19. Ellie #3
"This was your first test, Eleanor," Grace says, setting the tablet aside. "Not the notes. But your reaction. It’s such a messy variable, isn’t it? Attachment. It makes your responses so much more predictable.”
She rises, smoothing the fabric over her knees. “Tomorrow we’ll continue. I expect more forthcoming answers about your father’s research. And Killian’s network.”
She stops before she reaches the door.
“One more thing.” Her voice drops, losing its rehearsed warmth. “The guard who provided the chair, Reed. He’s expressed quite a bit of interest in you.”
What the fuck?
“He’s asked to conduct his own interrogation. Should you prove uncooperative. I’ve declined, of course. For now. You’re far more valuable to us intact.”
Shit. She lets that sink in. Then her icy blue eyes flicker to the burly guard still standing in the corner, the one with the nose ring and neck tattoos who carried in her chair. Reed.
“But I do think a demonstration of what uncooperativeness looks like might be... educational.”
She nods to him. Once. And the look on his face tells me he's been waiting for that all session.
“Teach our guest what happens when my patience runs thin.”
The door closes behind her with a soft, final click.
The guard’s boots are heavy against the concrete as he crosses the room. I’m already backing up, but there’s nowhere to go. My spine hits the wall.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about, pretty girl?” His breath is hot against my face. Stale coffee and cigarettes, that make me want to gag. “That smart fucking mouth of yours.”
His hand clamps around my throat, enough to restrict my airway, but not enough to crush. He’s showing off his control.
“Grace says I can’t break you. Not permanently.” His thumb presses against my windpipe. “But there’s a lot I can do without leaving marks she’d disapprove of.”
I claw at his forearm, but it’s like trying to move an eighteen-wheeler. My vision starts to narrow. Darkness closing in from the sides.
“Next time she asks you a question,” he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly growl, “you give her a real answer. Not the bullshit you wrote in that notebook.”
He leans in closer. Something hard presses against my thigh. I know what that is. My brain screams at me to do something, anything, but I can’t breathe and I can’t move and—
I have maybe three seconds before I pass out.
In a split second decision, I bring my knee up with everything I have left. It connects with his crotch. Hard.
The sound he makes is somewhere between a grunt and a wheeze.
His grip on my throat loosens, not much, but enough.
I twist sideways and suck in air. It tastes like mold and concrete dust. He staggers back, one hand between his legs, the other still reaching for me.
The look in his eyes tells me I’m fucked.
“You little bitch.” He straightens up, breathing through his teeth. “Grace said not to damage you. She didn’t say anything about making you regret that.”
He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into the muscle hard enough to guarantee a bruise, and slams me back against the wall. My skull cracks against the concrete with a thud that vibrates all the way down to my molars.
“That’s gonna cost you,” he says, his face inches from mine. “When Grace finally gives me permission, I’m gonna make you beg. Gonna make you sorry you ever tried that.”
He releases me suddenly, and I collapse to the floor, gasping.
“Sweet dreams, pretty girl.” He adjusts his belt, wincing. “I’ll be watching. And I’ve got a real good memory.”
The door slams shut with a metallic clang that echoes inside my skull.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold floor. My throat feels like I swallowed broken glass. I can feel the swelling starting already, bruises forming in the exact shape of his fingers. The back of my head throbs where it hit the wall.
But I fought back.
The camera’s red light blinks in the corner. Recording everything.
Reed is probably on the other end of that feed right now. Replaying the moment I kneed him. Getting angrier. Planning what he’ll do when Grace finally gives him permission.
I made it worse. I know I did. But I couldn’t just let him…
I pull my knees to my chest. My hands won’t stop shaking. I press them against my legs to hide it from the camera. I can still feel his hand on my throat, still smell the cigarettes on his breath, still feel that hardness against my thigh before I fought back.
This was just a taste. A preview. The real thing is coming, and Reed’s going to enjoy every second of it.
Grace’s mind games backed up by Reed’s fists. The carrot and the stick. Break or get broken. And now Reed has a reason to make it personal.
I breathe. In and out. I need to make my brain work. If Killian is alive, he needs time. If he’s dead, I need to survive long enough to find a way out myself.
Either way, I’m not breaking. Not tonight.
But my throat aches with every swallow. My head pounds. And I’ve made an enemy who’s going to be waiting for his chance.
Worth it, I tell myself. Even if I’m not sure I believe it.