31. Miles #2
He laughs as he steps closer, lowering himself until his face is inches from mine.
His laughter is loud and completely wrong, the kind of laugh that doesn’t belong in a situation like this.
I can feel the spit from his mouth hit my cheek as he talks, and the disgust that rushes through me nearly makes me gag.
Fucking disgusting. I can’t even wipe it away.
My hands are tied behind my back, leaving me completely unable to move, and there is something humiliating about knowing he can do whatever he wants while I sit here unable to stop him.
Austin stands back up and walks toward the cart, picking up one of the instruments sitting on top.
A scalpel.
He holds it carefully between his fingers, turning it toward the light and watching the reflection move across the blade.
The look on his face makes my skin crawl because he doesn’t look at it like a weapon.
He looks at it like a painter looks at a blank canvas, excited to create his next masterpiece.
“First, I’m going to cut you up with this extremely sharp, painful little scalpel I’ve got here,” he says, walking back toward me. “I want to see if that’ll loosen you up.”
He holds the blade near my face, close enough that I can see every detail of the metal, but I don’t move. I don’t even fucking blink. The last thing I need is this asshole thinking anything he’s doing is affecting me.
His eyes stay locked on mine before he slowly lowers the scalpel and turns back toward the cart. “If that doesn’t work…”
He looks over the tools sitting there, examining each one like he’s deciding which one will be the most entertaining. Then he picks something up. A cigar cutter. My jaw tightens, and the reality of my situation really sets in.
He holds it up, studying it the same way he studied the scalpel, before looking back at me with that same sick smile. “We’ll see how you feel about losing some extremities, hm?”
God fucking damnit.
This motherfucker is actually going to start cutting my fingers off if I don’t find a way out of this chair.
The thought settles deep in my stomach, twisting with every second that passes, but I refuse to let him see the fear crawling beneath my skin.
I can’t give him that satisfaction, that’s exactly what he wants.
He wants to watch me break and see the moment I realize I’m not in control anymore.
I take a slow breath through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite every instinct in my body screaming at me to fight. I let it out through my mouth, keeping my eyes trained on him while my mind races through every possible option I have left.
There has to be something.
I need to think harder. I need to come up with some kind of plan to get myself out of this chair and get my hands on him before he can hurt me or, worse, before he gets to Maddie.
The problem is, I’m tied up, sitting on a chair that’s probably older than I am, with my wrists bound behind my back and my legs secured so tightly that even shifting my weight feels almost impossible.
Think, Miles. Fucking think.
I look back over at Austin and watch as he moves around the medical cart, completely comfortable with the situation he created. Like this is just another day for him and he isn’t standing in front of me preparing to torture me.
My stomach twists when I see him pick up a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid.
What the fuck is that?
He holds the vial upside down, carefully inserting the needle through the rubber stopper and pulling back on the syringe until it begins filling with the liquid inside. His movements are slow and deliberate, almost like he’s putting on some kind of performance for me.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
He knows I’m watching, and when he looks back at me, I force every emotion off my face. I don’t move or react. I don’t give him anything. Of course I want to know what it is, he knows that too. That’s why his smile grows.
“Do you want to know what this is, Miles?”
I keep staring at him, refusing to answer.
His grin widens as if my silence is exactly the response he expected. “Yeah, I figured.”
He turns the syringe slightly, inspecting the clear liquid inside like it’s something precious.
“This here is adrenaline,” he says, his voice almost cheerful. “Did you know that when the human body experiences enough pain, eventually it starts shutting down? You go into shock. Your brain tries to protect you, so you pass out.”
He looks over at me, waiting for a reaction, but I give him nothing.
“That’s not very fun, though, is it?” he continues, walking closer. “I mean, what’s the point of all this if you don’t get to experience it?”
My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding together in an attempt to stay quiet.
“We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” His eyes darken as he glances down at the syringe. “Wouldn’t want you falling asleep before our—”
He stops himself, smiling. “Actually, before my girl gets here.”
My blood runs cold at the mention of Maddie. He doesn’t say her name, but he doesn’t have to. We both know exactly who he’s talking about.
He finishes filling the syringe before placing the vial back onto the cart.
He taps the side of it a few times, forcing the air bubbles out, completely calm and collected while my anger burns hotter with every movement he makes.
Then he walks back toward me. The smile disappears from his face, replaced by something much worse. Something empty and twisted.
“Maybe I’ll make you sit here and watch while I take what should’ve always been mine,” he says quietly. “Maybe I’ll make you watch me with her, right here in front of you.”
Every muscle in my body locks up as my stomach threatens to empty its contents.
“How does that make you feel?”
Something inside me snaps, and I spit directly in his face.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I growl, my voice low and filled with rage. “You sick piece of shit.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve lost whatever control I was trying to hold onto, but I don’t care. Not when it comes to her.
He stares at me for a long while before he finally starts laughing. It’s deep and ugly, like something coming from the darkest part of him. I knew my anger was exactly what he wanted all along.
“There he is,” he says, wiping the spit from his face. “Fuck, I was starting to think you weren’t going to be any fun.”
His smile disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by pure hatred. His entire expression changes, like someone flipped a switch inside him.
“What are you going to do to stop me?”
The question is barely above a whisper, but the threat behind it is clear. Before I can respond, he drives the syringe into my thigh.
Pain shoots through my body, and a yell tears from my throat before I can stop it. My eyes widen as he slowly pushes the liquid into my system, watching me the entire time with that same sick satisfaction.
I hate him. I hate every fucking thing about him.
When the syringe is empty, he pulls it out and tosses it onto the cart.
“There ya go, buddy.” He reaches up and slaps my cheek twice, the casualness of the gesture making my blood boil.
If he touches my face one more time, I’m going to break every bone in his fucking hand.
He walks back toward the medical cart, completely unaware, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit, of how close he is to dying if I ever get free.
“We’re going to let that kick in before we start the dirty work,” he says, looking over his collection of instruments. “In the meantime…”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, and my chest tightens.
“Let’s see if Madelyn wrote back.”
He unlocks the screen, scrolling through whatever messages he has, and then shakes his head.
“She’s an awful texter, by the way,” he says casually. “She never writes me back.”