“Stop it.” Asshole number 2 demands him. “She’s not like the others.”
“Yeah, I’m not like the others.” I taunt him.
The rifle doesn’t lower, just continues pointed at my face.
“Matthews,” Asshole #2 demands, pushing the barrel away and breaking the contact.
The gun reluctantly lowers to his side as he leers at me. “You want to watch your fucking back.” He mumbles to me, trying to intimidate me.
“So scared.” I snark out.
“Let’s go,” #2 says. Grabbing hold of me again and yanking me back in the direction, putting himself between Matthews and me.
“Where are we going?” I snap at him, glaring down at where his hand’s still gripping my arm.
“To see the boss.”
“The police chief?”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“No, normally I think I’m adorable. And I think when people piss me off, I become more like my mother.”
“Shut up.” The barrel shoves into my back, propelling me to move forward.
The group moves me down a second hallway. There’s just as many rooms in this one, and I can hear crying echoing off the walls.
I know what this is. I just don’t want to admit it to myself. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my façade up if I let myself fall into a spiral about where I am. About the eyes I’ve seen as I pass each room. About the cries. About the men who are holding me captive.
It feels as though the hallways go on forever. The further we go, the more I realize how many people they’re planning for, and my stomach turns.
“You should see it when it’s full.” Matthews laughs behind me. “The sobs make their own kind of music…”
“You’re sick.”
“Scared yet?” He laughs again, the barrel pressing against my spine as his breath dances along my neck.
Fuck him.
The large door opens in front of me, and I’m shoved through. Asshole #2 steps forward with me in tow until we’re standing in front of a table. A man, who’s the epitome of what one thinks when imagining someone living on the lam, sits behind it.
“Who the fuck are you?” I question the man who sits behind it.
“Consider me a family friend,” the old man leans back in his chair, taking me in. “Which one is this?” he says to #2.
“The sister.”
“Oh,” the old man gleams, the chair creaking as he sits forward.“Caroline’s daughter.” His grin widens, and I can’t take my eyes off his rotting teeth. “I met your mother once,” I hear a chuckle from the distance before he starts again. “And in a way, I kind of met you too.”
Glancing around, I can feel all the sets of eyes on me.
“What do you want?”
“I want to make them pay,” he slowly stands up.
“Well, you’re about nine years too late for that… they’re dead.” Crossing my arms to conceal the pain shooting through me.
“I know.” He laughs again, stands up, and walks over. “But your brother inherited their debt when he took over the club. And you, my dear…” raising his hand, he turns it, making me instantly flinch. I don’t expect his knuckles to run across my cheek. “You’re collateral. I told them not to hurt you, but I hear you put up quite a fight.” I would have had less of an internal recoil if he had just hit me.
