Tough Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #2)(84)

I hang up and drop my phone in the cup holder, expecting it to ring back any second. And it does. But I ignore it.

I pull into the lot of the park I met Katie at. I figure it’s poetic that he’ll get a little, teeny-tiny bit of what’s coming to him in a place that brings Katie so much joy. I’m not going to burn him alive. That would ruin the plan. I will, however, put the fear of God in him. I will make him sweat, make him wonder. Give him a few hours of pure emotional hell, wondering if he’s going to burn to death, naked in a public park.

I cut the engine and walk around to the back of the vehicle, opening the hatch. Sims is waking up, rolling his head from side to side, moaning. I lean in and punch him in the jaw, putting him out for a few more minutes.

I grab his ankles and haul him toward me with a functional yank. I don’t give a damn what I hurt or how sore this bastard is. The more he hurts, the better.

I toss him over my shoulder and slam the hatch shut before I carry him to a tree near the area where I purposely ran into Katie that evening. It was the first time I tasted those sweet lips.

I drop Sims in a heap at the base of the big oak and I set about taking off his clothes. Shoes and socks first, pants next. He’s going commando, which saves me from the unpleasant task of taking off his underwear.

“Thanks for making it easy on me, asswipe,” I mutter to the unconscious man.

Next, I take off his shirt and work on tying the long sleeves to his pants legs. I use his belt to restrain his hands behind his back before propping him up against the tree. Then I use his clothes to tie him to it. There’s no way in hell he’s getting out of this when he wakes up.

I stand back to admire my handiwork before I return to the parking lot for the gasoline can. I take it to the tree and wait for Sims to regain consciousness. It only takes about ten minutes for him to rouse. When he does, I slap his cheek a few times to help him focus.

“Got something to tell you, shit-for-brains. You listening?” I ask. I stand and kick the bottom of his bare foot. When he opens his eyes and sees me, I uncap the gas can. I want him to see. I want him to know. I want him to fear.

“I-I’m listening,” he says, still addled.

“Good. Can you tell me what this is?”

I start at his head, dumping about a half gallon of gas onto his upper body. He sputters for a few seconds and shakes his head. I know the instant he makes the connection. His eyes open back up, wide and terrified. I can see the understanding, even in the low light of the full moon. That’s when he starts to scream.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing? Hellllp!”

“Hey!” I say, kicking his foot again. “No one can hear you. The best thing you can do for yourself is commit to memory every word I’m about to say.”

He’s panting, struggling against his restraints. I pour another couple of splashes of gasoline on him, letting it run down his chest, and then douse his junk real good. He screams again when the cold liquid runs down between his legs. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

It’s probably pointless to talk to him. Chances of him actually making it out of the next twelve hours alive are slim. But I’m going to say my piece anyway. For Katie.

“This is for Katie Rydale. No amount of suffering is enough, but this is a good start.”

“What are you going to do?” he wails, panicked.

“Do you really have to ask?”

I take out a pack of matches and toss them up into the air, catching them and stuffing them back into my pocket. His eyes watch my every move, getting wider by the second.

“Oh shit, oh shit! You can’t do this! You can’t do this to me! You know who my father is! He’ll have your ass if you do this!”

“Will he? Because I don’t think even Daddy can save you this time.”

Even in the dark, I see him turn white as a damn sheet at the coldness of my smile, of my words. He knows I speak the truth.

“Please,” he begs, giving me some small bit of satisfaction.

“I bet you’ve never had to beg for anything, have you? I bet others have, though. Like Katie. I bet she begged for you to stop when you hit her. I bet she would’ve begged for you not to strike that match if you’d given her the chance. But I bet she wouldn’t beg you for a damn thing now, would she?”

I see the piss trickle from the end of his shriveled dick and I spit on the ground beside him. “Yeah, you just think about that. I’ll be back soon. With more gas.”

The pathetic shit starts to cry. “Please, please, please,” he chants.

“Maybe I should leave your fate up to Katie. You think?” I muse aloud, knowing nothing can change the course of events now.

“That bitch!” he spits in furious desperation. “Don’t listen to that bitch! She’s a fuc—”

I kick him square in the jaw, silencing words I have no interest in hearing. He doesn’t deserve to speak them.

“Enough of that, *,” I say, dumping the remaining gas on his head, making sure he’s soaked from head to ass. When he’s coming to, already whimpering like a little school-boy bitch, I put a hand in my pocket and walk off, whistling as I swing the gas can.

Back at the parking lot, I pick up my phone. I’ve got fourteen missed calls and two messages. I don’t bother to listen to them. I want Senator Sims to sweat. I just type in a text to my buddies that reads one simple word: Ready.