Page 101 of Ricochet

“Who’s Alec Vaughn?” the man asked, driving hard into her, so much that her features folded and she cried out in pain. “Huh? C’mon. Fuckin’ slut. Little fuckin whore. Who’s Alec Vaughn?”

“I don’t know! I don’t … know an Alec!”

The cameraman laughed, like her sobbing amused him, and twisted her nipple before gouging his dirty nails into her ass.

“Yeah … that’s it, whore. Scream. Scream loud. No one’s gonna hear you.”

“I’m … a member of … a dangerous group. They will find you. And they will kill you!” Her cries echoed inside the room, and the male’s laughter chased it.

“You’ll already be dead, sweetheart.”

Her scream hit a bone chilling pitch, then splintered to silence.

The camera went black before opening up to a new scene.

In the center of what appeared to be a basement, with its high walls and stained cinderblocks, a figure sat facing away in a chair, their hands tied. A burlap sack had been tied over the head.

Lit only by the light of the camera, the basement looked to be mostly empty, with few shadows cast in the background. Abandoned, perhaps, but as the person recording rounded the victim, a tray of tools came into view—all coated in what must’ve been blood.

Deep raspy breaths, followed by a quiet chuckle, indicated some excitement on the part of the mysterious videographer, and I braced myself as a hand reached out from the camera and removed the sack.

Pain stabbed my chest. I could scarcely draw in air. My hands balled into fists at my side, itching to punch right through the wall.

Blood matted her hair to her face, and her cheekbone looked as if it’d been smashed then gouged with a pick. Her eye had puffed black and blue, glistening with pus.

Lauren.

Pulling the chair from beneath me, I slammed it into the wall, leaving a gaping hole of dust and crumbling drywall. Slam after slam, I smashed the wood to pieces, and throwing it to the floor, I paced, rubbing my skull.

“Who is she?”

The intruding voice tightened my muscles, and I slowly turned to find Aubree standing in the doorway.

“Lauren.”

Her eyes closed, and I caught the slouch of her shoulders, the same defeat pulsing through me. “Michael has her, doesn’t he?”

“I’m assuming his men, yes.” I squeezed my eyes so tight a twinge of pain shot through my head, and I pressed my fists harder at my temples. “She saved my life.”

“And now you intend to save hers.”

Through deep breaths, I attempted to calm the storm raging through my veins, the fury ready to break free and kill something. “I have to.”

“This … this video. It’s a trap. You realize that, right? She may already be dead. And when you—”

“It doesn’t matter, Aubree.” Lowering my hands, I opened my eyes and leveled my gaze on her. “I made a promise to her.”

“Don’t do it alone, is all I’m saying. I want to come with you. I can be the eyes to watch your back for you.”

I shook my head. “No.” I pushed a row of clothes aside and tugged open a hidden door embedded into the wall, where I stored my guns, and pulled out the M-24, Glocks, magazines.

“This is … suicide, Nick.” Desperation bled into her words, but not even Aubree and her dream world existence could stop me. “Listen to me. Right now, you’re anonymous. They have no idea who you are. You plow through that place?”

“I have no choice. Lauren is going to die.” The push to my chest kicked me back only a step, but a growl of frustration still rumbled in my chest.

“You might die! Dammit! Stop! Think!”

“I have to try to save her.”