“No, you dick. You don’t like her. So, you,” he points, taking his first step in Wes’s direction, “don’t get to fucking touch her. Ever. Not until you respect her.”
“She didn’t seem to mind my dislike of her when I squeezed her throat and had her riding my fin-.”
Wes doesn’t get to finish his statement— his head snaps left. Wyatt’s right hook connects with no hesitation.
“You don’t ever get to disrespect her like that,” he spits, aiming to take another swing, but Thomas grabs him from behind.
Where the big fucker came from, I’m not sure. I would’ve eventually stepped in after letting Wyatt get in a couple more swings. Wes deserves more for being a taunting dick.
“Both of you cut it the fuck out. We have a lead, so save your wrath for who deserves it and not each other,” Thomas snaps. It’s the first time I’ve seen him raise his voice at one of us.
His words stop Wyatt’s flailing. “What did you find?” Wyatt asks, glaring in Wes’s direction, a promise of retribution before composing himself.
“We were able to locate the owner of the van company they used. He’s in a holding cell downstairs.”
“Finally! Some good fucking news,” Owen shouts, already striding for the door, stopping to throw his elbow into Wes’s side, causing him to double over with a groan of pain.
“Next time you touch my angel without her expressed consent, I’ll cut your fingers off and fuck you with them.” Then he strolls out the door, whistling what sounds like Sir Mix-A-Lot, without looking back.Crazy fucker.
Ignoring the hypocritical command, I try to gather more information from Thomas.
“Has he said anything?” I ask.
Thomas shakes his head before responding, “Just ‘our time will come’ repeatedly— like the guys who tried to kidnap Ariah from the locker room at the school.”
I remember the guys filling me in on their extensive interrogation tactics. The thoughts inspire an idea.
A smile slowly etches my face. It’s been a long time since I was able to dabble in some fun. Jumping at the idea of getting to play a game, I shout, “I know how we should question ourfriend.”
6
OWEN
Iforgot how much fun it is having Sebastian around. His ideas often line up very nicely with mine.
I look at the table lined with weapons of our varied tastes. Axes, knives, guns, throwing stars, and whips lay among the assortment of options— like a buffet.
Gleeful at the prospect of what’s to come, I quirk a brow in Sebastian’s direction, “What exactly do you have in mind?” Excitement is pooling in my groin at the idea of the pain I’ll get to inflict on the piece of shit who played a role in taking Ariah out from under my nose.
“Let’s vote on it, shall we? Pin the tail on the asshole, or a game of good old fashioned darts?” he asks, flipping the switch. The light at the front of the room turns on, and there’s a man tied to a solid wood board in the shape of a circle—the impalement arts.
My smile grows. “Wheel of Death?”
“Of sorts,” Sebastian replies, walking to the table of goodies. “I figured this would be an interesting way to see if we can’t get him talking and burn off a little tension. You’ve all been wound incredibly tight,” he smirks, “for obvious reasons, of course.”
“I like where this is going,” Wes says, smiling for the first time in the last few days.
“So. What will it be, boys?” Seb asks
“I say we play darts and make a true sport of it,” I suggest.
Hums of agreement confirm our plan of action.
I walk to the man donned in only boxers strapped to the wheel. He can’t hear or see my approach, but his body is tense, sensing the predator nearby. My pulse skitters before thrumming a steady beat— anticipation of what’s to come driving my steps forward.
Reaching the front of the room, I step up the short ladder until I’m comfortably level with his ears. Carefully, I pull the noise-canceling headphones off. I shout, “Boo!” startling him before he quickly recovers, clamping his mouth shut. Not even that annoying ass chant passes his lips.
“Oh, you’re no fun,” I heckle. “No worries. You’re about to be the star of the show.” I double-swat his left cheek and climb back down the step ladder.
