The doors to the rooms beep, so we have to wait it out until Gonzales gets rid of the nurse. It takes longer than it should before Gonzales gets her out of here and they disappear into the elevator.
Duke shoots out from behind the pillar and into Jennings’s room. The door beeps on entrance, and I grab ahold of the handle to slip in behind him. Jennings is lying in the bed in the center of the private room. He’s looking pretty good for a guy who got fucked by a flathead less than a year ago. I expected a breathing tube and maybe a million wires and machines surrounding him. But that’s not the case. He’s not hooked up to an IV, and he doesn’t even have a heart monitor attached to him. The most I can see is a small red button attached to a cord sitting on the side of the mattress.
His brown hair is slicked back and wet, his skin is paler than I remember, and his brown eyes appear lethargic despite how wide they’ve become. Slowly, he blinks. His finger moves toward the red button, but he’s not quick enough. He must be medicated. I dart toward the bed and grab his icy hand. He trembles under my touch, egging me on to grip him tighter.
“Remember me?” I ask with more cheer in my voice than I feel. Being around him makes me tense as fuck and ready to end him. In theory at least. I’ve never hurt anyone outside of the heat of the moment before. And I’ve definitely never taken another person’s life. Grady tried to tell me once that taking a life will fuck you up, but I didn’t believe him until I was witness to one of Holly’s panic attacks. Crazy chick beat a dude’s face in with a brick, and it took her weeks to come to terms with that. If she’s that fucked up over the one, I don’t know how the brothers deal with the shit they do.
What we do is important. We protect our town. We protect our own. We keep order when the cops can’t or won’t. But that doesn’t mean that what I’m about to do isn’t fucking me up.
I move the red button to the table beside his bed and let go of his hand. As predicted, he reaches for the button again, fast at least this time, but doesn’t make it. Instead of moving the button out of his reach, I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze as hard as I can.
“Release him,” Duke says firmly, still standing near the door. He hasn’t done shit since we got in here. Reluctantly, I let go and watch as Darren struggles to suck in pathetic breath after pathetic breath. His eyes are bugged out as he strains to move up the bed. Cringing, he claws his way into a sitting position.
“You’ve been awake for a while now, and there’s no telling the shit you’ve been telling people,” Duke says.
Darren gasps and says, “No, no. I haven’t said anything to anybody.”
“You believe him?” I ask.
Duke grins and pulls a flathead screwdriver out of his pocket. “Not a word. Good thing I’m not here to talk.”
“Please,” Darren begs. Tears stream down his face as Duke pops the flathead into the air and catches it. Unable to help myself, I reach down and slap him across the face.
“Act like a bitch and I’ll treat you like one,” I hiss.
Duke whistles, catching my attention, and tosses the flathead to me. I catch it easily and hold it by the handle, pointing the tip at Darren’s mouth. His breathing comes more ragged and strained now. He’s not saying a word, but his eyes beg for relief.
“Lick it,” I bite out. Panic seizes him, forcing strangled cries from his lungs. Fucking asshole can’t ever do what he’s told. Wrapping my fingers around his neck again, I squeeze and lean in, smiling wide. “Lick it and act like it’s my dick, asshole.”
I pull back and watch as his tongue slowly peeks out and touches the metal of the tip of the screwdriver. Lightening up on my grip around his throat, I watch the depravity I’m forcing on him. My stomach rolls as the sight, and for half a second I have to close my eyes. Killing him might be easier than torturing him like this. It’s not that I don’t think he deserves whatever comes to him. It's just that the idea of hurting someone is different than actually hurting them. The club has a debt to settle with Larry Jennings, and in typical Forsaken fashion, we’re going through the person who matters to him most to do it.
“Got a problem, Baby Boy?” Duke asks from the foot of the bed. He’s got Darren’s hospital chart in his hands and is studying it.
“Just hit me, ya know? Darren hurts Nic, we hurt Darren. Larry hurts Mindy, we hurt Larry.”
Duke nods and sets the chart back in its slot. He walks up the other side of the bed and places a hand on Darren’s chest. Darren’s eyes bug out as he stares nervously at Duke’s hand, his mouth still working the flathead like a pro.