Scott, meanwhile, awoke an hour later. Okay, so being strapped to an uncomfortable metal chair and accused of conspiracy to commit treason wasn't exactly on the Top Ten list of father-son reunions. But Scott was used to winning despite having the odds stacked against him.

"Damien Jr! It's me! Your badass super spy military Dad. Sorry for all the secrecy, buddy. I would say I didn't contact you because of national security reasons, but since we're being honest, that's not really true. It was either raise you or go on an extended undercover op in Bali as a photographer for nude models. You can see my dilemma." Scott was rather proud of his little speech but his brat of a son spat on the floor and paced in agitation. The teenager, unlike Poppa Scott, had been given free reign of the small, empty room, though the only door was locked.

"My name is Finn!"

"Yeah, well, I always meant for my son to be named Damien Jr. I just wasn't able to add my two cents to the birth certificate because, you know, Bali." Finn glared accusingly.

"Mom told me all about you." Damien perked up and grinned.

"Yeah? She told you how awesome I am, right? Because I'm a total badass, just saying."

"Actually, she told me you were a drug-dealing alcoholic turned serial thief who was trying to make it big as a conman before you got sent to prison for tax evasion. Twice."

"Hey!" Scott bristled. "Only two...no, three of those accusations have any truth to them! And FYI that opium was planted in my locker!"

"Then she told me you got mega rich by drugging winning race horses at the Kentucky Derby then betting on the underdogs."

"WHOA, Jr! That one is a blatant lie!" Scott tried to struggle against his bonds, to no avail.

"So you'll forgive me if I don't jump at the chance to believe anything you say." Scott's anger grew.

"So you'll believe Baxter? The guy who orchestrated your kidnapping?" Finn stopped his pacing, confusion etched in his features.

"Uh...yes? No? Well, more than you, at least!"

"Fine, kid! If he's so great, then tell me one thing. What the hell did he do with my partner?!" Scott demanded. The teenager hesitated.

"Your partner? Uh, okay, I thought you liked women, but that's cool—"

"My MILITARY COMRADE, you little twerp!" Scott interrupted gruffly. He'd surmised as much that Grant, Martinez, and the love of his life had escaped Baxter's grasp. No one had the decency to tell him shit about Michael.

The door opened soundlessly and traitor Baxter slipped inside. He was trying (and failing) to hide his smirk.

"Cooperate with me, and I'll let you and your son go. Free to live a life of peace."

"And Mikey?"

"No longer your concern. Neither is Section 20." Baxter whistled for Kwon, who zipped into the room like a shadow and manhandled Finn through the door. Scott cried in protest, but was only able to sit helplessly as his son disappeared from view. Baxter gave his best bad guy smile (which looked cute and puppy-like—still had to work on that). "Work with me, Scott. I can protect you and Finn. Even Julia Richmond. All you need to do is join Section B."

Stonebridge struggled against the merciless zip ties that confined him to a chilly metal chair with no butt contour. He tried to scream for help through the duct tape—hell, he could really use the Lockesmith right about now!—when the door to his barren cell opened, granting Section 20's short lived costar entry. Baxter! The Brit willed himself not to cry tears of super hunk man angst as that fragile Cheeto ordered his personal ninja, Kwon, to rip off the duct tape covering his mouth. As Kwon then proceeded to transform into full badass mode and punch him mercilessly in the face, Stonebridge silently prayed to the Section 20 writers to spare his mega hot features from any permanent damage.

The producers felt a little guilty for allowing Kwon to beat the shitake mushrooms outta their Bravo One superstar, so they called a timeout and gave him some freshly brewed Oprah's chai tea in return. Between the throbbing black eye and split lip, Stonebridge suddenly glanced down at his super duper oh so gorgeous beach bod and fought against the plastic ties even more.

"Where the hell did my shirt go?" The producers didn't bother answering and only shouted "Action!" in a rush to continue the scene. Baxter paced in front of his brooding captive with a puppy like sneer.

