Stirred (41 page)

I couldn’t open the door without hacking off Steve’s arms or legs.

“No way,” I said, taking a step backward.

“Please, Jack. I—”

“No!”

“—deserve this.”

“No, you don’t. No one deserves this.”

He was crying now, breaking down. “I killed a man,” he blubbered. “Three years ago. I’ve carried it around with me all this time, and now I just need you to know that I
want
this! I’ve thought about ending myself a thousand times, but I never had the guts.”

“Well, I’m not going to do this. I can’t, Steve.”

“Do you understand what Luther will do to me?”

I’d killed before. But even with someone irredeemable like Alex Kork, it hadn’t been easy. Not pulling the trigger. And not living with it after the fact. I couldn’t imagine ever bringing myself to murder an unarmed man chained to a wall, no matter what he’d done in his past, no matter how desperately he was begging me to end him.

“Please, Jack!”

“Shut up for a second. Let me think.”

I moved closer, studying the door. No hinges, so it pushed inward. I tried the knob, put some weight on it. The door moved an inch, the chain tightening around Steve’s ankles.

“Can you hop backward?”

“I can’t even feel my feet. They’re so cold.”

“I’m not doing this, Luther,” I said.

My earpiece didn’t reply. I looked around for a camera, saw one on the wall, ten feet up. I waved at it.

“You hear me, asshole? I’m not going to—”

Then the door behind Steve jerked inward, pulling him off his feet. Steve screamed, his weight falling onto his arms, his legs being pulled back. The door only opened a few inches, but an arm snaked through.

A man’s bare arm, covered with scars.

It snagged the bow saw hanging on the door. Then two eyes peeked through the opening.

“Well, lookee here. It’s Jack Daniels. Been a long time.”

I didn’t recognize the misshapen face. But the voice…

I could never forget that voice.

From the truck stop, years ago.

Donaldson.

“I’ve been dreaming about seeing you again, Jack. Of cutting off bits of your face and feeding it to you. And now, all that’s between me and my dreams are a few limbs.”

He brought up the bow saw, placing it through the crack in the door onto Steve’s bare wrist.

I reached for the other end, my heart pounding in my ears, my baby kicking wildly, trying to pull the saw away, but the tug of war—the back and forth—that ensued was essentially doing what Donaldson wanted, cutting through skin and bone as Steve screamed, and then my legs went wiggly and the world began to spin and blackness crept into my vision.

No!

Not a seizure!

Not now!

I fell onto my butt…Steve’s voice disappearing…the whole world disappearing…the dark swallowing me up.

T
he man chained to the door died too fast. Without a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, he was unconscious within a minute and dead shortly thereafter.

Lucy had felt the old, familiar thrill at his cries, and a pang of loss when he finally stopped breathing.

It took her and Donaldson almost five minutes of sawing and pulling to get the door open, and there was no fun in it. By the time they were through, all Lucy wanted was a Norco and a nap.

But D had other ideas. He was standing over the unconscious pregnant woman, his scarred features twisted into a hideous grin.

“It’s her, Lucy. It’s Jack Daniels.”

“We don’t have time for this.”

“Yeah, we do.”

She touched Donaldson’s arm. “We didn’t come here for her. We only needed her to find that bastard who did this to us.”

“So? This is like a bonus. An appetizer before the main course.”

Donaldson descended with the saw, but Lucy pulled him back. He spun on her.

“What the hell? You getting squeamish on me?”

“Of course not. I’m tired, and in pain, and I want to save my energy for the man who tortured us and scarred us and turned us into…this.” She spread out what was left of her hands.

“I want to kill Luther Kite as much as you do, Lucy. But we deserve to have a little fun. This one here, she’s like a serial killer’s dream victim. Doing her will be the highlight of my career.”

For a moment, Lucy wanted to plead with him. To remind him of whom they were looking for, and why. But she saw the bloodlust in Donaldson’s eyes, knew that there would be no talking him out of this.

“Fine,” she said, releasing his arm. “Do what you want. I’m going to keep looking for him.”

“What? You don’t want to stay and help?”

“I want to save my energy. You should, too.”

“You can watch, at least.”

“She’s not even awake, D.”

He grinned again, raising the saw. “I know how to wake her up.”

“Whatever. I’m leaving.”

Lucy turned and hobbled back into the dark maze of hallways that had led them there. Over the past few hours, they’d stumbled across many dead, mutilated bodies. Their boy had been busy. It must have taken a long time to put all of this together.

She went left, then right, feeling along the concrete walls in total darkness. They’d found Jack by following her voice. With no sounds to guide her, Lucy had no idea where to go next.

Though she’d never admit it to Donaldson, Lucy was afraid. A minute after leaving him, she regretted it. While there might not be safety in numbers, she found comfort in D’s company. But the more they saw of this place, the less Lucy felt they’d actually be able to do what they’d hoped. She felt overwhelmed. Outmatched.

They shouldn’t be killing that cop. They should be working with her to find—

Then she heard it. Voices.

Donaldson.

And another man…

Oh, no.

Lucy fought the urge to run in the other direction. But she couldn’t allow D to face that maniac alone. She followed the voices until she could make out the words.

“The gun in your pants. Take it out, slowly, and throw it into the water. Now.”

There was a faint splashing sound.

“Now put down the saw and step away from Jack.”

