Chapter 32 #2
I want to tell him to go to hell. I want to shout and scream at him, but I don’t. I can’t. If I do, if I anger him, there’s nothing to stop him doing worse things to me. More than the hand that’s already on my body, leaving one breast to drift casually across and play with the other.
“Very pert, very firm,” he comments as he squeezes. “I must admit, you are attractive. It’s rare that I get a chance to work with such a pleasant… subject.”
Bile rushes up, and I swallow it down, saying nothing.
I clench my jaw so tight it aches, and try to find a happy memory to hide within.
But I can’t; if I have any, I can’t find them.
I can only see Carol, dead in her apartment, and Alex, wondering where I am, thinking I’ve simply run from him again.
He’ll never find me. He’ll never know.
That thought brings more tears, and I thought I’d cried them all. Clenching my hands into fists doesn’t help. I’m too scared, too vulnerable, too weak.
“Don’t disappoint me, now,” my abductor says, brushing a tear away from my cheek with his thumb before I can jerk my head back. “You were so bold a moment ago. It’s just a little water; we haven’t even started.”
He steps away, and I let out a breath in relief as his touch leaves my skin. But I know there’s nothing I can do to stop him if it comes back again.
He crosses to the table, and the sound of latches clicking open echoes in the empty room.
“So I hear you investigate things,” he says casually.
The case is pulled apart, something from within lifted out and placed down heavily.
Two cables spill off the edge of the table, swinging down to hit the floor.
“It seems you’ve been investigating the wrong things.
” He turns to check my reaction. “Or the wrong people.”
Van Wyk. Juliette.
Confirmation of what I already knew. Like that makes any difference.
I got Carol killed, and now it seems I’m next. Just because I took a case I didn’t even want to take.
Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if HM he already knows what he needs to know. It’s not like I have anything to hide.
He doesn’t even have any fucking questions.
The anger that brings is clean, and I embrace it, feeding off its warmth.
“You work for Van Wyk,” I say. I want to add comments about errand boys and lackeys, but my courage doesn’t stretch that far. Not with those cables, dangling off the side of the table, their clamps lying on the floor. One black, one red, so very unmistakable.
“Naturally.” There’s a flick of a switch, and my abductor lifts the battery off the table, placing it on the floor beside my chair. It clunks heavily as it hits the concrete floor. It’s a big fucking battery, a dial on its top.
I swallow, staring at it, trying to think of something intelligent to say.
“Why are you going to torture me if you have no questions?”
“It’s a hobby.”
Fucking fantastic. Now I wish I hadn’t asked.
“And… when you’re done?”
“Haven’t decided.” He checks his watch. “Van Wyk will be here within the hour, so we don’t have much time. Do you have any other questions?”
Think of something.
“At some point, you’re going to have to let me go to the bathroom.”
Jesus, Vicky, is that the best you can come up with?
“No, I don’t.”
He picks up one of the soaking cloths, and drapes it over my head. I know what’s coming and I can’t help it; I twist and thrash, trying to dislodge it, but he simply presses it down with a hand. “Keep still, now.”
Like hell.
He ignores my futile struggles, and the metal bite of an alligator clamp digs through the cloth and into my skull.
“No! Stop!” The words come out as a cry, a note of hysteria I’m not proud of, but they make no difference.
As soon as the second clamp touches the cloth, pain rips through me. It’s blinding, like the worst migraine I’ve ever had, my skull wanting to explode. I jerk in my chair, nails scratching against the metal, screaming and screaming.
I don’t know how long it lasts. Seconds, minutes, I can’t tell. Then he pulls away, and the searing, burning pain fades, leaving a throbbing, pulsing ache.
“You scream so deliciously,” he says, and I can’t focus on his words. I’m trying to fight back my nausea.
And I fail. My stomach empties itself, projectile vomiting over my lap, with any luck catching him too.
He curses, stepping back, leaving me spasming in the chair as I retch again.
My throat’s burning, but I don’t know if it’s the acid from my stomach or the screaming.
The cloth slips from my head, catches the arm of the chair, and falls to the floor.
My abductor leans against the table, folds his arms, and watches me.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It just fucking hurts.
And I can’t stop my body trembling.
Minutes pass—I think. I have no idea of time anymore. I don’t know how long he tortured me for, how long the clamps were pressed to my head. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes. Gradually, the worst of the pain passes, leaving a dull, grinding ache that sets deep into my bones.
“Oh, you’ve got a message from Alex. Did you know?”
His words draw my eyes. Turning my head is a mistake; my vision swims before it clears.
He’s holding my phone.
“What’s your pin?”
I want to tell him. I want to know what the message says, knowing whatever it is will be the last I ever hear from Alex. And I sure as hell don’t want him to torture it out of me.
But I can’t speak. My jaw’s locked tight.
He seems to know. “Take your time.”
“Two…”
“Great… great. Five more?”
“Six…”
He whistles a tune between his teeth while I struggle to complete the simple task of speaking a string of words. But the pain is loosening its hold on me, and it becomes easier to speak.
“One… Six…”
“Am I guessing two-six again?” He makes a disappointed noise, even though that’s right.
“So predictable. Hmm. The news isn’t good, I’m afraid.
