“I’ll have my men seizing your ship in the morning,” Whitton said casually. “And I’ll likely hang you at sunrise. But tell me this. What were you doing so far north? I’ve never heard of a hunt going that far out. What is it you found, I wonder. Something you didn’t want to share with me, no doubt, which leads me to believe it was quite valuable. So? What were you doing?”
He’d asked the same question a hundred times and I answered the same every time.
“Fucking your mother,” I spit, barely missing his polished shoes.
My wrists were chained to the wall so every time I was punched or kicked in the stomach, my body didn’t go very far. I was confined to my place, bloodied and bruised.
After a while, I could see the moon in the cell window and knew we’d been at it for some time. I groaned with exasperation, full well knowing that my crew would be ready for Whitton’s men in the morning. I didn’t have to worry about them. Dahlia, on the other hand. I wasn’t fond of the idea of her getting wrapped up with Whitton if I was killed before she escaped.
“Right, then,” Whitton grumbled, the wooden chair whining under his weight as he adjusted himself. “You keep glancing at the random ‘poor soul’ you found. I’m inclined to think she’s not some rat you picked up like the rest of your crew.”
He waved a hand at his men and two of them strode to the next cell, unlocking the gate. She didn’t fight them as they grabbed hold of her arms and dragged her into the cell with me. I trusted that she could take a harsher beating than me, but it didn’t mean I wanted to see it.
“In the business of torturing women, now, are you?” I said. “Can’t say I’m surprised, a cunt like you.”
Whitton, wincing at my commentary, nodded toward his men and as if they knew exactly what his wordless commands meant, two of them left the cell while the others tightened their grip on Dahlia. Her stare only grew more venomous as the two officers returned carrying a rickety wooden table. They set it in the middle of the room and immediately forced Dahlia on her back on top of it. It was then that she finally started to struggle. She kicked and writhed as the four officers pinned her in place. Their hands all over her struggling body made me want to bite out their jugulars myself. I tugged on my chains and Whitton glanced at me with a pleased smile as if he was winning.
He wasn’t winning.
I bit down on my teeth, my jaw pulsing as I watched them slide Dahlia up the table until her head was hanging slightly off the edge. She was growling in protest, her boots scraping on the wood. I watched them cover her face with a stained cloth and immediately realized what they were doing.
I’d been waterboarded before. It wasn’t the most fun memory I had.
Whitton stood to get closer to the spectacle when one of his men lifted a bucket of water over her face and began to pour. I could hear her garbling and choking and wheezing for air as they saturated her face completely.
“Whitton, you fucking coward,” I snarled, tugging on the chains until I felt the cuffs biting into my wrists.
It was all too familiar. Me, helpless. Dahlia struggling with a mob of enemies around her. Whitton watching cockily as he reveled in his sadistic victory.
His laughter filled the cell along with Dahlia’s struggles. When they stopped pouring water on her face and removed the cloth, she choked up mouthfuls of it, sucking in air with labored breaths.
“What were you doing in the north, Woelfson?” he asked for the hundredth time. “You can be honest with me.”
“Killing Collin Jones,” I hissed. “After fucking your mother, of course.”
He shook his head and stepped toward Dahlia, placing his hand on her stomach. She jolted angrily at his touch like he was made of hot iron. I watched him slide his swollen fingers under her wet blouse to her ribs before he glanced my way with a raised brow. I couldn’t help the rage from twisting my tense face even though he took pleasure in my discomfort. My fists clenched and I growled low, feeling more like an animal than a man as he infected her with his slimy hands.
“There’s a reason you’re not telling me the truth,” he said. “I want you to know, we could be partners again if you talk to me. But if you continue to refuse, you will be swinging over the square tomorrow. And this lady of yours? I will keep her until she begs to follow you.”
I thrashed against my chains, baring my teeth. “You’re going to die tonight.”
He laughed, his round stomach bouncing.
“She’s important to you. Vidar Woelfson has found himself a whore. A well-used one by the looks of her.”
He waved at his men and once more they covered Dahlia’s face with the wet rag and began pouring the water over her. She kicked and choked, but they continued. They continued until she stopped struggling. Until the bucket was empty. Finally, the officer tossed the pail to the floor and the men stared at her, pulling the cover from her face.
She was unmoving. Her limbs had gone flaccid and rather than cough up the water, she just laid there, mouth agape. They pulled her body fully onto the table so her head was no longer inclined off of it, but there was nothing. Her wet hair hung over one edge and her legs over the other. When the whole room assumed she’d passed, she coughed up a fountain of water and wheezed.
“Well,” Whitton sighed. “She’s a resilient one.”
He leaned over her with a rotted smile and, opening her eyes, she spit a mouthful of water onto his face. He pulled a small handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his cheeks before one of the men hoisted Dahlia up and swung, hitting her cheek with the back of his hand. Before she rolled onto the floor from the force, the men caught her, bringing her down to her knees in front of me. Our eyes met and I could see the malice in hers, starving for retaliation. One of the men tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging her chin up and exposing her throat to the thin little blade he had pulled from his belt. He pressed it right over the scar she already had stretched across her neck.
“I know this is a shock,” Whitton continued. “You’re not used to losing but try to stay focused. What were you doing up north? What secret dealings are you keeping from me?”
Before I could spout another onslaught of insults, there was a knock at the door. The men looked up, confused. They had commandeered the jail for the night for this morbid party of theirs and were not to be disturbed.
“Go,” Whitton ordered one of his men, sitting back down in his chair like walking the length of the cell had winded him.
