I look to Rosenthal in horror.
He takes a step toward me, face contorted in rage. His steps falter and he falls to one knee, clutching his stomach. “Fuck!” he shouts, slamming the butt of his pistol on the ground. I realize his gun is empty and Edwards’ weapon is only a few inches from my hand. Rosenthal is looking down at his wound, pulling his bloody hand away and cursing again. I suck in a deep breath and grab Edwards’ gun before I have time to talk myself out of it. I aim it at Rosenthal just as he looks up and realizes what is happening.
“You fucking--”
I fire three times. The first two shots are above him and to the left, but the third catches his forehead. I see his head snap backwards before I look away, closing my eyes and bending to throw up everything I ate at the party.
I hear footsteps thumping from upstairs and raised voices. I force myself to my feet and run to a nearby closet, shutting the door and watching through the slits in the wood.
Men come down the stairs a few seconds later, cursing and making disgusted sounds as they take in the scene.
“What the fuck?” asks one. “Weren’t they partners?”
“Maybe they wanted a bigger cut?”
“Hey!” shouts someone from down the hall. “The girl’s gone.”
“Shit!” yells another man as they all rush out the front door. I hear shouting from outside and car engines starting.
Within a minute, I’m completely alone in the house, except for the two dead bodies.
41
Jesse
I wake and my hands are tied to the chair. I jolt with pure, liquid fear as I realize where I am. I’m in Afghanistan. I’m being tortured by that terrorist fucker. I suck in deep, hard breaths through my nose, trying not to hyperventilate. But as my vision clears, I realize this isn’t the war. I see the broad back of Liam bent over a table, sifting through metallic tools carefully.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m anxious to get back and fuck that girl of yours. Was her pussy tight? She looked like she’d have a tight pussy.”
My hands clench, fingers digging painfully into my palms. “What did you do with her?”
“She’s being taken care of. For now.”
I wince as I watch him try to decide on a tool to torture me with first. My head pounds from where they hit me and my vision is blurry, but even the pain can’t distract me from the throbbing hatred and rage threatening to boil over at any minute. I strain against the ropes behind my back. The knot is tight, but I swore I would never be victim to the same shit I went through during the war and I trained my body for this. I press my thumbs to my pinkies, narrowing the size of my hand and then use the rope to dislocate the joints in my hands. The pain is blinding, but I push through it, pulling up as hard as I can until both my hands are free.
My calves are tied together at the base of the chair still, but knowing my hands are free gives me some hope of escaping. I’m in some sort of a basement and the only exit seems to be at the top of a small set of stairs. I have no idea how many men could be waiting on the other side, but I learned a long time ago to tackle impossible situations one possibility at a time. Right now, all I need to focus on is the possibility of getting out of this chair and stopping Liam from killing me or crippling me to the point that I can’t help Makayla. More importantly, I need to try to gather some kind of information from him about where she’s being held, which means I need to stall as much as I can.
He picks up a meat cleaver after deliberating for a while, twirling it in his hand as he approaches me. I try not to think about the damage that knife could do, or what the blunted blade would feel like hacking through my flesh. Just think of Makayla. Think of how I’ll make this up to her when I get out of here and find a way to free her. Think of how I’ll never make the mistake of letting her go again. I clench my teeth together, fighting the urge to reach out and snatch the cleaver from Liam as soon as he’s within my reach. I need to get information if I can.
“I was thinking I could start with that famous cock of yours. You know the women you fucked and left for us to grab the sloppy seconds on always talked about how big it was. It would almost be worth letting you go, cockless and neutered, just knowing Jesse fucking Slade would have to live out the rest of his life without a cock.”
I glare at him. “Where is she?” It’s not the most subtle line of questioning, but I don’t have much time.
“Oh, don’t you worry. She’s on standby. They may have scarred the shit out of me after you left me for dead, but they did leave me with a functioning cock, which is more than I can say for you if you make it out here.”
He lifts the knife, looking at it curiously. “You know, I’ve heard a man can easily bleed out from losing his cock. Maybe I should chop you up a little before I risk losing you. That can be the finalé. I’ll bring Makayla a piece of you every day to remind her how pathetic you were in the end.”
So she’s within twelve hours of where he’s keeping me if he thinks he could bring pieces of me to her every day and get back here in time to keep it up. It’s not much at all, but it’s something. Assuming the psycho sleeps, that means she’s within more like six or eight hours. If she’s that close, chances are she’s really close. Still, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more than that.
“So you’re keeping her at your place?” I ask.
He laughs. “You’re still trying to gather information? It’s sad, really. I don’t think you’ve ever really experienced what it’s like to lose. You don’t realize it’s over. You still fucking think you’ll find a way out of this and save her?” he leans in close, pressing the blade of the cleaver to my cheek. I can smell his hot, sour breath as he breathes the words in my face. “Everybody loses eventually. And now it’s your turn, Slade.”
His phone rings from his pocket. He holds my gaze for a moment before sighing and stepping away to answer it. “This had better be fucking good.”