Chapter 22 Nova
NOVA
TANK IS NOT A NICE PERSON
My head throbs. My eyes ache. The world spins as rough, calloused hands slam me against a wooden chair that suspiciously doesn’t shift despite my weight hitting it.
It should have scraped along the floor, even if only an inch.
It should have tilted back. It should have done something!
But it catches my weight with ease, and as I dazedly look down, while my hands are dragged behind my back and the stinging friction of bindings wrap around my wrists, I’m treated to the ominous reality that my chair has been bolted to the floor.
“Wake up, bitch.” My captor yanks my arms, straining my shoulders until I’m not entirely confident they’ll stay in their sockets. Pulling the bindings tighter, he chuckles when an involuntary hiss ricochets along my throat. “You awake yet?”
“You hit me really hard.” I blink once, twice, maybe a third time, and work to clear the shadows from my vision. I could assume I’m in a poorly lit room, if not for the fact that I see just fine out of my right eye. “Why’d you hit me?”
“Cos I like it.” He gives one last tug, eliciting a cry of agony that turns to nausea in the pit of my stomach, then, straightening, he wanders around and reveals his massive frame and disdainful smile.
He could be seven feet tall, if my eyes aren’t lying to me. Maybe more. Probably not less.
He could be the guy Lincoln said would come, too.
Likely.
He’s my width, times three. Broad across the shoulders and extra muscular in the chest. He wears a tight, dark green shirt, and although he weighs something near the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound mark, I can count the lines crossing his stomach.
Potato chips and fast food are not part of this man’s diet.
“You’re not Richard Aster, huh?” I let my head dangle forward, rolling on my neck while my brain slowly takes stock of my surroundings. Stark gray room. One chair. One man, ready and happy to hurt me. “Aster’s your boss?” I swallow to lubricate my throat. “He sent you?”
“He lets me fuck my prisoners.” He licks his lips like he knows it makes my predicament a million times scarier.
It does.
“Turns me on when you scream.” He grunts in the back of his throat. “Sends me crazy when you’re bleeding while I’m doing it. Dunno what that says about me, but I like the taste of your blood on my tongue while I’m fucking you.”
“Probably makes you a vampire.” My voice strains, slurring, as my vision blurs. “There are women out there who kinda like that. Did you consider asking them if they wanna bang, instead of forcing others who don’t?”
Amazingly, he tilts his head the other way, as though seriously considering my question. But then he grins. “No. Cos I like it when they say no. Unwilling bitches are so much tastier.”
“Well, that’s deplorable.” I suck on my bottom lip and allow a line of saliva to dribble free. Look defenseless, Nova. If you can’t stand toe-to-toe and whoop his ass, play dead. Or something like that. “Where’s Richard Aster?”
“None of your business.” He wanders forward and lowers into a crouch to get on my level. “Where’s the code?”
Ryan’s chain hangs heavily around my neck, the cold steel pressed against my chest and tucked securely inside my bra. I shake my head gently from side to side. That movement, as minimal as it is, hurts. “I don’t know what—”
He stands and snarls, “Where’s the code?!”
“I don’t—” That’s all I get out before something hard slams against the side of my head, and it’s lights out again.
Gone.