Sighing, I closed my eyes. In a way it would be nice to go back to the time when all this business was more an interesting thought adventure than my daily life—but I couldn’t truly wish for that. Bad things had happened; however, there were just as many good ones in my life now that I’d never experienced before, and I wanted to live to have them.
All four of them.
“Nothing to say? Thank fuck. You’re annoying.” Cummins laughed as if he’d amused himself.
“You’re a... cretin. That barb wasn’t original or even anything I haven’t heard.” I cringed and stared at my knees, shame setting my cheeks on fire. Why should I care what this terrible man had to say about me? I didn’t really, but my face still burned in humiliation. “Go to hell,” I muttered.
He stomped over, and I was shocked when he squeezed my face hard between his rough fingers. My cheeks and jaw began to thud with pain. He brushed the tip of the gun he held over my lips, eyes narrow and dangerous. Terror zapped through me and goose bumps lifted all over my body.
“I can see why they’d fuck this mouth. Maybe to keep it quiet, huh? But if you don’tfucking shut it, I’ll make it so ugly no one will want it again. Then how will you pay your bills? No one wants a whore who can’t blow them.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, even as a horrible terror blazed through my gut and had my balls drawing up to hide near my body. I shouldn’t keep speaking. The knowledge pounded in my brain. His eyes narrowed until they were almost slits and my heart hammered in my chest. “I do have a doctorate. I suppose it’s occasionally useful. It’s only history, though.”
“Are you suicidal?” he asked. “You going for death by cop?”
“I can’t stop. I’m... not sorry. No. I won’t apologize for being myself. I just can’t.”
He stood and slapped me upside the head hard enough it left me blinking my eyes and gasping against the sting, then he stalked off down a hallway to my left where I knew the bathroom was because I’d heard him relieving himself earlier. While he was out of my line of sight I tugged at my arms, trying to wriggle my hands free. The right one moved a bit and the back of my hand turned red against the silver of the tape. I didn’t get too far with my attempt before he was storming back into the living room with what looked like a black spool of thick, clear fishing line in one hand.
He dropped to his knees beside me and rested his gun on the floor near my foot. “Are you going to shut the fuck up? This is your last chance. Nod your head yes if it’s yes.” He glared.
“Yes. Damn it, I mean—”
“Doctor? You’re the dumbest fucking person I’ve ever met.” He laughed and it was nasty.
I quivered on the spot. “Please don’t do whatever you’re planning.”
He grinned at me. “Being a cop is a stressful job.” Terrified, I didn’t even breathe as he tied a knot in the end of the solid fishing line and stared at it before wrapping it around the end of a sturdy silver-handled needle. “This is for bait,” he said, holding the silver tool up near my left eye. I strained when he grabbed my lips roughly in his right hand. I tried to pull them back into my mouth, but he got a grip on the top one and tugged it out.
Seconds before he brought his hand up I gave into the inevitable and closed my eyes. Pain blazed through the center of my upper lip as he brought down the needle, and I yelled out, struggling to move my feet, but they were still strapped tight to the chair. He let go of my upper lip, which I stopped trying to move for fear of ripping the needle through my skin, and tugged out my bottom one. He jammed the thick needle through my other lip.
Pain had me gasping. He roughly shoved my jaw upward, clacking my teeth, then pulled the needle out. I sobbed in relief as the metal cleared my skin, but then realized there was still something in the wounds that was moving around, causing even more pain. He whistled while he used a knife to cut off the fishing line he’d strung through my flesh, then winked at me as he pulled the line tight. I tried to open my mouth, but a shockwave of pain kept it closed. Tears started spilling out of my eyes as he knotted the line over my lips.
“Do I have to do more?” he asked, holding up the needle near my eye so I had no choice except to stare at the metal coated in my blood.
I shook my head fast. Wet heat dripped from my chin.
“There. Now you’ll be quiet, huh? Fucking fuck, praise Jesus. Silence.” He rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds while I sniffled. The wounds on my face hurt, I needed to piss, and I wanted to throw up, but I was scared of what might happen if I did either of those last two things.
“Next time someone tells you to shut the fuck up, I bet you listen,” he snarled into my face, then gave it a light slap. The pain had me wincing. He laughed and got to his feet, walking over to stare out the window again the way he’d been doing since he brought me here.
Adrenaline pounded in my veins and I tugged on my restraints with all my might. I almost let out a happy sound when my right wrist came free, but it hurt my lips and I stopped at the flash of pain. I bent forward and strained my fingers for the gun Cummins had left on the floor.
“Motherfucker,” Cummins swore and ran back toward me, teeth bared.
A sound like a bomb going off filled the room as the door cracked and half the wood fell while the rest banged in against the wall. Aspen darted into the room with a gun out, and I nearly swooned. I’d never been so fucking happy to see anyone in my life, and he looked damned good in his suit, too.
Cummins adjusted course and raced to the couch, obviously planning to use it for cover, but Aspen fired, and someone else did as well because I heard more than one muffled shot. Everything was happening too fast, and Cillian was at Aspen’s side when I glanced up, his gun out as well.
Cummins fell to the floor, grasping at two points on his right leg, as if the bullets had landed close together. He dropped to his back and groaned. Aspen advanced on Cummins, gun aimed at the dirty cop’s forehead, with Cillian close behind. Rowen stomped over to Cummins, shoving them out of the way, and I was shocked as he delivered a kick to the man’s middle.
“This isn’t going to be fast, ye feckin’ maggot,” he snarled down at Cummins, and Aspen let out a quiet, “Mm-hmm.”
Mr. Killough followed them in, and I was a strange mix of stunned and excited to see the gun he held. The scar that cut from above his left eye and down his cheek should have made him look like a villain, but he was one of my heroes. I tapped my toes, twice as sure the stories I’d heard were true now. He kept his gun trained on Cummins until he was in front of me, then he let out a small, unhappy sound as he gracefully went to a knee at my side. He used a finger to tilt my chin in his direction, and I clawed at the duct tape over my left hand with my right one.
“Be still,” he said and shook his head.
I breathed too fast, too hard, but nodded. I couldn’t stop the tears that welled in my eyes because I knew what would have to be done. I didn’t want to wait for someone with any type of anesthetic. My skin crawled with the inability to speak. My body was never truly still, and sometimes I even talked in my sleep.
