Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(26)

I let out a little squeak. “What do you want?”

Greasy Hair wiped his knife on his jeans. “I want you. You’re Leigh Thorn, aren’t you?” He reached out and picked up a lock of my hair. “So pretty. No wonder Griffin likes you.”

I shuddered. This had something to do with Griffin. This was a setup. Somehow, Greasy Hair had known I would be alone. Was he working with Marcel?

I didn’t have time to worry about it. I couldn’t let this guy hurt me. I didn’t think. I turned and ran up the steps. I had a gun in my bedroom.

Greasy Hair giggled again. “This little piggy went wee, wee, wee, wee...” And then he was scrambling up the steps after me.

I took the steps two at a time, careening onto the second story landing, where Sloane’s room was.

Greasy Hair was right behind me, still laughing like a demented hyena.

I opened the door to Sloane’s room and the door to the bathroom—not much in the way of obstacles, but they were something.

I raced up the next flight of stairs.

I heard Greasy Hair behind me, the doors banging closed.

The sound startled me, and I tripped.

I fell onto the steps, the hard wood glancing against my chin.

I bit my tongue.

It hurt.

I cried out.

Greasy Hair was gaining on me. “Fall down and go boom!” he crowed.

With effort, I pushed myself to my feet.

His hand closed around my ankle.

I looked back at him. He was close. I could see that his front tooth had been replaced with a fake metal tooth, but it wasn’t like those platinum gangsta things. It was old and scratched. He was leering at me, open-mouthed and delighted.

I aimed a kick at his face.

I connected.

He cried out in anger and pain.

But I was free.

I went up the rest of the steps as fast as I could, slamming the door to my bedroom after me and locking it.

Where was the gun again?

Outside, Greasy Hair slammed into the door. “Little pig, little pig.”

Fuck, f*ck, f*ck. The dresser, right?

I yanked open the drawer, pulled out the gun and the box of ammunition.

“Open the door, little pig.”

My hands were shaking. Bullets burst out of the box, skittering all over the floor.

“Open up, you little bitch!” screamed Greasy Hair.

I didn’t bother to pick them up. I just took more out of the box. I started to load the gun.

He slammed into the door again. It groaned under the force of it. “Or I’ll huff...”

Goddammit, why couldn’t I hold my hands steady? I was dropping bullets everywhere.

“And I’ll puff...” The door splintered.

No. Please, just let me get this damned gun loaded before he breaks that door down.

The door crashed open.

Greasy Hair was grinning as he tackled me.

I shrieked, hitting him in the face with the gun. The useless, unloaded f*cking gun. Oh my God, what the hell was going to happen?

Greasy Hair trapped my wrists with one hand, holding them above my head. We were both lying on the floor, him on top, stretched over my body.

He licked his lips.

I shut my eyes.

“What a pretty, pretty little pig you are,” he said. He was close. I could feel the tickle of his facial hair against my skin.

Please, I thought. Please. But what exactly I was begging for, I wasn’t sure.

*

Greasy Hair was crazy.

That much was obvious.

“Very pretty,” he said, stroking my cheek with one hand. “But I’m not allowed to play with you, yet. Marcel says we have to wait. Wait until the time is right.”

Which told me that Greasy Hair did indeed work for Marcel.

And shot me full of the worst fear I’d ever experienced.

Play with me? What did that mean?

He had a bottle of some kind of liquid. He put it on a cloth and covered my face with it. I struggled, afraid of what he was doing to me.

But I couldn’t get free of it.

And eventually, I fell asleep.

I woke up to the sound of a door opening. I struggled to open my eyes. I felt groggy and heavy.

I was sprawled on the steps. I tried to move and realized that my hands were tied above my head, lashing me to the railing. I tried to speak and realized that I’d been gagged. There was something plastic and round, like a ball, stuffed into my mouth. It was taped in place.

Griffin and the twins were coming into the house.

I made a muffled noise, trying to get their attention, but they didn’t hear me.

That was when I noticed that my shirt had been cut open and that it hung in tatters. I was still wearing a bra, thank goodness, but there was blood on my stomach.

“We need beer,” Silas was saying. He headed towards the kitchen.

“Definitely,” said Sloane.

I hesitated for a moment. Did I want them to see me like this, half naked and tied up?

What, was I crazy? How else was I going to get untied?

I thrashed, making as much noise as I could.

Griffin raised his glance in my direction. When he saw me, all the blood drained out of his face.

Then he was scrambling up the stairs to me, kneeling over me, and peeling at the tape that held my gag in place. He was trying to be careful, but it still hurt. I wished he’d rip it off and get it over with.