The Unwilling(111)

He rolled onto his side, coughing up a lung. “Don’t touch me.” He found his hands and knees, his forehead against the floor. “The hell is that sound?”

“We’re not the only ones here.”

“Here? What here?”

Chance sounded out of it. I thought he was. He crawled a foot or two, and got his back against the wall. Cracked lips. A heat-swollen tongue. He tried to focus, but the room was dim. He saw the cage, though, and the tables. “Take it easy,” I told him. “You were locked in a hot trunk for most of a day.”

I saw the memories when he got them back, a parade across his face, nothing pretty. He put his palms over his eyes, and pushed hard. “What is this place?”

“A house. I don’t know. Isolated.”

“I heard a woman.”

“I know.”

“She was screaming.”

“You’re all right, man. Take it easy.”

He blinked at me, bloodshot. “Is there water?”

I shook my head.

“What’s that about?”

He meant my fingertips, torn and bloodied. I pointed at the place where sharp-edged bolts secured steel mesh to the steel frame. “A tool kit might have been better.”

There was blood on metal, dried black.

Chance stared for five good seconds, then closed his eyes for so long I thought he’d checked out or fallen back asleep. When he spoke, they were still closed. “I don’t know what to say to you. How can you even look at me?”

“Just take it easy.”

Chance shook his head. “I called you. He told me to do it, and that’s what I did.”

“How about we worry about this cage and all that scary shit out there. How about that?”

“He can kill me. I don’t care.”

“He had a knife at your neck. I’d have made the call, too.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He said it softly, but was looking at me, at least. I slid across the cage, and leaned against the same wall. “So that’s it? You’re officially a pussy? Got a membership card and everything?”

“Don’t joke.”

His mouth was open, his eyes glazed. If he had reserves left, I couldn’t see them. “Chance, buddy. Listen…”

I got no further than that. The outside door swung open, and our kidnapper stepped inside. He had a revolver in one hand, and a wild look on his face, red-eyed and swollen, like he might fly apart.

“Back the fuck up! Back up!” He pointed with the gun. “You! Come here! Not you. The little one.” I started to rise. He thumbed the hammer. “I said back the fuck up! You! Now!”

He unlocked the cage, and Chance stepped out like he didn’t care, or couldn’t. His eyes were down, both hands at his sides. The little man locked the cage, and up close like that, I saw more of the crazy in his face. Something had changed. He was off the rails. He pushed the barrel into Chance’s chest, backed him away from the cage.

“Hey!” I rattled the door. “Hey, asshole!”

“Shut up. It’s ruined.”

“The hell are you doing?”

“I don’t want them!” He shoved with the gun. “Anger. Regret.” He swung the barrel into Chance’s face. The blow staggered him; he bled. “I don’t deserve to feel those things! I don’t want to carry them!”

He hit Chance again.

I said, “Shit! Shit!”

Chance fell to his knees, blood dripping. He climbed slowly to his feet, still no expression. Heatstroke, I thought. Concussion. The little man hit him again, twice with a fist and again with the gun. Chance fell into a shelf; metal clattered. The barrel swung in—back of the head—and Chance went all the way down, every cord cut. The little man kicked him in the ribs, the face, then went back with his other foot, kicking and grunting as all that regret and anger found a place to go. “Not! My! Fault!”

“Leave him alone!” I yelled. “Damn it! Leave him alone!”

“Shut up or you’re next!”

“Chance!” I beat on the mesh, but nothing changed.

The guy had a lot of anger left.

A lot of regret, too.



* * *



Afterward, Reece stared into the mirror, sweat on his face, still breathing hard. There was a glitter in his eyes he’d never seen, a shiftiness that looked dangerous. He was moving too fast. That was the problem.

“Goddamn it, X.”

Had he ruined the girl?

It was the only question that mattered. He’d risked everything for her. He’d looked for so many years, been so patient …

“What patience?”

He punched the wall, the look on his face a sarcastic, angry sneer. He was supposed to give her time to settle, months, if need be. He’d been ready to wait that long, or even longer.

It was X’s fault.

X was in his head.

Reece pulled at his hair, then forced a deep breath.

Two sides.

Every coin.

Lonnie Ward was dead. No real loss; he’d been a convenience. And X would die in hours. Once he was gone, there’d be no one left alive who knew Reece or what he was or where he lived. The thought was like a breath of air. Reece had money. He was still young. Maybe a fresh start was the way to go. Kill the boys. Kill the girl.