40. Henri
HENRI
I had no idea how long I’d been lying on a concrete floor, shifting in and out of consciousness.
Every part of me ached, and my eyes were so swollen I could barely see.
I doubted I could identify my location even with perfect vision.
When the men who’d captured me dragged me from the trunk, the best I could guess was that I was close to the street corner where I used to work.
They dragged me to a building that looked abandoned.
Before forcing me inside, they took my phone and tossed it aside as if I could use it with my hands bound.
Once inside, the bearded man—Charles Landry?
—threw me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and crossed the warehouse floor to a cell in the corner.
There was nothing in the cell. It was just concrete floor, cinderblock walls, and iron bars on two sides.
Who the hell had a cell in a warehouse? No one I ever wanted to know.
Landry, or whoever he was, dumped me on the floor. I couldn’t brace my fall with my hands bound, and I hoped to hell I hadn’t cracked a bone.
I felt wider awake, but before I could make any sort of plan, I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t recognize the man who entered, but I couldn’t see the details of his features, only that he had shoulder-length dark hair. He squatted next to me and ripped the tape from my mouth, making me gasp.
“So you’re Remington’s boy?”
“No.”
He slapped me so hard the world tilted, and I nearly blacked out. My cheek pulsed, and for a minute, I thought he’d dislocated my jaw.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I didn’t say anything else. My face hurt too much for me to speak anyway.
The man asked me all kinds of questions about Remington, about his business and his allies.
I knew many of the answers, but I refused to tell him anything.
When I remained silent, he punched me and twisted my arm until I was sure my wrist was broken.
That didn’t make me talk, so he started burning my arms with the end of his cigarette every time I didn’t answer.
I didn’t care what he did; I wasn’t going to break for him.
Remington might not love me, but he’d never hurt me, and I knew he wouldn’t. He was nothing like the dark-haired man or those who had captured me, and I wouldn’t give them access to him or his family. None of them deserved the treatment I was receiving.
I wondered how much longer it would take for him to just kill me. I hoped it wouldn’t be long. I was determined, but I didn’t know how much more I could take.