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⚠️ WARNING⚠️
This chapter may (or may not) cringe you... but John's way of interrogation may make you feel the pain as a bystander. So read at your discretion.

To male readers, please keep in mind this is fictional purpose - read at your discretion and skip the part if you feel the pain/trigger.

If this isn't your thang, feel free to skip this chapter!
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Harkin groaned as he opened his eyes.

Blinking multiple times before lifting his gaze to meet with the single overhead light that almost blinded him. He tried to adjust his sight, but his face ached. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly to a cold, metal, and folded chair, and his head throbbed from the blows he'd taken earlier. His eyes scanned the surroundings and it was cold and uninviting. Its concrete walls barren except for the harsh shadows that danced under the flickering light.

Harkin moved his gaze around and stopped when he noticed two six-feet men before him, away from the light.

John stepped forward as his boots echoed. His posture deceptively relaxed, and the calm look in his eyes was more terrifying than anger could ever be. It wasn't rage—it was calculated, like a predator deciding whether to strike or wait.

Harkin moved his gaze from John to the one standing far left was Soap, who leaned casually against the wall. Relaxed, and his hands were tucked in his pockets.

Besides him stood Gaz, his arms folded with his unreadable expression. But the most unsettling presence Harkin noticed when he moved his glance from was Ghost, who lingered just out of the light from sight, including Gabby, who was sitting not far from Ghost with a cold stare.

Her dark hair opened as it flowed over her shoulders to her chest that covered her breasts against her shirt and a dark blazer with cowboy jeans and ankle boots.

"Morning, Mike," Soap said gruffly while breaking a grin, breaking the silence.

"Where the hell am I?" Harkin growled.

"You've made a lot of bad choices, Harkin." John began, his tone low and icy. "Got yourself involved in trading arms in illegal payout?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harkin said, licking his dry and chapped lips.

"You're a fucking liar," John said sternly. "We know you're working with the middleman, Michael. And you're going to tell us who is Rich."

Harkin looked at between John and the others. He could feel the weight of their stares, but mostly Gabby as she sat there like porcelain doll that hadn't been touched for a while. His eyes landed on her first.

"Ay, you with these guys?" Harkin chuckled nervously.

There was no response. Gabby stared at him cold. Her lips idle and tight. Her eyes never blinked for a few, and she leaned against her chair and crossed arms.

"Eyes on me, Harkin," John said harshly.

Harkin glared back to him.

"Fuck you."

John chuckled darkly and shook his head.

"You found someone prettier in this room? Don't bother. She's taken but she can kick your arse if you mess with her."

"What makes you say that?" Harkin questioned with almost a grin.

"You always think the same," he mused, his tone casual but carrying that underlying razor-sharp edge. "See a woman in the room and assume she's just decoration. That she needs a man to step in, handle things for her. That she's soft. Weak."

He scoffed, shaking his head in return and averted his gaze from the interrogator.

"But see, that's where you fuck up," John continued, voice lowering as he took a step closer. "Because when you underestimate her—that's when she'll have your head."

Gabby, though, didn't say a damn word. She just sat there. Her silence alone was enough to make Harkin uneasy.

John, noticing how Harkin's gaze moved back to Gabby, like he needed a distraction (or maybe not look at John), smirked again.

"You think she needs me to put you in your place?" John asked, arching a brow. "I could give her a stage and you wouldn't be waking up tomorrow. And that's not an exaggeration."

Harkin scoffed again when he finally looked at John.

"Please. What's she gonna do? Slap me across the face?" He talked back smugly. "I can handle a little spitfire."

Ghost, who had been standing in the shadows, finally spoke up. "You're digging your own grave."

Harkin turned his head to Ghost, eyes narrowing. "Oh, yeah?"

John looked at him as if Harkin was the dumbest fucker he'd met. Too egoistic and it sounded about right.

"You think about how hard you can hit a woman, how much you can intimidate her," he continued sternly. "She's been sitting here, completely unbothered by you. That's control. That's power. And you don't know?"

Harkin opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Gabby finally spoke.