"Michael. The golden boy of Section 20." The Brit narrowed his beautiful eyes. Two could play this game.

"And you're Baxter. The uh...uh..."

"You don't even know what I did at Section 20, do you?!" Baxter scowled.

"I was too busy doing my own stunts to bother noticing," Stonebridge huffed. "I mean, did you freakin' SEE all the cool shit me and Scott got away with?"

"I could've done all that, too!" Baxter whined, but his cute face made it impossible to take him seriously. Stonebridge rolled his eyes.

"Uh how's about NO." It only took a snap of Baxter's fingers for ninja Kwon to send a right hook into dem abs of steel. "Cheese toasties, crisps, and trousers!" the Brit cursed from the flare of pain. He lifted his head regally despite the obvious bloody nose. "When me and Scott get outta here—" Traitor Baxter laughed.

"Oh, do you really think Scott cares about his military brother-in-arms when his super secret spy family is on the line? That stupid American gave you up to save Julia Richmond and that brat of a son, Damien Jr."

"Does anyone even care that the poor kid's name is Finn?"

"So you're alone. Abandoned. Left for dead by your own Section 20." It was Stonebridge's turn to smirk.

"Dalton told me all about you, you know. How you were fifteen, sixteen, when they took you from your home, your family, never to see them again." This earned the operative another smack across the face.

"Shut up!" Baxter wailed, but his adorable puppy eyes prevented him from perfecting the glare he was aiming for. Stonebridge continued, undeterred. "They molded you, shaped you. Sent you away. All for the mission. For the cause. Then the script says something about a million man army and how Scott and I f'd up your master plan, but I'll just skip all that and get to the good part." The sexy as hell knight leaned forward as far as the restraints would allow and donned the glare that Baxter had tried so hard to imitate. "Admit it, you rat faced weasel! You're a North Korean sleeper agent! And I'm willing to bet your handler is Li Na. How long have you been masquerading around as a British citizen, you twat?"

Scott knew he should've taken Baxter's deal. He tried to be heroic for his son and Julia and where had that got him? Stuck in the same damn room in the same damn chair. If he had allowed himself to turn back to his douche bag roots, he and his super cool spy family could be sipping Capri Suns poolside right now. Instead, he had to pull a perfect Mikey and tell Baxter to shut the hell up and go to hell. Which, in retrospect, was a really idiotic response. Saying 'hell' twice in the same sentence? How old was he, five? He scooted to one of the walls and slammed the chair repeatedly until one of the legs broke and he was able to free himself. His aching and stiff joints made him recalculate his age to ninety, and he groaned in pain as he stood up. He didn't want to draw attention to himself until he had a plan. That meant no yelling for Damien Jr, no tapping out Morse code to Michael (he'd been forced to learn it after his 'appalling' lack of knowledge in Buckingham Palace) and no drawing inappropriate images on the walls. Damn! What could he do?

Stonebridge reeled from another sharp cuff across the face before Baxter snapped his fingers and the barrage stopped. Kwon drifted into a shadowy corner, giving the Section B leader full view of the slumped operative sitting in the contourless chair. A torture all its own.

"How does it feel to be beaten by your superior?" he sneered, relishing his brief victory over the British sergeant. Stonebridge rolled his eyes.

"Seeing as you cheated and hired a f'ing ninja, I don't think that counts!"

"It does too count!" Baxter snapped, clearly miffed at Stonebridge's suave rebuttal.

"I want a rematch-you and me. In which case you'd probably just surrender anyway and I'd win by default," Stonebridge continued. "And can someone at least throw me a shirt?" His request went unanswered.

"As much as I'd love to see you grovel at my feet, begging for mercy from Section B—"

"Not gonna happen."