” His voice takes on a mocking tone. “‘I know I said I’d collect you this evening, but something’s come up.
I’m sorry I won’t be able to, but I am coming, though it’ll be late.
I’ll explain then.’” My abductor drops my phone back on the table.
“That must be disheartening. Is that typical behavior?”
Pain on top of pain, and the words of Alex’s message hurt almost more than the shock torture, and certainly bite deeper. “You have no idea.”
“You’re speaking more easily, at least.” He nods to the battery. “That was a five. Shall we try that setting again, or skip to seven?”
I can’t answer; I can’t speak. My stomach clenches, and I struggle, even knowing it’s futile. The ropes bite into my wrists.
He picks up another wet cloth and steps forward, collecting the cables from the floor. “One more with the five, I think.”
“No…” It comes out as a whisper. I can barely hear it; I don’t know if he has. “Please…”
The cloth falls over my head and face. The first clamp lands, and I cry out in fear, anticipating the pain.
Then the second touches, and my world turns white.
The pain collapses inward, a pounding hammering behind my eyes.
Fire scorches all my nerves, and my jaw locks tight…
until it doesn’t, and the scream that I release comes from deep within.
The torment cuts off at last, leaving a raw, buzzing misery in its wake, my skull feeling like it split in two.
My body heaves, but there’s nothing left to come out.
A mouthful of bile, which I spit away. I can’t open my eyes, it hurts too much.
The cloth is still there, draped half over my face, but my strength is gone. There’s no fight left.
“Some good news to go with your bad,” my abductor says casually. “Van Wyk will be here soon, and then this will all be over.”
And I’ll be dead.
It’s like those words have summoned him, for we both hear someone coming down steps beyond the door. It’s still open, proof my screams are of no concern to my abductor.
Now Van Wyk has arrived. I think of Juliette. Of Amelia. Am I the next woman he murders?
The figure that appears in the doorway is in shadow, just like my abductor was, and I blink as I see him.
I can’t focus properly, my vision swimming, and I lower my eyes.
I don’t want to see his gloating face, the gleam of light on his karambit, the curved blade taking my fingers or cutting my throat.
Even though I know it’s going to happen, and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.
A loud bang and a flash of light, and my abductor cries out, folding in two, clutching at his stomach. Then drops to one knee and crumples near my feet.
The man steps into the room, a gun in his hand.
It’s not Van Wyk. It’s Alex. It’s Alex. The relief hits so hard, I can’t breathe. A sob escapes, and I still can’t draw a breath. Charcoal tailored suit, crisp white shirt, shoes polished, hair perfect. All I can do is stare at him.
“Sorry I’m late. I was kept with work.”
He walks toward me, his gun and focus still on my abductor, and only when he’s near does he look at me.
The blood drains from his face. His gaze takes in my appearance: the ties on my wrists and ankles, my clothing, soaked with water and my own vomit, the pain that still lingers and must be so very evident.
“Vicky…” It’s barely a breath.
I can’t look away from him. His jaw tenses, a muscle twitching near his ear, knuckles whitening on the weapon he holds. Then his golden hazel eyes go flat. I’ve seen that emptiness before. Fournier’s study.
But I don’t care. He’s here. That message said he wasn’t coming, but he’s here.
How the hell is he here? How did he find me?
But those are questions for another time. All that matters is he’s here.
He drags his eyes from me as if with an effort. He notices the battery, and it holds his attention for a second. Then the table, my phone, my clothes. He takes it all in, then looks back at my abductor.
“Haynes,” Alex says, the word clean, crisp, and utterly lacking in emotion.
“Reyes.” By contrast, my abductor’s response is a pained grunt, his hand pressed to his stomach, blood welling through his fingers.
Alex circles around, toward the table, his weapon trained on the man called Haynes and his eyes unblinking. He picks up the gun with the silencer, and sets his own down.
“I’ve always wondered if I’d be able to do this,” he says, arm extending as he takes aim, tone perfectly normal. Conversational.
He pulls the trigger.
There’s a whisper, like a dart leaving a blowgun, and Haynes screams. His left knee is a bloody mess.
“It’s not actually that difficult, is it?” Alex says, and fires another shot.
This one destroys Haynes’s other knee, and the scream that follows is a hoarse thing, half sob, half cry.
I find my voice. “Alex…”
His eyes flick to mine and don’t move. He goes still, face unreadable, then the control drops. His eyes snap back to life. “Jesus. Shit. I’m sorry… is this bothering you?”
“What?” I shake my head. Bothering me? Not in the goddamn slightest. “No. It’s just… he killed Carol.” I hear myself say it, and something in me goes very still.
“So… you don’t mind if I…” He gestures with the gun toward Haynes.
“Kill him.” I mean it with every fiber of my being. It’s not justice, it’s not revenge, it’s extermination. It’s the removal of Haynes from all that is good and true.
And Alex smiles at me. Smiles. At me.
“You’re perfect, do you know that?” He gazes into my eyes as though nothing else exists. “I love you.”
What?
I stare at him in shock. He can’t have said that. I must’ve imagined it.
But I didn’t.
He told me—
Then Alex aims his weapon and puts a bullet between the eyes of my abductor.