"You see, that's the problem with young men like you in today's age," Her voice cold and measured. "You confuse silence for weakness. When in reality? It's the quiet ones you should be afraid of, Michael."

She tilted her head, considering Harkin with a detached curiosity, like he was useless. He remained silent, making an effort to hide the way his throat moved as he swallowed. He redirected his eyes to John, observing as John stepped back, uncrossed his arms, and started walking around him.

"You ready to start talking or... " John trailed off and he continued, "should I give Gabby some space to show you just how wrong you are?"

The silence became deafening. Harkin sighed hard and looked away. John hummed as he took his silence as an answer.

"I was hoping you'd make this easy on yourself. But if you're going to waste my time, then we'll have to do this the hard way."

Ghost stepped into the light, clutching a small handheld device with wires trailing from it. Harkin froze. His stomach twisted as the realization of what would happen settled in. He turned his attention back to John.

"Y-you can't be serious!" Harkin said, bewildered. "Look, man! If you electrocute me, I won't tell you anything, you hear me?!"

"Last chance," John ignored his panicked plea. His eyes bore into him. "You tell us about Rich or who your supplier is, or he'll electrocute you. I'll make sure Ghost can clip on your cock as I speak."

Ghost blinked, at first.

And Gabby next as she frowned slowly. Soap and Gaz watched while their expression became a mix of surprise but neutral.

Harkin swallowed hard, his mind racing. He wasn't afraid of pain—he'd endured plenty in his life—but the way Ghost stood with wires ready-made him second-guess his bravado. The skull mask gave away nothing, and Harkin couldn't tell if Ghost was even human behind it.

"You don't—" Harkin said.

"Ghost, clip'em. Now." John ordered without looking at anyone besides staring down at Harkin.

As Ghost moved with the precision of a predator, placing the clips on his vulnerable spot below before stepping back. Harkin breathed hard and muttered "no" multiple times before Ghost began the setting and turned on.

The first shock hit like a firestorm. Harkin yelped before he screamed. His back arched involuntarily as his muscles spasmed, a guttural scream tearing from his throat. The chair rattled against the floor, the sound echoing in the room like a ghostly reminder of his helplessness.

"Not so tough now, are you?" John remarked flatly.

Harkin slumped forward when the shock stopped. His eyes almost glassy as his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Sweat poured down his face as his entire body trembled.

John crouched to meet his gaze, his tone icy. "Waste my time, and you'll lose your cock. Now—who's Rich? Is he your supplier?"

"I-I don't know!" Harkin gasped, his voice hoarse. "I swear! I just work for him!"

"Lies," John said before he glanced at Ghost. "Again." He ordered Ghost to apply it, but this time Harkin shouted.

"WAIT! I'LL TALK JUST DON'T FUCKING BURN MY BALLS!"

John raised a hand, stopping Ghost.

In brief silence, Harkin tried to catch his breath and tries to speak as he whimpered.

"I-It-It's Victor Zakharov!" Harkin blurted out, his words tumbling over each other. "He's the supplier! Russian!"

John became still.

The name rang like a gunshot in his memory.

He stared at Harkin, unblinking, his entire demeanor shifting. The calm, calculated exterior remained, but inside, something cold and rage stirred.

Soap noticed it first. His grin faded. "Cap'n?"

John didn't answer right away. His mind was already pulling pieces together, fitting them into a puzzle he'd spent years ignoring.

Zakharov.

A name he hadn't heard in years. But he didn't say a word. Not to Soap. Not to the others. Instead, he exhaled through his nose hard, masking whatever storm brewed beneath the surface.

"Who is Rich?" John questioned huskily.

"He... Rich... the middleman boss... he-he-he's like an assistant manager! Second commander... or whatever the label shit! He hired me! His name is Richard Moreau! Rich is his short name."

He stepped forward, crouching until he was eye level with Harkin, his voice calm, deadly. "And you're sure?"

Harkin nodded rapidly, his breath still uneven from the shocks. "I swear. He's the one calling the shots. I don't deal with Victor—never met him. I-I-I worked with Rich, and he's the one who got me into this."

