Chapter 9 #3
“Fuck you,” Kurt spat.
“Oh, no.” Black Widow shook her head. “I fuck men. Not boys. When you grow four more inches, then we can talk. In the meantime, do as you’re told. Bishop is paying us all a pretty penny for this job. So keep your head out of your pants and in the game.”
Bishop?
Sabrina filed the name away. Not that she thought she’d have an opportunity to pass it along. But just in case there was a sliver of hope. Just in case, against all odds, she was able to—
“Take your own advice, why don’t you?” Kurt snarled at the blonde.
“Because I don’t have to.” Black Widow studied her fingers as if checking for chips in her manicure.
“Because without me, none of you would have work. You’d all be pulling your pork in some no-name dump of a town and doing your forty hours in some dead-end job just so you could have a little extra scratch to get drunk on the weekends and harangue some poor bartender with tall tales of your glory days in the military. ”
Her words were feather-light. Her tone was scalpel-sharp.
“I have the reputation in the field. I have the contacts that get us the jobs. I say when and where and who.” She dropped her hand to pin her soulless eyes on Kurt. “Got that?”
The short man didn’t speak. He didn’t nod. He simply went back to work with the others.
Sabrina didn’t let herself exhale. One, she didn’t want to make her relief at Kurt’s departure obvious. Two, it was hard to feel relieved when Black Widow turned her attention from the short man to her.
The corners of the woman’s red-stained lips lifted ever so slightly, like she was amused by the sight of horny men and deadly weapons and the promise of blood.
Did she reapply her lipstick after her little assignation with Hummer in the back office?
The errant thought was chilling because it was such a casual, everyday thing to do. Or—and this was more chilling—did she not need to reapply it because she and Hummer never kissed?
The sounds coming from the little room had certainly been primitive. But the thought of sex without the intimacy of sharing breath was downright animalistic.
Slowly, with an almost feline swagger, the blonde strolled over to stand in front of Sabrina.
“You’re tougher than you look, Sabrina Greenlee,” she remarked conversationally, and Sabrina blanched.
They knew her name.
Black Widow saw her reaction and purred. “Oh, yes. We perused your purse before chucking it out the window somewhere in Wisconsin. You have a South Carolina driver’s license. Southern girl, eh? But now you work with the Black Knights?”
Sabrina didn’t respond. Didn’t blink. Even when Black Widow bent down until their faces were mere inches apart.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to talk. You can just continue to sit there and act tough.” Black Widow straightened. “I admire your tenacity,” she went on. “There are too few women like us in the world. Women who refuse to back down to assholes like Kurt.”
Sabrina’s throat worked around the bile lingering there. “You and I are nothing alike.”
The woman’s smile sharpened. “So much spunk and spite. Too bad it won’t save you.”
Maybe not, Sabrina thought. But it might be enough to screw up your plans.
She glanced at the broken windows and the glittering glass beneath them. All she needed was an excuse. Something to sell the act.
She didn’t have to fake the nausea. Her stomach had been roiling since the moment she regained consciousness.
“Better back up,” she warned. “Unless you want what I had for supper last night to end up all over that top.”
Black Widow’s top lip curled even as she stepped back. “Vance,” she snapped. “Find a bucket.”
Vance. That was the blond man’s name. Sabrina tucked it away with all the others.
“Let her puke on herself,” Kurt sneered.
Sabrina gagged, loud and wet. “You’ll be smelling it for—”
“Dammit!” A blade appeared in Black Widow’s hand like magic. Light hit it just right, making the steel gleam like fangs.
Sabrina barely registered the motion before Black Widow sliced her ankle ties and yanked her upright.
“Take her,” she ordered Hummer. “Let her puke in the corner. Away from all of us.” She waved a dismissive hand toward the far end of the room.
Hummer grabbed Sabrina’s elbow and frog-marched her across the dirty concrete and around the rusting machinery.
Pins and needles attacked the soles of her feet. Her knees ached from having been bent for so long. But she barely noticed either of these things as she pretended to stumble, made another gagging sound, and gasped, “Hurry.”
When they reached the end of the room, she spied the piece of glass she wanted and staggered so she could fall against the wall. Catching herself with her shoulder, she slid down the grimy surface until her butt hit the ground and her bound hands could feel for the makeshift weapon.
She carefully closed her fingers around the shard. Then, getting her knees under her, she bent at the waist and made a show of retching like a cat trying to puke up a hairball.
She brought up more air than vomit. But thankfully, there was enough bile left in her stomach to make her performance convincing.
Fear still coiled inside her like an insidious serpent. But now it had a twin spiral of resolve sitting next to it.
She might die in this place…probably would die in this place.
But by god, I’m going to take at least one of these motherfuckers with me!