“Can I go?” Edwin asks. “You told me—”
“I told you once you finish the job, you’ll get your kid back. Not before.”
With a sickening jolt, I understand the impetus that turned the wary but borderline friendly investigator into the man who wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t help me, wouldn’tstop.
I already know my uncle has no qualms about hurting children. Quite the opposite. I can’t blame Edwin for capitulating, not if his child’s life is on the line.
There’ll be no help from his quarter. I’m back to relying on myself.
Jerred nods as though someone just gave him an answer. He turns to glance at me again, licking his lips as he stares at my nipples, hardened from the cold, pressing against the wet fabric of my blouse.
The sight turns my stomach. A tremor of fear twists and turns inside me. I don’t want to give into it. I’d rather spit invectives in his face and take the consequences; rather force him to kill me quickly in a furious rage than suffer through his plans.
“You used to be so pretty,” he says, reaching out to trail the hammer along my leg, bumping along my shinbone, putting me on edge. “So pure. Now look at you. Can’t even get a guy to throw you one for free.”
His smile oozes wider, menace dripping down his face. He raises the hammer and I tense, watching his eyes burn with delight, cringing away from the expected pain.
Then he swings it, not down onto my leg, but sideways into Edwin’s face. The investigator crumples to the floor, screaming, holding a hand to his mouth and nose, thick rivulets of blood flowing through his fingers.
“You really don’t understand ingratiating yourself with your partners, do you?” Jerred says in a teasing voice. “When I offer you something, something that will incriminate you as much as me long after your kid’s safely back home, you do that. Otherwise, I look at you funny. I get the idea that you might be working an angle, readying something to make you a profit at my expense.”
He advances on the cowering investigator, tossing the hammer from hand to hand.
Edwin shakes his head, speaking with a voice that sounds mushy. “N-no. Believe me, I would never endanger my daughter like—”
The second blow of the hammer cuts him off, Jerred apparently not interested in what he had to say.
Now I only have myself and the man who hates me. Who blames me for ruining his life. Whose only son was beaten to death less than a metre from me for daring to touch me the wrong way in front of someone who cares.
I’ve never felt so much love for a boy before as I do for Trent. And now I’ll never get to tell him because I don’t think he’ll find me, not in time. Not before this wretched excuse for a human does everything he wants to do to me.
“Tears, is it? Oh, boohoo, baby. They didn’t work on me then and they’re sure as hell not going to work on me now.”
He wipes the hammer against the bedclothes, smearing Edwin’s blood over the happy design. One where cartoon characters cavort among a forest setting. The sort of thing you’d use to distract a child from their fear.
“And what’s the plan now?” I ask, not caring for the information but wanting a way to anger him so whatever he does, he does it quickly. “You’re going to drag out your substandard noodle and try to make it hard?”
“Watch your mouth, cunt.” He taps the head of the hammer against my knee. “First, I’m going to film a nice video to sell to an overseas buyer who’s expressed an interest in seeing how much pain a young woman can endure, then I’m going to film your unfortunate demise for a buyer who just wants to see someone die in agony on tape. Sound good?”
That he has buyers sounds terrible.
Not just for the wretchedness of being a valueless thing that can be disposed of in agony for some rich wanker’s amusement, but because he won’t stray too far from the script. I likely won’t be able to tip the scales into him killing me early, killing me before the pain is so great, I’ll be wishing I were dead.
He bumps the hammer playfully against my body.
“Don’t you need to set up?”
“Already done. There are cameras everywhere, capturing your every movement, every emotion. They’ve been doing it from the back of the car, down in the garage, now on the bed. The same tiny little cameras that were tracking your every movement in your flat.”
His smile is so large and oily, I expect it to slide right off his face.
“My buyers have loved the little tease of your daily life, but it’s time to move to the main event. You ready?”
I clamp my mouth shut, fighting for control.
He lifts the hammer and I force my blazing eyes to stay open, glaring at him. If it’s all I can do, I want to burn my image into his blackened soul.
The room explodes with sound, the heavy door slamming inwards, the tramp of heavy boots on concrete, gunfire pounding and ricocheting through the cavernous space, the hard walls echoing it, amplifying it. A chaos of noise and motion working upon my overactive nerves until they force my mouth open in a scream.