John stared at him a moment longer, then straightened up. He turned around and paced around. Soap caught the subtle tension in his movement, same goes to Gabby and the rest.

"Captain?" Gaz asked, concern.

John didn't respond.

"Are we dealing with a Russian arms dealer?" Soap added, making a guess.

"Sounds like it," Gabby said firmly.

John remained quiet, still pacing around until he stopped. He looked at Harkin from behind as if assessing whether the bastard had anything left to say.

"Tell me more or else I'll kill you," John said harshly.

"You really think that—"

Before Harkin could finish, John moved to where Harkin focused on him. His hand shot out, gripping the back of Harkin's chair, and with a single forceful yank, he dragged it forward, the metal legs screeching against the floor.

Harkin barely had time to react before John's fist wrapped around his throat, his grip like a vice. Harkin choked, his breath hitching as John leaned in close, his eyes burning.

"You think I'm fucking around?" John growled, his voice low and deadly. "You don't know me."

Harkin gasped, struggling against the hold, but John didn't let up. His fingers dug in, just enough to remind him that his life was hanging by a thread.

"Captain—" Soap said as he was about to step in but his blue eyes caught Gabby as he stopped suddenly. The look she gave him was silent: Stand by.

Gaz stayed silent, but Soap shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't the usual John Price he had known.

Ghost, however, didn't move. Didn't react. He just watched.

"Tell me what I need to know," John growled, his grip tightening.

Harkin wheezed, his face turning red. "I—I swear, I—"

John suddenly let go, making Harkin suck in a ragged, desperate breath. He coughed violently, head hanging forward as he tried to recover. But John wasn't done. He grabbed Harkin by the hair, yanking his head back so their eyes met. His tone was eerily calm now.

"How long have you been in contact with Rich?"

"A-a few months ago," he gasped. "He's the real deal—I never met Victor, he's the boss of the game. I swear to God, I'm telling you the truth!"

John studied him for a moment before releasing his grip with a shove. Harkin slumped back, panting.

"Where's he running his operations? Zakharov."

Harkin hesitated.

Wrong move.

John took his pistol from his holster, the metallic click of the safety being disengaged ringing in the quiet room. He pressed the cold barrel under Harkin's chin, tilting his head up.

"Don't test my patience, kid."

Harkin swallowed, sweat dripping down his temple.

"Prague!" he spat out. "The shipments move through smaller channels, but that's where the money come from."

John growled before stepping back. He holstered his pistol, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease.

"That's not just some back-alley operation, then." Ghost said, detached.

"No," John said without looking at Ghost. "It's a fucking empire."

Then he turned to Gabby. "Get Laswell on line. We need everything on Zakharov and Rich—now."

"On it, sir," Gabby stood before pulling out her cell phone and stepped out.

John looked back at Harkin, still slumped in the chair, looking worse for wear.

"Why?" His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. "Why is Zakharov making moves in London?"

Harkin hesitated again, but John didn't need to threaten him this time. The bastard already knew he was one wrong answer away from real pain.

"He—" Harkin wet his lips, voice shaky. "He's expanding. Setting up new pipelines, new clients. London's just the start. There's more coming."

John stared at him, his expression dark and hard. More was coming. And that meant London wasn't the only place about to become a warzone.

"And the shipments?" John inquired, his eyes narrowed.

"They're routed through Eastern Europe and Middle East, stored in a warehouse in Prague," Harkin continued shakily. "That's all I know, man."

John studied him before he grunted.

"And what do you want from Charlie?"

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz stayed still. Their breathing steady as they chose not to speak. Harkin stared at him. His brows furrowed and scoffed.

"Charlie? What does that have to do with this, old man?"

John hummed. Then, his eyes moved impassively to Ghost.

"Shock'em."

"WAIT!"

"What do you want with Charlie?" John repeated flatly.

Harkin breathing heavily, his body shivered at his response. "S-she has something that I need! The thumb drive! I was the one who gave it to her."

He frowned. "Why?"

Harkin tried to form more words until John seethed since his patience became thin. "Talk, or you won't have kids."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! I gave it to her because she was gonna keep it safe for me." Harkin answered, agitated.

