“I’m okay now, Amy.”
Amy tucked a stray strand of hair behind Honey’s ear. “Is it true? What you said about Junior?”
A cop car slid into the parking lot. Its red-and-blue lights danced around the diner. Honey twisted in Lathan’s arms to look out the window at the officers exiting the vehicle and heading toward the restaurant. Fear scented the air around her in a garlic cloud.
Mr. Clean emerged from the motel room and waved the cops toward him.
“Why are you afraid of the police?” Lathan asked.
“Junior’s dad is the sheriff. I’m in trouble. You’re probably in trouble.”
Yeah. She’d told him that earlier, but he’d filed that under not-important information. Great. He’d probably have a chance to meet Senior, who had to be just as bad as Junior. Except Senior was in a position of power. That made him lethal.
“Everything will be fine.” He shifted to get his cell from his pocket and quickly texted Gill.
Lathan: Probably going to be arrested. Things might get ugly.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket without waiting for a response. “Gill’s on his way. He’ll take care of everything.”
Amy leaned against the booth across from them. “I can’t believe it…just handed over your checks ten minutes ago.”
Lathan watched every word Amy spoke. And then it clicked.
Honey was a waitress. Not a whore. Relief and guilt waged a small battle for supremacy. Relief won.
“You work here?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She glanced away from him, and a small puff of spoiled dairy hit his nose. She was ashamed of her job. And he hadn’t helped matters with how he’d acted earlier.
“Evan, you’ve got…” Amy motioned toward her mouth.
Honey wiped her hand over her lips. Blood smeared her fingers. All the color that had built back up in her face drained away.
Lathan covered her hand with his. “Don’t look at it. You keep those twin sapphires on my face. Is there someplace we can get you cleaned up?”
She nodded.
“Show me.” He helped her stand, putting his arm around her to ensure she was steady on her feet. It was only then that he noticed the diner full of men. All of them staring at either Amy or Honey, lust in their eyes. He shifted to shield her with his body.
She led him down a hallway that ran alongside the kitchen to a tiny bathroom.
“Close your eyes.” Without hesitation she obeyed, but reached out and gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d try to sneak off. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”
He wet a towel and began cleaning her face. Her lips were puffy and painful looking on the outside—probably mangled meat on the inside. Her right cheekbone had a lump the size of an egg on it.
He tried to be gentle, but she still winced and flinched—and it tore at his heart.
When he’d wiped away the last of the blood, he tossed the wad of towels in the bathroom trash and gathered her in his arms. She fit like she’d been chiseled especially for him.
Holding her took the edge off the rage simmering inside him. If she was in his arms, he couldn’t find a knife from the kitchen and cut Junior into little pieces. That’s exactly what he wanted to do.
He knew that was how it would end. He would kill Junior.
He smelled a man approaching and turned. A cop. With his hand hovering over his weapon.
“Step back from her and raise your hands in the air.”
Chapter 6
James adjusted the focus on the video camera, then stepped back to view the entire scene. The orange bulb in the porch light cast an intimate glow akin to candlelight. Color and shadow contrasted sharply with each other as they fought for dominance on Subject 85’s trembling body.
She was bound, staked to the ground, spread-eagled on the hard-packed earth just outside her back door.
He walked over to her, careful not to block the camera’s view. This was how he trained, how he developed his skill, how he learned to catch killers—by being a killer. By watching and re-watching the recordings. Cataloging his reactions, his thoughts, his frame of mind. And those of all of his subjects too.
“I want you to escape.” He spoke slowly so Subject 85 could understand his every word. He checked the time on the clock he’d placed next to her face. Six p.m. “I’ll give you thirty minutes. If you escape by six thirty, you are free to go. If not—” He bent down and lightly grasped the pinkie toe on her left foot with his gloved fingers. “I will begin here, breaking every bone in your foot, then your ankle, then your leg until I reach your hip. Then I will switch to your right foot.”
Her pupils were fully dilated from terror. Sweat soaked her face, mingling with tears and yellow ropes of snot. Duct tape covered her mouth. Her cheeks puffed as she pushed air out her nose. Her hips thrust off the ground. She raised her head, searched around her for help.
“Popping a hip out of its socket isn’t difficult if you know the right angle to apply pressure. I will then remove your intestines. You will be alive during this entire process—”
Subject 85 wailed. A buzzing noise sounded from a loosened section of duct tape. It reminded him of the ti-ti-ti-ti sound his ten-speed bike made when he was a kid. No matter how much noise she made, it didn’t matter. The nearest neighbor was seven miles away.
He waited until she finished. “Do not worry. I will leave your heart and lungs untouched. Then I will begin breaking the bones in your left hand. Then your right.”
She strained against the bonds, hips thrusting. A vein in the middle of her forehead bulged with blood. She might pop a vessel before he had a chance to get that far.
“I know this is terribly distressing, but if the pain becomes too great, all you have to do is ask, and I will put you down in a humane manner.”
She froze as that last little bit of information worked its way through her adrenaline-soaked brain.
“Before we begin, I will remove the tape over your mouth. I would never forget that. You may start.”