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I don’t get the chance to see what has his attention before the passenger door flies open and a telltale sting, followed by a fiery burn, flares in my neck. Whatever they shoot me up with works fast and my motor control withers away leaving me frustratingly aware and absolutely unable to do shit.
“Cousin. I’ve been looking for you. Been wanting to talk to you, catch up with you and the pretty little thing you’re hiding away somewhere.” Desmond leans on the door, hand hanging loose just to my left. They’re right fucking there and I can’t do a single thing. “Jesus, I can practically smell her on you. She’s got a sweet pussy, doesn’t she? Might have to get me another taste when I find her again.”
Rage courses through me. The idea that he’s touched Truie, tasted her, breathed the same fucking air as her, has my heart racing and my blood heating up in my veins. I want to break his fingers so he can never touch her again. Rip his tongue from his fucking mouth and set fire to it. Peel his skin from his body. Kill him slowly, painfully.
The passenger seat is filled with a body, and a mystery hand swipes my phone from the center console. It unlocks when my thumb is pressed to the screen and then disappears from my line of sight.
Silent seconds pass. Even though it looks it in every way, this is no simple traffic stop… not that anyone will notice. There are no other cars on this stretch of rural road. No one to mark the flashing lights or my Range Rover.
“Password’s disabled, boss. You ready?”
My phone flies past my face and Desmond tags it out of the air, pocketing it. “Make sure the zip ties are secure when you get him moved. Fucking ginger genes. Who knows how long that drug will last in his system. I don’t need it burning off while I’m driving.”
I take small pleasure in the fact that Desmond and the asshole he employs work up a good sweat getting me moved from my vehicle to the rear cargo area of the police issue SUV.
“Jesus fuck, you’ve put on the pounds, haven’t you?”
Of course I have. The last time Desmond and I got into it, we were kids, doing daily inventory on pubes and pit hair. He was bigger than me then, but now it’s no contest. Or it wouldn’t be if I could fucking move. Being this helpless, this vulnerable, is something I’m not at all familiar with. Because even back when we were kids and Desmond had the size advantage, I still kicked his ass on the regular.
The rough carpet burns as my face scrapes across it. Plastic bites into my skin as the zip ties are secured around my wrists and my ankles. I may not be able to move a fucking muscle, but I can feel every goddamn thing. I catalog it all, file every transgression away for later. When the time comes, I’ll immerse myself in the cauldron of retribution and dole out an eye for an eye, pain for pain, scar for fucking scar. And then I will put this cunt down like a rabid dog.
“Give him another hit. Just to be sure he stays down,” Desmond orders.
Doors slam, closing me in, and when we start rolling, and the world dissolves into mist.
I come to with the feel of concrete grinding against my knees and a chain around my neck. My hands are still bound tightly behind my back—nothing’s changed there. Everything hurts but still, something seems off.
Shit, everything feels off.
When the leather strap slides from beneath my arms, tugging at where it catches across my chest, I feel its support give way. The slack is taken up by the chain, and my chin snaps. My body goes completely rigid to keep from hanging myself and the shift grinds the concrete further into my knees.
I hang and try to reposition myself, making subtle adjustments until the pain and threat of asphyxiation find an unlikely balance. “Fuck.”
“Mm. You’re certainly that. How’re you feelin’, cousin?”
The accent Desmond keeps under wraps is enjoying a rare freedom. The lilt would be comforting if it were coming from almost any other family member.
But this one? This one I want to annihilate.
“Fuck you.”
He strolls around me, leisurely, stopping just off to the side.
He’s not as dumb as I wish he was. If he’d stopped right in front of me, I could have lurched forward and taken a good shot to his groin.
“You’re mad, then?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest. “Is it that I’ve bested ye? Or that I had the girl first? Fuckin’ killin’ ye that I tasted her, that I fucked her. That I left my mark on her and you got the scraps, yeah? She probably came panting after ye, hoping you could give her ride like she had wit’ me. Ah, but I ruined her for ye. She had a nice tight cunt, could barely get my cock in her all the way. Poor girl probably couldn’t even tell if you were in or not.”
I know better. I do. But all I see is red.
A growl surges from my belly as I lunge for him, teeth bared and ready to tear at whatever I can latch on to. I’ll tear him apart one bite at a time if I have to.
Desmond jumps back a step, having miscalculated just how sharply his words would land. When he’s soundly out of range, he laughs. Higher than normal, definitely some panic laced throughout, but the fucker laughs at me.
“Settle. You’re like a leashed cat, losing your senses and flailing against your tether. You give me what I need, I’ll let you go. You can have what’s left of her.” He bends at the waist, staring me straight in the eyes. “If there’s anything left to claim, that is.”
The bend, that shit failure of spatial awareness, brings him just close enough for a quick jerk of my neck. Blood sprays across my clothes and down his shirt after a satisfying crunch, and his nose sits slightly left of center.
It takes a moment to get my breath back when the pressure from the chain loosens. I’d do it again and again and again, if it were my only retaliation. I’d choke myself on it if I knew nothing would come back on Truie. But that’s not a luxury I can afford with this particular adventure.