"That was a dumbass move," Soap commented and frowned. "But why?"

"She was just being a doll for me," Harkin answered incredulously.

John gritted his teeth inside.

"A doll?" he seethed.

There was a brief pause before Harkin let out a derisive laugh.

"What, you got a thing for her, old man?"

In a flash, John closed the distance between himself and Harkin. His hand wrapped tightly around his neck, causing Harkin to gasp for air. His eyes bulged and he choked, but still managed to glare back into John's hardened gaze.

"What's the matter? She got under your skin, huh?" Harkin said with a raspy voice and a sly grin, despite his struggle. "I get it. She's got that cutesy face that guys like us can't resist. I bet you wanted to sleep with her, right?"

John felt his rage boil up like lava in his chest. He tightened his grip around Harkin's neck, not caring about the sounds of bones crunching under his fingers.

All John can see is red and his mind was set on one thing: kill.

Until Soap grabbed John's arm and yanked him back with a strength that belied his lean frame.

"John! Enough, hey!" Soap said, his voice low and soothing as if he knew how to calm a wild animal.

John took a step back, reigning in his anger before giving a curt nod to Soap. Thanking him silently since John would've murdered Harkin right here in this room.

"You seem to know about her that I don't," John said evenly. "What is she to you?"

Harkin let out a raspy laugh, though his neck was still red from where John had grabbed him. "Met her a seven months ago at a carnival and we dated. A softie chick but clingy."

"Really?" John inquired, maintaining his intense gaze. He was aware the last statement was untrue. "It doesn't make sense after you called her 'clingy.' I spoke to her, and she told me she had to restrain you because you kept harassing her. Would you like to clarify that?"

Harkin growled. "What do you think? I was obsessed with her, okay? Couldn't let her go after she dumped me. I started following her, and she got scared." He paused, glancing warily at the electrodes clip on his groin before them. "But I need that drive she has. It's the only thing that Rich needed it. He'll kill me if I don't have it."

John listened, and his eyes became hardened. "So you were using her. And now you're threatening her to save your own skin."

Harkin looked away, unwilling to meet his piercing gaze.

"Does this mean that we have to get the drive from Charlie?" Ghost looked at John and asked.

John shook his head.

"Not yet," he said firmly to Ghost before turning to Harkin. "Let's not make any moves until I can get her to hand it to me. And if you try and send your men to mess with her. I will find you."

Next, he turned to Gaz and gave him a curt nod.

"Get that fucker out of my sight," John ordered, moving his gaze to Ghost as he directed him to remove the wires from him.

Soap came over and helped Gaz as they drag Harkin out of the room after one of them covered his head that was meant for secrecy. Harkin shouldn't know where he was at nor does John wanted Harkin to know where he was interrogated it from.

As they hauled Harkin out, John exhaled hard and rubbed his face with his fingerless gloved hand. He was used to such moments—interrogations, threats, getting his hands dirty if it was leverage—but tonight had been different.

"Price?" Ghost stepped forward and stood beside him.

"What?" John didn't look at him.

Ghost was silent for a minute before he added, "you almost lost your head."

He dropped his hand and glanced at him.

"She shouldn't be mixed up in all this," he said quietly.

"Agree," Ghost said. "Though, I doubt she wouldn't be mixed in if she knew what Harkin does for a living."

He had a point, John agreed mentally.

"True."

"Think he'll behave?"

"For now," he frowned as he looked at him. "But if he doesn't, we both know what happens next."

"I doubt he'll stay good." Ghost said nonchalantly.

"He'd better because he's our loose end."

"Yeah? Unless you want to kill him," Ghost pointed out before he continued. "So, for starters. Prague. Thumb drive. Rich. Zakharov's got his hands all over Eastern Europe, Middle East, and our home. Not exactly a small fish."

"And if Zakharov is running a full operation. Warehouses, distribution channels... it could be a fortress." John said firmly.

"And you trust Harkin and his words?"

"I don't trust anything he says," John added before looking away. "But that's enough for him to spill out truth."

Ghost nodded as he chose not to say anymore.