I-I-I was con-contacted a mon- a mon-th ago and told to have a v-van ready and untrac-untraceable,” he finally spits out.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” August says, pushing the button to spin the wheel again.
Sebastian stands, arm bent to the elbow, ax ready.
“Wait,” August shouts, halting Seb’s movements. “I think we need to speed this up. I say Seb throws the ax, but each of us should do something different until he finally spills.” He picks up the flare gun and adds, “The bet stands, though.”
We all nod in agreement, and Sebastian takes aim at the spinning wheel, his forearm extending back before snapping forward and aiming downward.
The howl that comes from the now slowing man on the wheel makes me laugh. The blade of the ax has split his kneecap wide open.
“We probably shouldn’t have made him spin. The ax could’ve easily split his skull open,” Rowan announces.
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty or whatever,” I shrug.
Liam walks up to Stephen, his dark denim-washed jeans and black shirt hiding the blood from our sight, and yanks the ax from Stephen’s leg with his left hand before quickly digging the finger of his right hand into the open wound as he demands, “Tell me the name of the person who hired you?”
A blood-curdling scream rips from the soul of a now writhing Stephen.
“Seline Bishop,” he stutters.
Silence.
That’s all that can be heard outside the snot-crying fool who just threw a nuke-sized bomb in the room.
“What the fuck did he say? Did I hear him correctly?” Sebastian shouts, but it barely registers over the pounding of the pulsating beat in my ears, buffering his words.
“You did,” Rowan croaks.
“Where the fuck did they take her?” I snarl. My patience is lost.
I need answers now.
Liam squeezes his knee again, and Stephen wails, “I don’t know. We had nothing to do with it outside getting the van. You’ll need the driver to know where they went, but he’s probably dead already.”
“What do you mean, probably dead?” I ask.
“I mean, I was leaving town when you fucks kidnapped me. My house was blown up with my men inside. I was supposed to be there, but I went to get dinner.”
Stephen is finally spewing his guts.
“You chose the wrong business,” I state.
“And the wrong girl to help take,” Sebastian adds, grabbing the gun from the table, firing three rounds into Stephen’s already battered body.
We’re finished with him, and I grab the water gun. An idea hits me- sparked by the flare gun Wy had earlier.
“Liam. Wy. Help me with something?” I ask, using my eyes to signal what I have planned.
Understanding dawning, Rowan walks Liam over a pair of gloves, and without saying a word Liam covers his hands, steps up the ladder, and yanks open Stephen’s mouth- his time is motherfucking up.
Holding up the gasoline-filled gun, I step in range and aim for his uvula like this is a carnival game, and I’m trying to win Emma a giant stuffed frog or some shit.
Stephen chokes and gurgles, trying to snap his mouth closed, but Liam’s muscles are locked in- his grip on Stephen’s mouth firm.
Gasoline pours down his body, flowing like a stream out of his mouth.
Satisfied with my efforts, I turn to August and nod, ready to take my spot. August takes position, aims, and before he fires the flare, he roars, “Burn in fucking hell!”
Liam jumps out of the way before the flare can completely catch fire. His flame-resistant gloves keep his hands safe.
We all hold our positions around the room, watching as his skin melts away from his bones.
The smell of charred flesh permeates the air, roiling my stomach, but I still don’t make a move. The euphoria of avenging my angel is enough to negate any sick feeling that’s building. Shit, if I had them, I’d toast marshmallows on the fuck.
“We need to go tell our dads what we know,” Rowan says.
The door swings open interrupting Rowan’s next words, shifting all of our attention from the still twitching but dead Stephen.
Erik storms through the door, pausing at the sight of the burning corpse.
Remembering himself, he shakes his head clear, oscillating his focus to our varying spots around the room.
“Sam’s been kidnapped,” he grits through clenched teeth- effectively killing the high of the interrogation from moments before.
EMMA
“Let me the fuck out of here, you diseased cunts,” I shout to anyone who’s listening.
I know they’re watching. There’s no way they trapped me in this fucked up room without having cameras on me. I’m not sure how long I’ve been stuck in this dank fucking space.
My vision finally returned to me, and at some point, I was untied from lying on the slab and chained by my ankle to a concrete wall. My gaze surveys the room for the hundred-and-fifth time. A large metal table is sealed to a wall, but no chair accompanies it.
Smart. No weapons. There are two examination-like tables in the center of the room, a small bed mat with a flat sterile pillow, and a scratchy blanket. My accommodations have been less than stellar.
I’m totally leaving a negative star rating on Yelp.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.