Another lil Benley collection

Mistaken Identity II

They arrived at a nondescript club on the outskirts of the city, its exterior giving no hint of the secrets it held within. As the cars pulled into a side entrance leading to a warehouse, Miranda barked orders to her men. "Park the cars inside and keep them out of sight. Make sure everything is secure."

Turning to Callie, she gave a quick nod. "Callie, take Ben inside and keep him safe. I'll join you shortly."

Callie nodded, her expression unreadable as she led Ben through a hidden door that opened into the basement of the club. Her grip firm but not unkind. The atmosphere shifted as they descended, the faint thrum of music from above replaced by an eerie silence.

Ben's heart sank when he saw the small cell waiting for him. "Seriously?" he exclaimed, a mix of frustration and disbelief in his voice. "Why does a club even have a cell?"

Callie met his gaze with a hint of sympathy. "This place has a history," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "It used to be a speakeasy during Prohibition. The cell was for holding anyone who got out of line."

Ben sighed, stepping into the cell reluctantly as Callie closed the door behind him. "You guys sure have a weird way of showing hospitality," he muttered, sitting down on the cold, hard bench.

Callie leaned against the bars, her expression softening. "Look, it's for your own safety. Things are complicated right now, and the boss is trying to keep you out of harm's way."

Ben glanced up at her, the weight of the past few days pressing down on him. "I just want to understand what's going on. Why am I still here? Why did she...?"

Callie cut him off gently. "She has her reasons. Right now, the safest place for you is in here, away from anyone who might want to use you as leverage."

Miranda joined them in the basement, her presence commanding as ever despite the pain she must have been feeling. Ben watched in silent amazement as she calmly numbed the area around her wound, deftly removed the bullet, and proceeded to stitch herself up with practiced precision. The whole process seemed almost routine for her, a testament to the harsh life she led.

After she finished, she put her jacket back on, grimacing as she noticed the bullet hole. "Damn it, another jacket ruined," she muttered before lighting a cigarette, the flicker of the flame briefly illuminating her face.

Ben, unable to stay silent any longer, spoke up. "You know, I'm a doctor. I could've helped."

Miranda looked up at him, her eyes sharp but curious. She exhaled a cloud of smoke before responding. "I know all about you, Dr. Benjamin Warren. Plastic surgeon. Just moved back to Seattle from LA. Not married. No kids. Estranged from your sister. Father is dead. Mother is dead."

Ben blinked, taken aback by how much she knew. "You've done your homework," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Had to make sure we knew who we were dealing with." She nodded

Ben leaned against the bars, his mind racing with questions. "So what's the plan now? You can't just keep me locked up here forever."

Miranda took another drag from her cigarette, her expression unreadable. "We're working on finding your friend. Once we do, we'll figure out our next steps. Until then, this is the safest place for you."

Ben sighed, feeling the weight of his situation pressing down on him. "You know, you're a complicated woman."

Miranda chuckled softly, a hint of bitterness in her laugh. "Complicated doesn't even begin to cover it" She took one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette. "But right now, we all have to play the hand we've been dealt. And for you, that means staying put until we sort this mess out."