The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(81)

I walked straight toward her while Caitlin circled around, careful not to get too close. Meadow spotted me and snarled like a rabid ferret. I didn’t see where the buck knife came from, but I couldn’t miss the gleam of the blade when she snapped it open.

“C’mere,” she growled, waving the knife in front of her. “I’m gonna gut you.”

She lunged faster than I thought she could move, and I jumped back as the knife slashed toward my face, slicing air. She pulled her arm back for another try, and that was when Caitlin stepped up behind her, curling her arm around Meadow’s throat.

“Stop fighting,” Caitlin whispered as Meadow flailed, her movements slowing as Caitlin squeezed off her airflow. Finally, she went limp. Caitlin let go, spilling Meadow’s unconscious body to the ground.

We stood over her for a moment. I shook my head.

“Well, this whole thing could have gone smoother,” I said.

Caitlin shrugged. “We got what we came for. Same end result.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Let’s throw her in the trunk.”

“How’s your hand?”

I gave it a look and grimaced. The cut had congealed, my palm thick with lumpy blood and black dirt, and it throbbed like I was holding it under a tattoo needle.

“Ugly. You mind driving us back?”

Caitlin got her hands under Meadow’s arms and scooped her up, dragging her toward the car.

“That,” she said, “is the silliest question I’ve ever heard. I may never give your keys back.”

? ? ?

While we were off-roading in the desert for fun and profit, Bentley and Corman had prepared the storage room in the Scrivener’s Nook to receive our special guest. They’d taken out anything remotely dangerous—like their special shelf of restricted books, for close friends only—and cleared a ten-foot circle of bare floor around an old metal office chair.

We pulled up around back. Jennifer and Margaux played lookout while Caitlin and I opened the trunk and hauled out Meadow—cuffed, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and her head bagged—to drag her inside. Bentley had the honor of shackling her to the chair. Trust a former escape artist to know how to tie somebody up properly.

We worked in silence and left her in the dark.

Out in the store, Corman checked to make sure the front door was locked and the closed sign was facing the sidewalk. We couldn’t afford any interruptions.

“What are we waitin’ for?” Jennifer said. “Let’s get started on her right now.”

I shook my head. “I want her to stew for a while. Let her sit there and wonder why she isn’t dead yet. I’m sure she’ll come up with all kinds of nasty reasons. I want her good and scared before we start talking to her.”

“Let her torture herself,” Caitlin said. “One of my favorite tactics. I approve. Corman, do you have a first-aid kit?”

Bentley caught sight of my hand and tsked his way across the store. “Daniel, that’s going to get infected. Come on, let’s wash that up. Cormie, grab the Neosporin and a bandage roll.”

Cleaning the wound out and rubbing in antibiotic cream stung like hell all over again, but I felt better with a clean cotton bandage wrapped around my hand. At least I’d have a scar with a good story behind it.

The six of us lingered a while out front, keeping our voices down. Bound, hooded, confused in the dark—I had to think Meadow was having a hard time of it, imagining every horrifying thing we could do to her.

I heard something through the storage-room door. I thought I’d imagined it at first, but as the sound grew louder, more grating, I realized what it was.

Meadow was trying to sing through her gag. Specifically, she was singing “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Iron Butterfly.

“So much for terror,” I said, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay, everybody, let’s do this.”

Jennifer and I went first. Meadow knew both of us and knew how badly we wanted her dead. Bentley, Corman, and Mama Margaux followed us, spreading out around the storage room while Caitlin stood off in the shadows with her arms crossed and a curious look on her face.

Jennifer yanked the sack off Meadow’s head, exposing her eyes to the glare of the light dangling directly over her. Her face was a mess of caked-in dirt and congealed cuts, one eye swollen over from the crash. Drool ran down her chin. Somehow, she still managed to look defiant.

I unbuckled the bright pink gag and pulled it out of her mouth. Meadow spat on the floor, wincing.

“A ball gag?” she said, looking from me to Jennifer. “Really? Do you wanna kill me or do you wanna shoot some bondage porn? Or maybe both. Yeah, probably both. You look like a couple of necrophiliacs.”

“You wanna take this seriously,” Jennifer said, her expression darkening by the second.

“I take it very seriously,” Meadow said. “Necrophilia is a serious crime, and you should be ashamed—”

Jennifer punched her in the face.

I didn’t even see it coming. One second Jennifer’s fist dangled limply at her side, and the next Meadow’s head snapped back and fresh blood ran from her split lip. Meadow grinned viciously, showing her scarlet-stained teeth.

“Whoo!” she shouted. Her chains rattled as she nodded her head and bounced in the steel chair. “That is what I’m talking about! That is a morning pick-me-up! Aw, but honey, you were just joking with that punch, right? Because if you think you’re gonna get me to talk, and that’s the best you can manage? Well you’d better order an extra-large pizza because we are gonna be here all! Fucking! Night!”