man could do. As Chekov beckoned him forward, saying something he didn't understand, Virgil shook his head.
"I'm not playing your game," he said, "not this time."
Chekov's smirk faded and he reached for his belt. A knife was in his hand and the man was stepping forward before Virgil realised what was happening. Chekov came on the attack and Virgil did the only thing left open to him: he shot him in the leg.
Chekov collapsed with a cry but the knife was still in his hand. Virgil wrenched it free, tossing it away before jamming the gun under Chekov's chin.
"Where's my brother?"
Chekov threw his weight backwards, sending Virgil stumbling. But his leg wouldn't support his weight and he couldn't get off the floor. Virgil aimed the gun again, ignoring the shaking of his hand.
"Where is he?" he repeated. Chekov spat and Virgil realised the man either wouldn't answer or wouldn't tell him the truth. His hand grasped for his belt again and Virgil realised there was a radio strapped to it.
Stepping forward, he slammed the gun into the back of the man's head. The chances were that the gunshot had been heard already, but Virgil didn't want Blag to know exactly who had infiltrated his hideout. He wondered if the men he had already dealt with had been on their way down here, reinforcing wherever Blag was holding Scott.
For a wild moment, nothing happened. Then, almost in slow motion, Chekov collapsed and this time, didn't get up. Virgil exhaled sharply, putting the safety on the gun and sticking it in his waistband. Then he grabbed Chekov's arms and started pulling him into the room the man had come from. It was empty and Virgil grabbed Chekov's radio before slamming the door and bolting it.
He looked around. Seeing Chekov was confirmation they were in the right place. The last time he had seen the man, he had been hauling Scott from the crypt having widened the hole in the wall. Blag was here somewhere… as was his brother. He dropped the radio on the floor, slamming his heel into it, before walking away, satisfied.
He moved more cautiously after that, aware there could be men behind every door and that if they had heard the gun, they would be on their guard. He also started looking in every room, convinced Scott was close by.
He almost overlooked his brother. He peered into a cell but didn't see anything. It was only as he turned away that something caught his eye. The room was grey concrete but Virgil suddenly realised there was a figure sprawled against one of the walls, the grey clothing causing him to blend in.
Virgil's hands were shaking as he fumbled for the bolts and he stuck the gun into his waistband, needing both hands. Heaving open the door, Virgil stumbled in, and froze. A rush of emotion – relief, fear, anger – crashed through him and he swallowed against the wave, knowing he needed to think straight.
"Scott?" His voice was trembling, the word inaudible. He stepped forward, but his heart was in his throat and it was hard to breathe properly.
He had found his brother.
He closed the space between them, dropping to his knees and crawling the last few paces when he realised Scott hadn't even looked up. Virgil's gaze scanned him anxiously and his head swam when he saw the state of the man.
Scott was covered in blood, vivid bruises and cuts seeping through the tracksuit he was wearing. His eyes were shut and he was deathly pale. His lips were chapped and split and the dark circles under his eyes weren't just from bruises.
"Scotty?" Reaching forward, Virgil winced as he felt how cold Scott's skin was but he pressed his fingers against Scott's neck. He felt a weak pulse at the same time as Scott moaned, instinctively moving away from him and Virgil sat back, relief mingling with fear.
He was alive.
Sitting back meant he saw the bigger picture. Scott's right arm was hanging limply and Virgil had seen his fair share of injuries to know it was broken. He couldn't imagine the pain his brother must be in: having an unsupported broken bone was agonising, let alone anything else.
When he looked at Scott's other arm, fury made him move. He closed his fingers around the laser cutter and carefully aimed it at the manacle that shackled his brother to the wall. It wasn't just a physical restraint: it would chain his brother's mind in a way Virgil knew he didn't quite understand. He knew what Scott's dreams were about – he was always being held back by this chain. He bet Blag knew exactly the type of psychological nightmare he was putting Scott through.
As soon as the chain fell free, Scott moaned again. His eyes were opening.