"—I need you as a bargaining chip. Relatively unharmed," Baxter said. He swiveled in his stylish combat boots and made for the door, flicking off the overhead lights in his stead. Kwon followed the puppy-faced leader from the room. Bargaining chip? The stud muffin thought fast. Chances were that Scott and Damien Jr—dammit, he meant Finn—were still trapped in this shithole house where the only furniture they had were chairs built by Satan. He could still save Scott's sorry ass. The operative braced himself against the restraints. He just needed to make one more snarky comment and hit Baxter where it hurt.

"Now I remember what you did at Section 20, besides being a less cool version of Sinclair. You were... EXPENDABLE." At Baxter's command, Kwon kicked the Brit so hard in the temple that the chair toppled sideways and sent him crashing to the floor. Baxter tried to laugh evilly, but it only sounded like how a happy child would react if they got a dog on Christmas morning, so he stopped.

"The golden boy, reduced to this. You'll learn your place soon enough." With that, Stonebridge's assailants left the room, leaving him in semi darkness. The sexy six pack thanked his grandma's super secret crumpet recipe that he'd managed to land next to the vent he'd noticed before Kwon's Thousand Fists of Fury demo reel. He craned his neck toward the vent, ignoring his aching body screaming in protest, and whispered, "Scott, mate, can you hear me? Scott!"
Scott had rammed the door so many times that it was a wonder his shoulder was still intact. He'd also tried to pretend he was a ghost and fly through the wall; not one of his better moments, though it could be argued that he usually didn't go more than five minutes without a firefight or a hot woman by his side, so he was clearly suffering from boredom. And the forced kidnapping of his son didn't help matters either. He was almost to the point of throwing shoes when he heard a familiar voice emanate from the grate to the left side of the room.

"Scott? You there? Scott?" Scott dove and grunted as all 180 pounds of pure muscle collided with the floor. He crawled over to the ancient grate.

"Mike! You're alive! They do any funny experiments on you?"

"You're one to talk. Baxter acted like he had you in his back pocket." Scott hyena laughed.

"If I was a smarter man, I'd be drinking beers with the traitor right now."

"And Finn?" Michael's voice grew softer. "For a second, I thought I heard him, but I couldn't make it out. Is he with you?" Scott scoffed.

"Yeah right. After I told Baby B to shove it, he took Damien Jr away and—" A tinny cry from somewhere on his right made Scott take pause. He listened again and, sure enough, his son's voice was barely audible through the grate from the other side of the room. "Hold up, Mikey, I can hear him. Wait one sec." The sexy American drug himself in the opposite direction on his knees, which were quickly starting to ache against the cold, hard floor. "Hey! Favorite son! You there?" Finn sounded fed up. Good, the kid needed a backbone. He had to learn that the world was a cruel and unforgiving place. Except Bali. And Vegas.

"Oh HI least favorite absent Dad. They locked me in a room too, isn't that great?"

"Yeah, peachy. Listen, I've found a way to speak with Michael, so hold tight, we're gonna figure out a plan—" Michael's annoying British twang hissed from across the room.

"I heard my name you twat, what lies are you spouting over there? And speak up, I can't hear you that well, mate." Finn was equally confused.

"I heard someone talking, but it was too muffled. What's going on?"

Great. Stonebridge and his son were too far apart to hear each other through their respective vents. Scott had a feeling he was gearing up for impending knee surgeries and a telephone game from hell.

"All right, Junior, It's time for you to become worthy of sharing the same screen time as me and my abs. I'm gonna see if Mikey and I can find a way to cruise outta this joint while you beat the shit outta one of the walls and try to dig a hole to freedom. If things go my way, we'll be escaping this stupid little hut via hot extraction." Scott heard his bratty son scoff from behind the wall.

"Your plan sucks! Forget it, I'll just stay here!"

"Our secret crib is in a water park," the sexiest Father of the Year smirked, but Finn held fast.

"I'd rather stay as far away from you as possible, in a house filled with chairs with zero butt contours!"

"We have dualing slides."

"But—"

"Lazy river."

"I don't—"

"24/7 wave pool."

"Hey—" Time to sweeten the deal.

"And you can totally pee in the water and no one has to know. Think about it."