Page 55 of Intrepid

“In the next couple of minutes, you’re going to lose all function. Your muscles will shut down, and you’ll essentially be a zombie. Might even shit yourself soon.”

Only a whimper escaped his lips, as the poison made its way to his brain. Pupils dilated, he stared up at me like an invalid, but I knew better. In spite of what his body was going through physically, he’d remain conscious and alert.

Sweat beaded across his forehead, his face turning a sickly shade of white, stark against his purpled thinning lips.

“You’re going to panic. That’s normal.”

He sucked in a gasp of air, his body oddly calm in spite of the chaos I imagined inside his head.

“See, I’m imagining that’s how Eli felt when you locked him up in that box. I mean, kid couldn’t move, the way you chained him inside. Must’ve felt like poison in his veins, and when he was violated? Well, I’m imagining he probably felt about as helpless as you do right now.” I unzipped the suit, nabbing the cigarette poking up from my shirt pocket. “Got a light?” Fishing through his pockets, I found a lighter stuffed in his pants, well out of the way of his nasty piss stain, and lit up my smoke. “Once the poison has worked its way through your body, and you’re all nice and tingly, I’m gonna toss you in the wood chipper there. Just like you tossed Eli away. If you’re lucky, I might wait until you die.”

A noise gurgled in his chest, ending on a whimper.

I stood up from my crouch, leaving him on the ground, where the stench told me he’d finally lost his bowels. Sure, I could’ve sat and taunted him some more, but instead, I decided to kill time, rummaging through his truck. The passenger door creaked as I opened it, and I grimaced at the piggish mess scattered all over the cab. Fast food wrappers, soda cans, crumpled papers, and chip bags lay on the seat and the floor, tucked beneath the bench.

“You’re a fucking slob, Gideon,” I said, pushing some of the mess aside. Opening the glove compartment sprang free a handful of condoms. Behind those, I fished around and found a pair of stockings shoved in the back, and a small pocket knife.

In front of the equally cluttered backseat sat a toolbox. I lifted the surprisingly light object to the front and set it down on the trash beside me. Snapping the lock up, I flipped it open and shook my head, lifting a metal J-hook from amid the lubricating jelly, ball gag, two large vibrators, and the gimp mask piled inside. Using the end of the hook, I pushed the mask aside, revealing photos of young boys posed in ways that brought acids shooting up my throat.

Rage got the best of me, as I tossed the objects back into the toolbox and exited the cab. Once again, I knelt beside Gideon, who lay struggling to breathe.

“You have one chance to save your life. The amount toxin I gave you won’t ultimately kill you for a few more hours. With some medical intervention, you could conceivably prevent that from happening, but that depends on you, and how honest you are.” I tipped my head, noticing the red hue of his skin—likely his blood pressure going haywire. “Is there a kid chained somewhere? Breathe once for yes, twice for no.” Hell, I didn’t even know if the poor sap could breathe twice in one go, but he did, shown in the flare of his nostrils each time. Grabbing him by the shirt, I ground my teeth. “You better not be lying to me.”

Again, he breathed twice.

“Those pictures in the toolbox. You took them?”

His chest rose once, and the rage exploded in my veins, pumping a message of pain to every muscle in my body.

“Remember when I said I’d wait until after you died?” Lifting him higher until my mouth was at his ear, I whispered, “I lied.”

He gasped and choked, leaving a trail of vomit along the pavement, as I dragged him to the back of the machine, where the gears of the wood chipper still spun an insatiable hunger to grind something. I lifted Gideon’s body up onto the feeding table and held him there a moment, the tiny spasms of breath telling me the shithead was about two seconds from hyperventilating and blacking out.

That, or having a heart attack.

“Eli sends his regards.” I stepped to the side as he’d shown me, hefting him forward to where the machine caught his shirt, sucking him in.

From the same pocket I’d fished out my smoke, I tugged out a paper folded around a small pencil and opened it to a list of names on the back of a letter, written by a dead kid. A fine mist of blood spattered across the page.

I crossed off The Pawn.

19

Sera

Coffee cup in hand, I clicked on the Internet icon, which took me to the default page where all the local news headlines filled the screen.

Man Killed In Wood Chipper Accident had me lowering my coffee cup from my mouth, and my jaw slackened with disbelief.

What the hell? I clicked on the story, of course, because it was gross and intriguing at the same time, reading about some twenty-seven-year-old man who’d worked for a tree trimming company and fell into the chipper two days earlier. An anonymous call had led police to a grisly sight described as both shocking and disturbing. I read further to learn that investigators suspected foul play, based on evidence found at the crime scene.

“Murder?” I mumbled, scanning the rest of the article. Repulsion zipped up my spine, and I shivered at the thought. “Who the hell would do something so disgusting?”

Jesus, I didn’t even want to think about what kind of sick person could stand by and watch another human being get sucked into one of those things. That’d be, like, the ultimate nightmare. Something straight out of a horror movie.

I shook off my repugnance and opened the search bar for a reverse mobile site I’d previously tried using on Dane’s number. Curiosity had gotten the best of me over the last two days, waiting for Ty to send another text. He hadn’t bothered to send any pics later that night, though if he had, I couldn’t say I’d have been entirely put off by it. Still, I was glad he hadn’t.

I typed in the digits of Ty’s phone number and clicked on one of the resulting maps. I hated being one of those girls, but considering my track record with men, it wouldn’t hurt to do a bit of investigating before I met up with the guy alone somewhere—he still hadn’t told me where he planned to take me.