Crystal Mac: A prologue novella to Captive Series Book 3 HELL'S HILLTOP Read Online Free PDF

was hard at work. High-powered hoses sprayed the concrete floor forcing him to walk through an occasional billowing mist of whatever harmful material needed washed away. Within seconds, his white sterile suit and facemask were coated, which made him feel like a giant cotton swab. At least he blended with the other masked cotton swabs.
    Luke had given him ten minutes to find Crystal, who’d been gone far longer than planned. A crude map of sorts etched his memory, and he knew the door at the end of the hall was where he wanted to go.
    Once it closed behind him, he pulled off the netted mask, took a cleansing breath of fresh air. Well… not so fresh. It smelled like hot machines and carpet stains, but those things probably wouldn’t give him a rash later.
    I t was impossible to see in the dark windowless room, at least until his eyes adjusted. He was definitely in an office, the many desks only discernable by the glowing pinpoints of light from individual telephones and computer monitors. Just as he palmed the knife he carried in his waistband, pain pierced his skull. His surroundings seemed upright until the floor hit his face. Hard.
    With e yes still open, he could see something pass by the tiny lights, blocking them for a moment. Confusion. Indifference as the knife left his grip.
    “Sorry, Mr. Truck,” he heard faintly. “Change of plans.”
     
    When the lights flickered on, four black-garbed figures stood above him. Apprehension tightened his gu t. Mac looked from one mushroom-shaped hood to the next. Though their features were obscured in darkness, two things stood out plain as day: these ghosts radiated ill intent… and one of them was Crystal.
    Her petite frame was ridiculously small among the others, but he knew she was just as capable of putting a blade between his eyes. I’ve never killed anyone before, she’d said, but he was now pretty sure it was all bullshit.
    The stink of betrayal caused anger to swell, bleed up his neck until the willies no longer ruled. When he opened his mouth, Crystal spoke over him.
    “He has information about Rafferty.”
    What? He hadn’t totally believed it… until her words confirmed it. Mac lifted onto his elbows and glared out his hatred.
    “Anything you can’t tell us?” came from the tallest ghost in the middle.
    “Just the location,” Crystal answered mechanically. “I was blindfolded when we came and went.”
    “Looks like this isn’t his first run-in with us. That wound looks like one of ours.”
    In fact, Rafferty had given Mac that cut above his left ear, but how the hell could they tell that?
    “Take him to the think tank. We’ll deal with him there.”
    Mac decided the think tank was a place he didn’t want to be. With a snarl, he got to his feet and took a swing at the nearest ghost. Something pressed against his side, delivering a jolting, painful current. The floor came up to slap him again.
    Confusion scrambled his brain as he was dragged into what seemed like a closet. No tiny lights were in this room, just pitch black. His body felt like tar, but a fierce determination to live bubbled to the surface, awakening his muscles enough to lash out. Another current punched him all over, again ending his attempts to escape.
    Pain and fatigue ruled, allowing things to happen without the control to stop it. Mac was able to comprehend t he paper suit tearing from his body. A florescent light came on overhead, revealing a small, carpeted room filled with gray beanbag chairs. They were moved aside while Crystal brought in an upright chair and they hauled him into it—a feat that took all four of them to accomplish.
    “He’s a big sucker, isn’t he?” one said.
    “Bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Crystal muttered with cold indifference.
    Handcuffs bound his wrists to the metal frame.
    “What’s his name?”
    “Mac,” Crystal obliged, tying his left ankle to the chair leg while another ghost worked on the right.
    “And his last name?”
    “I