My stomach heaves. I force it back, unsure if they can see me, unwilling to show weakness. Cerberus stands around the man, facing me, and the silence stretches. I am frozen in place, my heart hammers in my ears.
“Fallon, meet Weston.”So theycansee me.Thing Dickbag gestures to the man in the chair. Fucking duh. “Would you like to know what he did to earn this?”
Would I? I can't deny my curiosity; but the cautious part of me is asking, where is the trap? What does this have to do with me? I won’t know their next move unless I play their game.
“Yes.” My voice rasps in response and I wince from the sharp sting in my throat. The water torture from before has taken its toll on my body. I am still shivering from the cold that has seeped into my bones.
It is Thing Dickbag that seems to be leading things. “Weston here,” he jerks the man’s head back by his shaggy blond, bloodstained hair. “Is a pimp. And not a very good one, apparently. So he decided to make a deal. Do you want to know who he made a deal with?”
Not bothering to answer because I know his ego won't allow the conversation to stop there, I simply arch an eyebrow and cock my head to the side. He continues.
“Helix Enterprises.” Oh great, this bullshit again. “More specifically, Clay. You remember Clay don’t you?”
Now that gives me pause. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that skeezeball is the one involved in this and they’re blaming the entire company – including me. Could this be a misunderstanding?
“Maybe you should have Clay in here watching the show instead of me if he’s involved.” My bravado surprises even me.
“Not yet. We have plans for him, but not yet. Back to Weston,” who has now started groaning as he wakes up. “He dosed his girls with the drugs supplied by your slimy friend and then sold these women to Clay to make a quick buck.”
Sure that is a horrible thing to hear, but I find myself mostly pissed off that he just called Clay my friend. What a dick.
“It washnt meh. Shou got the wrong guy.” Weston slurs, trying to speak around his injuries.
Ignoring him, Thing Two, steps forward. I just now notice the clank of the bolt cutters in his hand. I swallow back bile.
“One finger for each girl.” Apparently this one is a man of few words. The crunch of bone and spray of blood, despite my best efforts, have me cringing. The blood-curdling scream that leaves Weston… now that will haunt my dreams.
One finger, two fingers, three fingers, four. They wake him up with smelling salts every time he passes out from the pain, unwilling to let him miss even a moment of the agony.
It is when they bring out the blow torch that I lose that battle with my stomach, and empty its contents in the corner of the room. I find myself both mortified that I got sick and annoyed that there’s no fucking trash can. Taking a moment to be sure the heaving has subsided, I stand on shaking legs.
Looking back into the room, the tension is clear. Weston has burns all over him where his skin melted off, but it's not him that seems to be the problem. Instead, the three men are standing facing each other, their silent communication increasing the pressure in the air.
When they turn to take in my shaking form, I am met with a mixture of anger, confusion, and… is that concern, shining out of the masks?
Then one of them picks up a small tablet from the table at the side of the room, and I am yet again plunged into darkness.Fucking great.
When the lights come back on, the severe brightness is missing, almost as if someone dimmed them.Or I’m going insane from lack of sleep and whatever the fuck just happened. Yeah, probably that. I hear the click ofthe lock and jump to attention, wishing for some kind of weapon. I get ready to fight back with my shaking hands.When did I last eat?
All three enter in a single file, the one with a conscience bringing up the rear, and I hear the door locking behind him. I decide he’ll be the easiest target, since he’s brought me water today despite me trying to stab him with a fork. Plus, he doesn’t seem to agree with his buddies. Clearly, I no longer care that I’m in nothing but my bra and panties in front of them – at this point, it’s the least of my issues. Time to play on the clear divide in this trio.
He approaches me as the others watch me with an intensity that has my stomach churning. “Drink this.” My hands fumble to get to the water, the sweet, cool liquid soothing my throat. I sink to the ground and he crouches beside me. “Jesus, slowly.” He goes to take the bottle but his warning is a bit late. My stomach tightens and I wince. He shoots a glare at the other two. One is leaning against the wall with one foot braced against it, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the scene before him. The other stands in front of the door, arms at ease at his sides, his eyes impossible to read behind the mask.
I fight to hide the shaking on my hands, mentally blaming it on exhaustion and hunger, but I know they see it. Eyes narrow, masks shift as if jaws are clenching. The silence continues to stretch, and the truth is I am too tired for this shit.
“What now? More of your vigilante monologues where you convince yourselves you’re the good guys and that somehow I deserve this?” The heat is returning to my voice as I speak.
There it is. Mr. You Can't Affect Me narrows his eyes.That's what you get, dick.“We actually wanted to give you a chance at having a conversationabout this. Some seem to think that would be a better approach.” He must be referring to the water boy.
“Oh, be still my heart.” The dry tone gives a more genuine image of Fallon Fucking Helix. My eyes catch on the angry one against the wall, Thing Two.
“Don't look at me. I am all for making things more painful for you.”Shocking.
“Who arranges the shipments?”
“If you’re referring to who organizes schedules at the port forlegal fucking imports and exports, speak with the Director of Operations for the port. His name is Charles Klive.”
“Bullshit. You know what shipments I am talking about. What are they covered as in the logs? Produce, livestock, something else they would process quickly?”
