That thought brings more tears, and I thought I’d cried them all. Clenching my hands into fists doesn’t help. I’m too scared, too vulnerable, too weak.
“Don’t disappoint me, now,” my abductor says,brushing a tear away from my cheek with his thumb before I can jerk my head back. “You were so bold a moment ago. It’s just a little water; we haven’t even started.”
He steps away, and I let out a breath in relief as his touch leaves my skin. But I know there’s nothing I can do to stop him if it comes back again.
He crosses to the table, and the sound of latches clicking open echoes in the empty room. “So I hear you investigate things,” he says casually. The case is pulled apart, something from within lifted out and placed down heavily. Two cables spill off the edge of the table, swinging down to hit the floor. “It seems you’ve been investigating thewrongthings.” He turns to check my reaction. “Or the wrong people.”
Van Wyk.Juliette.
Confirmation of what I already knew. Like that makes any difference.
I got Carol killed, and now it seems I’m next. Just because I took a case I didn’t even want to take.
Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if HM&L hadn’t cancelled my contract. It all comes down to that moment. Carol would still be alive. I wouldn’t have had to go to the stupid dance. I wouldn’t have drifted back into Alex’s orbit.
My abductor is watching me, and I don’t know what I’ve given him. Not that it really matters; he already knows what he needs to know. It’s not like I have anything to hide.
He doesn’t even have any fucking questions.
The anger that brings is clean, and I embrace it,feeding off its warmth.
“You work for Van Wyk,” I say. I want to add comments about errand boys and lackeys, but my courage doesn’t stretch that far. Not with those cables, dangling off the side of the table, their clamps lying on the floor. One black, one red, so very unmistakable.
“Naturally.” There’s a flick of a switch, and my abductor lifts the battery off the table, placing it on the floor beside my chair. It clunks heavily as it hits the concrete floor. It’s a big fucking battery, a dial on its top.
I swallow, staring at it, trying to think of something intelligent to say.
“Why are you going to torture me if you have no questions?”
“It’s a hobby.”
Fucking fantastic.Now I wish I hadn’t asked.
“And… when you’re done?”
“Haven’t decided.” He checks his watch. “Van Wyk will be here within the hour, so we don’t have much time. Do you have any other questions?”
Think of something.
“At some point, you’re going to have to let me go to the bathroom.”
Jesus, Vicky, is that the best you can come up with?
“No, I don’t.”
He picks up one of the soaking cloths, and drapes it over my head. I know what’s coming and I can’t help it; I twist and thrash, trying to dislodge it, but he simply presses it down with a hand. “Keep still,now.”
Like hell.
He ignores my futile struggles, and the metal bite of an alligator clamp digs through the cloth and into my skull.
“No! Stop!” The words come out as a cry, a note of hysteria I’m not proud of, but they make no difference.
As soon as the second clamp touches the cloth, pain rips through me. It’s blinding, like the worst migraine I’ve ever had, my skull wanting to explode. I jerk in my chair, nails scratching against the metal, screaming and screaming.
I don’t know how long it lasts. Seconds, minutes, I can’t tell. Then he pulls away, and the searing, burning pain fades, leaving a throbbing, pulsing ache.
“You scream so deliciously,” he says, and I can’t focus on his words. I’m trying to fight back my nausea.
