Chapter 47
BAILEY
Zane doesn’t reply, just stands and crosses the room and retrieves a black velvet pouch from the kitchen counter.
He returns and sits again, setting the pouch on his lap.
It’s sleek and nondescript, the velvet soft and luxurious looking, but something about it sends a hard shiver racing from the tip of my head all the way to my toes.
“Would you be surprised to learn more prisoners of war died in Japan than in Germany during World War Two?” he asks.
The question leaves me spinning, my mouth dry.
“It’s true. Approximately one in four. Do you know why?”
I can’t speak, can only shake my head. I have no clue where he’s going with this.
“There were many reasons,” he continues. “Malnutrition for one. Disease for another. The soldiers were neglected when they were sick, or forced into labor. They often worked until they collapsed. If they did, they were left to rot.”
I swallow, my pulse thumps harder.
“My grandfather fought in World War Two. He was a pilot. His plane went down in the Sea of Japan. He was one of those prisoners. He never said a word about it, though. Anytime anyone mentioned the war, his face would go white. He’d shut down, conversation over.
It was easy to forget he’d fought at all.
” Zane pauses, his eyes never leaving mine.
“But there was one time he talked about it. It was just the two of us. Me and my grandfather on a camping trip. He’d had a few drinks, and I gathered the courage to ask him about it.
“‘Zane,’ he’d said, ‘you don’t want to know.’
“‘I do,’ I’d said. ‘Tell me.’ So he did.
The Japanese pulled him out of the water and shoved him into a cargo hold with a thousand other men.
There wasn’t enough space for them all to lie down.
It was boiling hot. No water. No air. They grew so thirsty they bit each other in an attempt to drink each other’s blood. ”
My stomach turns at the description.
“A lot of men died on that ship. My grandfather didn’t.
They put him to work in the mines. The things they did to him there were unspeakable.
I don’t know how he survived. They tortured him.
They beat him and broke his fingers. He lost over half of his teeth.
But there was only one thing he said he’d rather die than face again.
” His hand settles on the velvet pouch and my heart climbs my throat.
“Zane, whatever you’re thinking of doing … please, don’t.”
Time slows as he unties the ribbon and unrolls the pouch to reveal several metallic pins that look like oversized sewing needles.
He pulls one free and rolls it between his fingers.
“Did you also know the Imperial Japanese are credited with creating many forms of modern torture? One of their most effective devices in the camps was the use of bamboo splinters. They shoved them beneath the fingernails of the prisoners if they thought they had information. They thought my grandfather had information. It’s what they did to him.
” His eyes click toward mine. “I don’t want to do this to you, Bailey.
But I will. I’ll do it for Cora. Things will be so much easier for you if you just give me the money. ”
I would. I’d happily give it to Zane to avoid this. My life means nothing to me anymore.
But Ben’s does. Zane already threatened him.
And Ben knows everything.
“If I transfer the money, you’ll kill my brother,” I say.
“No, I won’t. It isn’t necessary.”
“Didn’t you just say people are unpredictable? That they change their minds?”
“I don’t. And I won’t have a reason to. Your suicide will be hard on Ben, but it will make sense. You’ve attempted it before. And this time you’ll succeed. You got too close to Reed. This plan of yours was too painful. You couldn’t handle it. The logic will track. Do we have a deal?”
I don’t nod, don’t move, don’t respond, just stare at him, feeling like I’m balancing on the edge of a cliff about to fall over. Do we have a deal? How can I trust him after this? How do I know he’ll leave Ben alone?
I expect more words, for Zane to try to fill the silence and convince me what he’s saying is true, but before I know what’s happening, he slams his hand over mine and plucks a pin from the pouch.
I try to pull my arm free but he’s far too strong.
He places the tip of the needle against the delicate flesh beneath my fingernail. He’s so close I can smell his sweat.
“Do we have a deal, Bailey?”
The point presses into the skin ever so slightly, feeling more like a splinter of sun than a bit of metal.
“Swear to me you won’t hurt him,” I say. “Swear on your daughter’s life.”
Zane smiles, but it’s a sad smile, the corners full of weight, with no matching crinkle of the eyes. “I want you to know this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I don’t relish this. And I won’t betray you. I won’t harm your brother. I swear.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
The pressure in my fingertip releases, and he stands and gestures at the laptop still sitting in my lap. I tap the mouse and it flashes to life, the crypto exchange login screen glowing once more in front of me.
“Do it,” he says.
It’s not easy with one hand cuffed. It takes me four tries before I’m able to enter my password correctly.
When I do, Zane passes me my phone. An authenticator question is there waiting for me.
Am I trying to login? My finger hovers over the yes button and my heart falls.
Once I click it, it’s over. Zane won’t need me anymore.
But the truth is, he’s already won. I won’t be able to resist this kind of torture. If he is planning on hurting Ben, he’s going to do it no matter how much I struggle. At this point, all I can do is give him what he wants and hope he keeps his word.
I click the button. The account loads and Zane goes to work on the transfer. His fingers move rapidly as he keys in the amount and then enters his crypto wallet address—a combination of several dozen alphanumeric characters that will swallow what’s left in my account forever.
He’s just about done when his phone buzzes.
A split second later, there’s a knock on the door.
Hope butterflies through my chest. Maybe it’s a delivery man or some distant neighbor—someone to hear me scream.
And then I glimpse the image of the front door on Zane’s screen, and the hope dies.
It’s Sean, still dressed head to toe in camo.
“Idiot,” Zane hisses through clenched teeth setting the computer aside before stomping toward the door.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, swinging it open. “Why are you still wearing the ghillie suit? Get inside before you attract attention.”
What comes next happens in a blur of motion I struggle to follow. Sean bursts through the door with his gun drawn, telling Zane to, “Get the fuck back!”
Except it isn’t Sean’s voice.
It’s Reed’s.
Zane’s eyes peel wide. He doesn’t obey. Instead, he lunges for the gun in Reed’s hand, and three of his fingers disappear in a shower of bone and meat.
Bang! Bang!
My ears ring from the gunshots as Reed takes a step forward and slams the heel of his boot into Zane’s stomach.
Zane flies backward into the kitchen counter.
He somehow manages to keep his balance, but Reed is already on him, bringing the butt of the pistol crashing down between his eyes.
It’s like watching a tree fall the way Zane tilts and slams to the floor, his head cracking hard against the tile.
He doesn’t move as Reed pulls out a long length of black nylon rope and winds it around Zane’s wrists and ankles.
It’s clear he’s unconscious, but I’m no longer watching him.
I’m thrashing in the chair, straining to free my hand.
My wrist erupts in a bright bloom of pain.
The handcuff goes slick with blood. It’s agonizing, but I don’t care.
I have to get out of this room, have to get away from Reed.
I stand and jerk harder, yanking with everything I have.
My palm slides higher, the steel ring tearing skin as it nears my knuckles. One more pull and I’ll—
“Stop!”
The world blinks and wavers. Blood drips from my fingers to the chair.
When I look up, Reed is standing a foot away, no longer wearing the ghillie mask.
His mouth is pressed into a thin razor blade slash, his hair matted with dirt and blood.
The gun in his hand is aimed at my stomach, but it’s the way he’s staring at me with his eyes baked in hate that fills me with dread.
“Hello, Bailey,” he says. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”