His eyes are on mine, dark, evil. Sitting here surrounded by alligators and instead of looking nervous or afraid, he’s looking at me with pure hatred. If looks could kill I’d be a pile of ash onthe floor and Joe would be even worse off. He sneers, grunting at us through the rag that’s been tied around his mouth.
“So, what’s your plan?”
I don’t answer Joe, instead I move toward Hitchens, only stopping when my sneakers touch his boots. I stare down at him in disgust. My fist balls and I pull it back, unleashing the fear and anger I carry from years of pain, and hit him directly in his face. Something cracks and blood explodes out of his nose. The satisfaction of watching his eyes water at something I have done, the way the smug look on his face has completely disappeared empowers me to hit him again. This time instead of hitting him straight on, I angle my arm around, twisting at the hips and hitting him square in his temple, sending his head spinning.
“That’s for Bree and Addy,” I whisper in his ear, ignoring his whines from behind his gag. Turning to my friend I search her gaze, trying to read her reaction. Joe’s face is almost peaceful as she watches Hitchens. “Do you want a turn?”
Her eyes narrow on Hitchens as she fingers the pendant that hangs around her neck. I’ve noticed it on occasion, a beautifully carved piece of silver, about as wide as a pinky finger but half the length. It’s the only understated piece of jewelry she wears, often at odds with her colorful clothing and accessories.
“He’s going to have a long, slow death?”
“From what Vex told me,” I answer with a shrug, my knuckles humming with a burn that feels good rather than painful.
“I don’t want to hurt him physically, I want to harm him mentally. I want to make the torture the DRMC dishes out even more excruciating as his mind and spirit fracture with every hit and cut and slice the DRMC gives him.” Joe stares at Hitchens as she says this before her gaze flicks to mine.
I know she’s watching me as closely as I watched her when I hit Hitchens. Looking for judgement, or disgust. Joe is myfriend. This man hurt her and he needs to pay. Whatever she has planned, I approve of.
“What do you need me to do?”
Joe’s grin grows as she removes her pendant. “I need water, do you have any here?”
Looking around the room I spot a water bottle sitting on a table along with some gator food and what looks to be antibiotics. Picking it up and giving it a shake I grin when I hear the slosh of liquid.
“Here!” I had it over to Joe.
She twists her pendant and the top pops off. I have no idea what is inside, but whatever it is has a strong pungent scent.
“My grandmomma taught me how to make this when I was a kid,” Joe murmurs, tapping the side of the pendant, letting some dark powder spill from it into the water bottle.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“In Creole, it’s a lagniappe. The word itself usually means ‘a little extra’. Something unexpected.” She winks at me and swirls the water bottle around in the air. Taking off the lid she steps up to Hitchens, gesturing that I remove the gag and hold his head still. I do as I’m told, standing behind Hitchens with my arm wrapped around the top of his head as Joe slowly feeds him the pungent water. He gags and tries to turn his head. “Tsk, this isn’t punishment, Travis. This is what you came here for. To torment, to hurt. And you will, it’ll just be in your head. Your thoughts will grow louder until all you can hear are your own screams.” Joe holds the bottle high in the air, the very last drop dripping into Hitchens’ mouth as he spits and cusses.
Joe picks up the gag I had discarded, shoving it into his mouth before wrapping the longer piece of fabric around his head. I take the ends and tie them tight, so tight he flinches, but I don’t care. Men like Hitchens don’t deserve comfort. As if to illustrate this even more to our guest I pick up one ofthe Landrys’ capture poles. A long length with a rope hook on the end. I watch him intently as I step back, lining him up. I almost wish he was standing, so I could have access to his back, but I’ll have to make do. Pulling my arm back I swing swiftly, whipping Hitchens across the chest. The motion reminds me of the punishments I’d endured from the hands of my father and Goodson, and it feels cathartic in ways that should be concerning.
“Whatcha doin?” I let out a scream that joins Joe’s at the unexpected voice.
Spinning in place I come face to face with Chewy, leaning against the door jamb with the rest of the DRMC women behind her with bright smiles on their faces.
“Ah, I was just making sure our guest was comfortable.” My eyes dart to Joe’s before darting back to Chewy.
“Hm, I like your technique. Can we join?” Blanche asks, and I grin at her enthusiasm.
“The way I see it we have 20, maybe 30 minutes max before the men get here,” Chewy announces, stepping forward and letting the rest of the women come closer. “Let’s see what type of damage we can do.”
Chapter 19
Vex
“Daddy, is Momma OK?” Bree asks around her mouthful of lasagne.
I run a hand over her hair before dropping a kiss to the top of her head, then Addy’s. “Momma is fine, she just wanted to go get some air with your Aunt Joe.”
I smile at the girls but I don’t miss the look they share. “She had the sad smile on,” Addy whispers.
“The sad smile?”
“The smile moms do when they’re sad or scared but don’t want us to be sad or scared,” Bree says, pushing her food around on her plate with her fork. “Our Mommy used to do that all the time.”
