JOLIE
Istared in horror as Gauge began to run, one hand holding agun and firing randomly behind him, the other gripping Christian’sshirt as he dragged him across the kitchen. Bullets flew, some hitting Christian and no doubt some hitting Gauge, but still he ran as if the devil were chasing him.
He hit the cellar door, slammed in the code as the men pounded toward him, and then he threw Christian inside. Iremembered the stairs just inside the doorway that led down to the racks of expensive wines, and Iknew that Christian was currently rolling down them. Iwatched as Gauge slammed the door shut behind him and Christian’smen charged forward, bullets flying into the door.
My gaze swooped over the screens in front of me as Isearched for acamera that would show me the wine cellar, and sure enough, there it was. Gauge was already dragging abloody and dying Christian over to awine barrel that was on astand. He lay him over it, his chest facing upwards. His hands feebly batted Gauge off as Gauge tore open his shirt, revealing atanned, muscular chest with asmall tattoo on his left pectoral. Icouldn’tmake out what it was, but whatever it was must have offended Gauge because he glanced around him briefly before walking over to the corking table, grabbing aknife, and going back to Christian. He’djust started to slide down the barrel, but Gauge hoisted him back up by the arm before pressing his face close to Christian’s.
Iwished there were sound so Icould hear what they were saying. Instead Iwas haunted by the image of Gauge pulling back before taking the tip of his knife and cutting around the tattoo on Christian’schest. Christian yelled into the air, blood free flowing from the wound. When Gauge had finished his job, he threw the knife to the ground, unconcerned with where it landed. My heart pounded painfully as Istared in horror while Gauge pressed his fingertips against the bleeding wound, digging them in around it as Christian opened his mouth and screamed. There was no sound, but the pain was obvious on his face—eyes bulging, hands clawing at Gauge’sstrong grip. With one sharp tug, Gauge tore the tattooed flesh free from Christian’schest and held it up to the other man.
Iheld ahand to my mouth, horrified and nauseated. Christian was despicable—Iknew that because he’dheld me and so many others captive—but this was torture, plain and bloody torture. Iwondered briefly what had made Gauge’sswitch flip to that. Because it had indeed flipped. He’dbeen angry before, but whatever Christian had shown him on the screen had been bad, and Gauge wasn’tthe same man he’dbeen before he looked down at it.
Gauge was yelling, and Christian, despite his obvious pain, raised his head up off the barrel and said something to Gauge, alook of venomous hatred on his face as he spoke. Whatever he said didn’tplease Gauge, because in one swift move, Gauge pushed the flap of tattooed flesh inside Christian’sopen mouth, ramming it down into the bottom of his throat with his thick fingers. Thick fingers that had strummed pleasure from my body now extracted pain from Christian’s.
Christian looked like he was choking and coughing on the flesh, but Gauge didn’tseem to care. Instead, he pressed his hand over the other man’smouth so he couldn’tspit it back out. Christian flailed, his fingers continuing to claw at Gauge’shands, his legs kicking out, his movements becoming more manic as each moment passed, until they eventually slowed and then stopped altogether.
Gauge gave it another minute of holding him there before he released him and stepped back, watching as Christian’slifeless bloody body slid to the floor and Gauge stared down at him unconcerned. Men battered at the cellar door to gain access, unaware of what had just happened. He eventually shook himself out of his trance and glanced up to the camera in the corner, his horrifying gaze meeting mine briefly. It was like he could see me there watching him, judging him. Iwasn’tsure if it was good or bad judgment, but Icouldn’tdeny the thoughts that filled my mind either way. Gauge finally looked away and headed to the back wall. It was mostly brick, barring several long glass shelves, lit up from underneath to draw attention to the wine glasses stacked neatly on top of them. He dropped to his haunches and pulled open alow cupboard and Iwatched intently, wondering what he was doing as he fumbled inside for several moments. When he stood up he held alarge gun with athick barrel on it.
He headed back up the stairs to the door, the gun held steady in his muscular arms as he waited patiently, though for what Iwasn’tsure.
“No,” Icalled out, even though he couldn’thear me.
He would die if he went out there. There was no way he could survive the onslaught of bullets and vengeance awaiting him with just one gun, no matter how big it was. Gauge pressed ahand to his lips before pressing the kiss to his Highwaymen badge, and then the screen lit up as he pulled the trigger and the door exploded outwards.
The house shook, and smoke filled the screens before going black one by one, and Istaggered backwards, agasp caught in my too-tight throat. Could anyone have survived that?
