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Then we both look up to the sign above the door.
* * *
MORGUE
* * *
James pushes through the door, and I step tentatively in, gazing around at the endless fridges. He goes to the one on the far side of the room and flips a few catches. He pulls the door and the slab rolls out, the sound of metal on metal deafening.
My mouth falls open.
“The fuck?” Danny whispers moving in, looking up and down the metal, taking in the bloody, naked body.
A body that is far from dead. Unconscious, yes, bound and gagged, yes, but not dead.
I step back. Rage replaces my shock. Three fresh bullet wounds and endless old scars mar his body.
“Well, this is a turn out for the books,” I muse, noticing for the first time the table behind us. Laid out with every surgical instrument known to man.
James moves to the next fridge. Pulls it out.
“Fuck me,” I whisper as Luis tries to yell past the makeshift gag.
“And finally,” James muses, moving to the next fridge. Anticipation swirls in my gut. For Danny. For James. For me. He pulls the fridge open and takes it with both hands, bending at his knees and pulling it. I inhale, looking at Danny.
“I’m excited,” he says darkly, staring at Sandy. “So fucking excited.” He walks to the table and picks up one of the piles of scrubs, grinning like an idiot. “I’ve always wanted to try these.” He tosses some to me, some to James, and we all get into them. Head scarfs, face masks, the whole shebang. And gloves. Danny wriggles his on, making a meal of snapping the wrists.
I manage one. There’s no fucking way I’ll squeeze my swollen hand into the other.
We stand in a triangle, all scrubbed up. “Shall we take a selfie?” Danny says over a laugh. “I feel like I need this in the family photo album.”
I roll my eyes, quickly texting Beau to tell her to call me immediately if Pearl comes back around. I don’t tell her where I am. She knows. And I’m not leaving this room until King is in pieces. I refuse to let Pearl wake up again in a world where he’s still alive. “Let’s get on with it.” I pick up the first thing I can lay my hands on. A saw. I eye it as I move in on King. “Oh, he’s awake,” I muse, watching him coming round, squinting, looking all kinds of groggy. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.” Poor guy. He looks like he’s woken up in a nightmare. He has no idea. I reach for some surgical gloves and stuff them in his disgusting gob as Danny casually peruses the scalpels, picking them up, tapping the end with his fingertip, humming as he does. “It’s like fucking Christmas at the morgue,” I say, looking up and down King’s solid frame. Where the fuck do I start? I hold up the saw, pouting as King’s eyes widen. “The Enigma’s been busy.”
“I’ve always worked more effectively alone,” James says, crossing his arms. I look at him, eyebrows high, and he rolls his eyes. “Otto slipped trackers on the cars during the chaos.”
I smile.
“What a fucking legend,” Danny muses. “And for that, I’ll allow him my mother’s hand.”
“You dick,” James laughs.
Danny, smirking darkly, gets back to the matter at hand. “So who’s first?” He wanders over to Sandy, admiring his scalpel. Then he looks down at Sandy’s dick.
“Oh fuck,” I breathe, wincing as Sandy starts bucking and shaking his head, my saw poised on King’s trembling leg. Poor Luis will be last. But he’ll get the best show.
Danny raises his brows. Pulls the tape off Sandy’s mouth. “You got something to say?”
“Yes, yes, please!”
“What?”
“I’ve told him where your father is,” he pants, sweats, shakes.
Danny, shockingly, puts the scalpel down. “Oh?” he breathes, looking at James, who nods, confirming.
Sandy’s breathing is so fucking panicked, it’s thrilling. “Winstable. He’s at Winstable.”
“Winstable?”