A clang of the bow saw being dropped on concrete.

Lucy crept closer.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Go to hell.”

A gunshot, followed by Donaldson crying out.

“I’ve got seven more bullets in this magazine. You think your leg hurts? I can do knees next. Or balls.”

“You already cut off my balls, you son of a bitch.”

Lucy turned the corner, until she was spying on them through the door, ten feet away. Her legs felt ready to buckle.

“Sorry. I forgot. We did have some fun times together, didn’t we, Donaldson? I’m sure you aren’t anxious to relive those times. Tell me where Lucy is, and I’ll kill you fast. One in the head.”

“I have no idea where she went. We split up when we escaped.”

“Liar.”

Another shot. Another scream. Lucy watched as Donaldson fell over and clutched his bleeding knee.

“Six bullets left. Then, when those are finished, I use the saw. Where is she?”

Donaldson spoke through clenched teeth. “She went to Canada. Heard it was beautiful this time of year.”

Two more shots, in the same leg. Lucy flinched, and then peed herself.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not like this.

She forced herself to take a step, to reveal her location. She couldn’t bear to watch Donaldson suffer anymore.

Then she saw it. Though there was no way D could see her in the darkness, for the briefest moment he seemed to stare right at her. Deep into her eyes.

And he gave his head a slight shake.

Telling her not to come any closer.

Then, somehow, he struggled back up onto his feet.

“I saw the two of you on my cameras. I know she’s here. I’ve put too much effort, too much money, into this production, and I can’t have you two amateurs running around, mucking things up.”

“Amateurs?” Donaldson barked out a pained laugh. “Let me tell you something,
Luther
. Me and Lucy forgot more about killing than you’ll ever know. She told me all about you. You’re not the real deal. You’re a wannabe, going through the motions. You’re the most pathetic asshole I’ve ever met.”

Another shot, this one in the right arm.

Donaldson groaned, but he stayed on his feet.

Lucy’s eye welled up with tears. She watched Luther approach her friend.

“You love her, don’t you? I watched you both, walking hand in hand.”

Lucy held her breath. She had no idea how D would answer, but all of the sudden it became very important to her.

“Yeah,” D said. “I love her.”

Lucy stifled a moan, her whole body shaking.

“Tell me, Donaldson. How does it feel?”

“You want to know how it feels?”

“Yes.”

Donaldson laughed. It wasn’t forced. It was genuine, a belly laugh, loud and long.

“I’ve spent my whole life on my own,” Donaldson said. “Which is why it feels so good to have someone to watch my back. She’s going to get you, you bastard. My Lucy is going to mess you up so bad—”

The shot sent a vibration through Donaldson.

When Luther stepped away, Lucy saw a dark swatch of blood expanding through the fabric around D’s stomach, which he clutched in both hands.

Luther raised his right leg and kicked Donaldson in the chest, sending the man stumbling back into the water.

Donaldson’s feet entangled, spun him around, and he plunged facedown into the murk, and slowly sank.

Lucy had to bite her wrist to keep from crying out.

Come up.

Please come up, D.

Please…

He didn’t come up.

Lucy made her legs move, back into the dark halls.

The pain slammed into her, worse than anything physical.

Lucy’s very soul hurt.

She needed to find a weapon.

She needed to kill that son of a bitch.

To make Donaldson’s last words come true.

Donaldson.

The only man she’d ever loved.

W
hen he opened his eyes, he was bound to a chair.

He hurt all over, but the worst was a pain in his right side. Felt like a broken rib.

He blinked, squinting in the dim room, and saw McGlade tied to another chair. It was made of steel and leather, built solid, high legs.

A bar stool. Not the horrible torture devices they’d been previously strapped to.

Phin didn’t see any rope around Harry. He looked down at his own hands and saw his wrists were attached to the chair arms with plastic zip ties. His hands were bright pink and swollen. He tried to move his feet, realized that his ankles were similarly bound.

Phin pulled against the zip ties, testing their strength.

They were strong.

He tried to jerk against the chair, but it was strong, too.

Steel. Heavy, unyielding.

Then he twisted his wrists, seeing if there was any give.

None at all.

And if they weren’t loosened soon, his hands would completely lose circulation and die. He already had that pins-and-needles sensation from the lack of blood flow.

“Harry! Wake up!”

McGlade grunted, and then his eyes fluttered open. “Tell me we got drunk and this is some lesbian hooker bondage thing.”

“You used that joke already.”

“Joke? Don’t rain on my dreams, man. How you feeling?”

“Like fried shit. You?”

“I’m shocked. Heh heh. Get it?”

Phin looked around.

Unlike the dungeon atmosphere of the previous room, this one resembled an abandoned office. Desks, a few scattered chairs, and a lot of dust. Weak light filtered in through the open doorway, ten feet to his left.

“Your artificial hand is strong, right?” Phin asked. “Can you break your bonds?”

“It isn’t working. That goddamn electric chair shorted out my battery. Also, I think my curlies burned off.”

“Your curlies?”

“My pubes. My sack sweater. My dick fro. I can smell the burnt hair.”

“Nice.”

“On the plus side, I didn’t wet my pants. Maybe I should have. It would have doused the briar patch flames.”

Phin tried to rock forward on the bar chair. It scooted several inches across the tile floor, the chair’s base wide enough so it didn’t tip over.