A gloaming darkness loomed just beyond, filled with indistinct, shifting forms, and then, emerging from those shifting shadows, my mother took shape, her mouth open wide, her hand outstretched as if she was reaching for me.
I reached back, straining until our fingers brushed together, ice shooting up my arm in spikes of pain so intense, I…
I woke up on the floor, choking in a puddle of water, the last of my pitiful strength gone.
A broken sound tore from my throat. “H-How many times…?” I couldn’t stop shaking, my fingers were so cold, the shackles… wait…the shackles were loose, sliding around my wrists with some room to spare. I worked my right hand against the metal circle and then, with a wiggle and a yank, my hand slid out.
For a moment, I just lay there, not believing my good fortune.
No… not fortune.My mother did this.
“As many as it takes.” Bruno leaned closer and tapped my temple. “The answer is in there somewhere; I just need the right key to unlock that mouth of yours. Pain wasn’t it, but drowning… I think we’re finally getting somewhere. Once I’ve softened you up, I’ll get started on your brother, and…”
Something primal surged through me—pure, protective instinct.
I rolled away, and Bruno lunged, pinning me down with his body, fumbling to get me under control. I brought my free hand up, grappling for something… anything, and my hand closed around something metal…
I didn’t think.
I yanked it free and drove it up between us, up and up and up…
The blade sank into Bruno’s side with a sickening resistance.
Bruno roared, backhanding me so hard, the world went white. I rolled away, ears ringing—and miraculously, I still had the knife gripped in my free hand, and I couldmove.
Legs shaking, vision wonky, I pushed up to a crouch, and he came for me, big arms sweeping through the air. Chain and shackles dragging behind me, I dove between his legs, slid across the wet floor, slashing at his calf on the way past. The knife ripped out of my hand, and I slammed hard into the water tub, knocking it over, flooding the room.
Bruno climbed awkwardly to his feet, gripping the back of his leg, and tried to put weight on it. Went down in a pissed-off pile of Armani wool and curse words that would make a sailor blush.
I wiped the blood off my face and pulled myself up on the metal table, grabbed the first thing my hand landed on—an enormous hook—and waited for him to make the next move. I had no strength left. Enough, maybe, for two more rounds of hand-to-hand.
Not enough to get past him and run.
I had to finish him off. Fast.
Because if I didn’t, he was going to really, really make me suffer.
He came at me again, hobbled by his bad leg and overcompensating on the slick floor. Blew right past me, arms pinwheeling as he fought to regain his balance. I sank the hook into the side of his neck, deep enough, the end popped out the other side.
Kind of like hooking a worm.
Blood spurted as he clawed at the sharpened end, trying to get it loose.
He pivoted in a clumsy turn, and I kept running my hand over the metal tray, feeling around for something bigger, something sharper, something…yes, right there.
My hand closed around the hilt of a knife I recognized by touch alone. The one he’d used on me last, the one with a curved blade and a point sharp enough to slide through flesh without the slightest hesitation.
I pushed the last of my strength into my strained muscles, braced myself for what would be my last play.
Bruno knew it, too, searching for his best opening, evaluating every weakness. I saw the moment he made his decision, the cunning smile on his mouth, the cruel gleam in his eyes as he drew his gun.
Not a bad move, given the ten feet between us.
I rushed him before he raised the barrel all the way, whipped out my hand, the chain and shackle swinging in a wide, whistling arc, aimed straight toward his face.
Carried by the weight of the iron shackle, the chain wrapped around his head with spectacular speed, and the gun went off, the bullet ricocheting off the concrete with a screech as I drove the knife up into his chin, through the soft palate, straight into his brain.
His eyes—what I could see through the chain—widened, and he brought the gun up, pressed the hot muzzle to my temple. All I heard were clicks as hetried—and failed—to pull the trigger. Then he collapsed at my feet, gun skittering across the floor.
