Page 19 of Enemy of the Heart

“Christ, Louhi,” Sasha mutters. “Are you thinking you’re going to bring a rocket launcher with you?”

“I see no flaws with that.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow. “How many weapons are you planning to transport? And what if Kazi or Digs are in bad shape and you have to carry them?”

Perkele. If I had to toss Sean over my shoulder, that’d be incredibly unfortunate, but I think it’s possible. Maybe. Okay, probably not. Kazi, on the other hand… Impossible.

I sigh. “Fine, then you bring the bazooka.”

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have a goddamn bazooka with us. We won’t need one if we go about this the right way.”

We spend nearly an hour fine-tuning the plan. When we finish, I pick up a modified Taurus G2C that Sasha brought. If I was going to carry a fucking Taurus—and I wouldn’t—I’d choose a G3C.

Mercer didn’t come for me; abandoned me after throwing me into the pits of Hell. Why? I was rotting in prison, suffering every bloody day, while he was what: reclining on a beach, sipping strawberry daiquiris while exotic women slather him in tanning oil? Surely not.

He never would have left me to die there without a good bloody reason.

Sean

I don’t think I’ve slept in days. Every hour for what feels like weeks—but is probably only days—someone has entered my cell to splash more salty, lemon water over my face to keep me alert and in pain. I’m fucking miserable.

Chelsea Grin’s “Hostage” blares through the cell block for the thousandth time, essentially ruining the song for me. Despite the attempt at auditory torture, sleep is just within reach when my cell door groans, indicating someone’s arrival.

I screw my eyes shut as a flashlight is aimed at my face, followed by cruel laughter. But this time, I’m not met with the acidic lemon water. The box is unlocked and I’m dragged by my weak arms to the playpen.

Glancing at the other cells, I note that every prisoner is naked now. This place is fucked.

The temperature in the playpen is piping hot—again—and I’m strung up. I rest my head against my bicep so I don’t fixate on the power drill or tactical knife sitting on the table next to me. I don’t know how whole I’ll be when Louhi gets here.

Scanning the room I’m more familiar with than my bedroom at my mom’s house, I realize that not much has changed about this gruesome, macabre space. A sliver of myself even misses it, longing once again for the ability to unleash the sadist that lives within me in an unrestrained capacity. This place offered me an outlet for that dark, deranged part of myself.

No matter how much pain and suffering I endure in this room, it will always be the place where I fell in love—and in lust—with Louhi. She’s the one on my mind when my blood is drawn and I’m introduced to all the same horrors I inflicted on my own victims.

Lou deserves to ride my fucking face every hour of every day for the rest of her goddamn life for the hell I put her through here. I haven’t experienced half the shit she did, but my own miserable experience has only managed to grow my admiration for her.

When I get out of here, I’m going to give her the motherfucking world, or at least as many orgasms as she begs me for.

The heavy door swings open, and Jace steps inside, blessedly alone. As the door bangs shut behind him, he stands there, frozen in time, just staring at me. I mimic the action, swallowing thickly, unsure of what’s going to happen next.

In one swift motion, he grips his olive-green-colored mask at the top and tugs it off, revealing his shit-eating grin. I’ve never been happier to see that smile.

My own face cracks in half, my chapped lips busting and bleeding with the movement.

“Fuck, man.” He steps up to me. “I’m sorry, I can’t cut you down. I don’t know how long we’ll be alone.”

There’s been only one question on my mind since I saw him. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “Fuck, Sean, I could ask you the same thing.”

Damn, it’s serious if he’s calling me Sean. “I’ll live.”

“You’re a dumbass for letting her get on that plane without you.”

I bark a small laugh and everything aches with the effort. “I’m sure she’ll say the same thing.”

“When she gets here.” His statement is so quiet it’s barely audible. He arches a jet-black eyebrow expectantly, like he’s looking for confirmation. I smirk.

But I don’t answer audibly. I don’t trust this place and the people here, aside from Jace. Even if the camera in the corner is still missing—not that it was ever operational.