Chapter 12
Sean
I don’t think I’ve slept in days. Every hour for what feels like weeks—but is probably only days—someone has entered my cell to splash more salty, lemon water over my face to keep me alert and in pain. I’m fucking miserable.
Chelsea Grin’s “Hostage” blares through the cell block for the thousandth time, essentially ruining the song for me. Despite the attempt at auditory torture, sleep is just within reach when my cell door groans, indicating someone’s arrival.
I screw my eyes shut as a flashlight is aimed at my face, followed by cruel laughter. But this time, I’m not met with the acidic lemon water. The box is unlocked and I’m dragged by my weak arms to the playpen.
Glancing at the other cells, I note that every prisoner is naked now. This place is fucked.
The temperature in the playpen is piping hot—again—and I’m strung up. I rest my head against my bicep so I don’t fixate on the power drill or tactical knife sitting on the table next to me. I don’t know how whole I’ll be when Louhi gets here.
Scanning the room I’m more familiar with than my bedroom at my mom’s house, I realize that not much has changed about this gruesome, macabre space.
A sliver of myself even misses it, longing once again for the ability to unleash the sadist that lives within me in an unrestrained capacity.
This place offered me an outlet for that dark, deranged part of myself.
No matter how much pain and suffering I endure in this room, it will always be the place where I fell in love—and in lust—with Louhi. She’s the one on my mind when my blood is drawn and I’m introduced to all the same horrors I inflicted on my own victims.
Lou deserves to ride my fucking face every hour of every day for the rest of her goddamn life for the hell I put her through here. I haven’t experienced half the shit she did, but my own miserable experience has only managed to grow my admiration for her.
When I get out of here, I’m going to give her the motherfucking world, or at least as many orgasms as she begs me for.
The heavy door swings open, and Jace steps inside, blessedly alone. As the door bangs shut behind him, he stands there, frozen in time, just staring at me. I mimic the action, swallowing thickly, unsure of what’s going to happen next.
In one swift motion, he grips his olive-green-colored mask at the top and tugs it off, revealing his shit-eating grin. I’ve never been happier to see that smile.
My own face cracks in half, my chapped lips busting and bleeding with the movement.
“Fuck, man.” He steps up to me. “I’m sorry, I can’t cut you down. I don’t know how long we’ll be alone.”
There’s been only one question on my mind since I saw him. “Are you okay?”
He shrugs. “Fuck, Sean, I could ask you the same thing.”
Damn, it’s serious if he’s calling me Sean. “I’ll live.”
“You’re a dumbass for letting her get on that plane without you.”
I bark a small laugh and everything aches with the effort. “I’m sure she’ll say the same thing.”
“When she gets here.” His statement is so quiet it’s barely audible. He arches a jet-black eyebrow expectantly, like he’s looking for confirmation. I smirk.
But I don’t answer audibly. I don’t trust this place and the people here, aside from Jace. Even if the camera in the corner is still missing—not that it was ever operational.
He smiles broadly in reply, and his relief is palpable.
Silence descends as we relish our reconnection when neither of us were sure if we’d see each other again. I fucking missed him, and I have a sinking suspicion that walking away for a second time will be infinitely more difficult than it was the first.
Jace clears his throat, a somber look creeping into his eyes. “The government told your mother you were killed in the line of duty.”
So that’s how they covered it up. I knew they’d come up with something. I snort derisively. “Of course they did.”
“They’re going to kill you, Digs.” My gaze falls to the drill and knife for a moment, letting that solemn report sink in. Even if I knew that was their intention, hearing those heavy words fall from Jace’s lips makes that grim reality even darker.
I drag my head back up and meet his liquid honey eyes again. “No, they’re only going to try.”
He shakes his head. “This place is fifty kinds of fucked up now. Thompson immediately took over, and things have never been worse. You can’t imagine the shit I’ve seen over the last few days.
I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t want to, but Thompson is testing me.
It was the only way I’d have a chance to be alone with you. I—”
“Don’t do that shit to yourself, man,” I rush out, interrupting him. “You did what you had to do. I understand that better than most.”
He winces. “Well, don’t be too forgiving just yet. I sort of…need to rough you up a bit.”
Disappearing into the storage room, he comes back holding a tube sock filled with what I’m fairly fucking sure is a bar of soap and a bottle of water. We used to do this together to the inmates, so I know what I’m getting, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch.
I bark a laugh. “What do they think you’re doing to me in here?”
He unscrews the bottle of water and holds it to my lips, letting me guzzle it down. Water is something I’ve desperately needed. Food, too, but I can manage another few days without that.
“Thompson is in a meeting with Vincent Dalton, which is the only reason I got away with this today. But I still need to make it look like I nearly killed you.”
I can only imagine how Thompson is justifying things to the Secretary of Defense. Then again, he probably doesn’t give a shit about what happens here either.
When I’ve finished the bottle, he screws the cap back on, and I resign myself to my fate. “Do what you need to.”
He looks like he might be sick, and I’m sure I’d feel the same way if I were him, which is why I give him a little push. “Don’t tell me you became a goddamn pussy in the time I was gone.”
His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head as he draws back his fist and slams it into my jaw.
Pain radiates through my mandible, but I don’t have time to dwell on that as he pulls his other arm back and swings the soap encased in the sock, letting it strike my flexed stomach.
Sweat glazes my body like a hot donut by the time he releases the sock, landing six more blows to various parts of my figure with his fists.
It feels like he found a way to bulk the fuck up even more over the last few days. He probably has.
I groan. “Damn, man.”
He chuckles, moving toward the storage room. Halfway there, he turns, his face sober. “For what it’s worth, I fucking missed you.”
I grin at my best friend. “You’re cute when you’re sentimental.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Jace,” I call just as he reaches for the metal handle of the door, my voice even and full of sincerity. “It’s worth everything to me. I missed you too.”
Unfortunately, he’s not the first to return.
Thompson appears to be in a sour mood based on his narrowed glare as he stomps into the room. He picks up the knife just as Jace reappears, having put his mask back on.
“We’re done feeding this fucking traitor. He’s on the termination list.”
Jace blinks at the same time I do, trying to process the flippant words, spoken as though he’s reading a weather report. Shit.
Panic seizes my chest as the gravity of this situation sinks in. Jace said they were going to kill me, but I don’t think either of us understood that meant today.
Something about this situation feels…off, but I don’t know what. This isn’t how I carried out terminations, but I’m not running things anymore. Nothing is the way it used to be, that much is obvious, so what if this is the way Thompson is choosing to carry out those executions?
Although, what if it isn’t? What if this is just a test to see if Jace will do it?
As my brain runs through the options, the more certain I become that’s the scenario at play here.
I begin blinking rapidly over the major’s shoulder in an attempt to get Jace’s attention, but it’s futile. He’s locked in a stare-down.
The tension in the room becomes so thick that I swear I can feel the atoms sludging through the air. My heart races, and I begin to sweat for an entirely new reason as Jace states firmly and clearly, “No.”
Oh, fuck.