"Hey," Virgil whispered. His hands cradled Scott's neck, helping to support his head. "Scott? Can you hear me?"
To his surprise, Scott weakly shook his head.
"Please," his brother whispered, a voice hoarse with misuse. "Not yet. Not yet, please…"
Virgil had no idea what Scott was talking about. Then it hit him.
"No!" He lowered his voice, choked with emotions he couldn't deal with right now. "No, Scott, I'm alive. I'm alive and I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be okay. I'm alive; we're both alive."
Scott's gaze slowly focused but he looked so bewildered, so out of it, that Virgil wanted to cry. Or shoot something. Preferably someone. He kept the eye contact though, shifting closer until he could repeat Scott's final action towards him, resting their foreheads together.
A feather-light touch against his arm made him look down and he saw Scott reaching for him.
"You…died."
Virgil laughed; he couldn't help it. "You're as bad as John and Gords," he said. "They're alive, Scott, they're here. We're all here."
"Good." The cold voice already had Virgil turning before the door slammed shut. Awkwardly twisting, he saw Blag standing in front of the door, a gun in his hand. Virgil gently rested Scott back against the wall but his brother chose that moment to try and latch onto his wrist. His fingers were barely gripping though and Virgil slid free, knowing what Scott was trying to do.
"Easy, big brother," he whispered, ignoring Blag. "It's our turn to look out for you."
He straightened up, one hand going behind his back and stepping to one side so Blag didn't have a clear shot at Scott. Drawing his own gun, he aimed steadily back at the man.
"It's over," he said, barely recognising his own voice. "Drop it."
Blag laughed. "Are you going to shoot me?"
"Give me one reason why not."
"Him," Blag said, jerking his head towards Scott.
"He's the reason I'd do it," Virgil said. He didn't look at his brother though, not trusting Blag if he turned his back. To his discomfort, Blag chuckled.
"You're a colder man than he is then."
"What are you talking about?"
"I gave him a gun," Blag said, shrugging. "Gave him a clear shot. Coward couldn't do it."
"He is the bravest person I know," Virgil said honestly. His heart was pounding, though. He glanced quickly at Scott and realised that, despite barely being conscious, Scott was aware of everything being said. He had recoiled, curling in on himself at Blag's words and Virgil knew the madman was telling the truth about Scott not pulling the trigger. It worried Virgil more than he wanted to admit: what mind-games had Blag been putting his brother through?
"That's not saying much."
"Just drop the gun! It's over."
"Oh no," Blag said quietly. "It's far from over."
He moved further into the room, a predatory expression on his face as he paced in front of them. Virgil shifted position, ensuring he was covering his brother at all times. He too remembered Blag vowing never letting Scott go and he didn't know if the man would shoot his brother right now rather than allowing the rescue to take place.
"I knew you were alive," Blag said, his tone conversational. "Well, maybe not you, but your brothers. We saw them trying to save you when we left Kansas. I've known all along they were alive."
Virgil realised Blag wasn't talking to him, he was goading Scott, who was in no position to respond.
"I knew they would come for you. Quicker than I thought, true, but I knew they'd come. How long do you think they'll last against the boys, Scott? Longer than you?"
"Shut up!" Virgil shouted, not daring to turn his back on Blag to see the impact his words were having on Scott. He stepped forward, furious, pressing the gun into Blag's chest.
"You don't have the guts," Blag hissed. "You're just like him: weak."
"Stop."
Scott's voice was quiet, broken even. But Virgil automatically turned at hearing his brother, then realised a second too late it was a bad idea. Blag grabbed his wrist. Virgil pulled against him but Blag snatched the gun out of his hand before shoving him back, tossing the gun to the far side of the cell.
Virgil kept his balance, straightening up and again putting himself between Scott and his nightmare. But Blag also tossed his weapon to one side.
"This time when I kill you, I'm going to do it with my bare hands."
Virgil swallowed, tense, as Blag drew closer. He hoped the adrenaline he had injected himself with was still coursing through his veins. Without it, he didn't stand a chance.
With it, he wasn't sure his odds were any better.