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What he’s doing to Luke is killing me, but I’m no stranger to blood. I’m no stranger to torture of any kind.
Luke still stares straight ahead. He’s focusing on something, but I can’t tell what.
Then I see how rigid his forearms are. He’s working the duct tape. On his right arm.
He’s stretching it, and he should eventually be able to slide his arm off of the chair’s arm.
That gives me a job to do.
I must keep King busy so he doesn’t notice what Luke is doing.
What can I do? If I speak, he’ll hurt Luke more.
But maybe…
Maybe I need him to hurt Luke. That’s the one thing that will hold his attention rapt.
“Stop it!” I cry out. “I can’t take it anymore!”
I rise from my chair.
King turns on me, grabs my shoulders throws me back down on the chair.
Good. He’s not focusing on Luke right now.
That’s what I want.
“I warned you, little lady.” He grabs his knife.
He turns and slices it down Luke’s other arm. Blood trickles over the raven’s beak, his fiery wings.
I wince at the pain it’s causing him, but it’s working. In my peripheral vision, I see Luke has almost worked his right arm free.
Good.
I rise again.
“Dammit, bitch, I’ve had enough of your insolence.” This time he smacks me on my cheek.
It stings, but I don’t care. I’m giving Luke a chance to—
I gasp as Luke plunges the chair forward toward the desk and grabs the gun. Somehow he turns back to us and shoots King in his left ankle.
“Bitch!” King falls to the floor and grabs his left foot.
“Katelyn,” Luke yells, holding the gun on King as best he can with his legs still taped to the chair. “The duct tape! The other side of the desk.”
I rush around the desk. Duct tape. I don’t see—
Then it’s there, right in front of me. I hold it up.
“Get him taped up if you can. Can you handle him?
“He’s shot.”
“I know. But can you handle him? He’s big. He’s strong.”
“He’s shot.” I kick King’s bad leg, and he curls into a fetal position.
“Nice job. First tape his wrists. Then his mouth. His ankles last since he can’t get up anyway.
I nod.
“When you’re done, get this tape off me.”
I work as quickly as I can. I have trouble ripping the duct tape, but I use my teeth and do my best. King squirms, and I move quickly to stay out of his reach. His arms are long and strong, and he can still hurt me until his wrists are bound. He grabs me by the hair, but I turn and bite hard into the flesh of his forearm.
Blood.
I spit out the vile taste of King’s blood.
How am I supposed to—
“His nuts. Knee his nuts,” Luke yells.
A swift kick between his legs.
And he’s immobile for a few moments. I work quickly on his wrists, and then I tape his mouth.
The horrible screaming and cursing stops. Now it’s just mumbling.
He’s flailing about with his legs, blood spurting out of his injured ankle.
“Get the tape over his wound.” Luke says. “We don’t want him to bleed to death.”
“We don’t?”
“No. I’m not going to be responsible for any deaths today.”
My Luke. I wasn’t wrong about him. He is a good man.
Although I wouldn’t mind seeing this asshole bleed to death.
“Why hasn’t anyone come?” I ask Luke.
“King told them to lock us in. No one will come. This is King’s fight. It’s personal between him and me.”
I rip the tape off Luke’s other arm. As he rubs his chafed wrist, I go to work on his legs. Soon he’s free, and he stands. He heads straight for the door. “Damn, it’s locked.”
“Can only be opened from the outside?”
“For anyone else, yes. But King knows how to get out of here.”
Luke trudges toward King and rips the duct tape off his mouth. “Tell us how to get out of here, and I’ll let you live.”
“You just said no one’s going to die here today.”
“I did say that.” Luke scratches side of his head. “Let me put it this way, then. Tell us how to get out of here, and I’ll leave you the use of your legs.”
“You won’t get away with this, Raven.”
“I think I already did. Now tell us how to get the fuck out of here.”
“I’ve got men surrounding this building.”
“And as soon as I tell them you’re out of commission, who do you think they’ll listen to?
“We’ve got two guns too,” I say.
“Dumb bitch,” King says. “The other one’s a taser.”
“Then we have a gun and a taser,” I say.
Luke, his chest shiny with perspiration and smeared with drying blood from his cuts, kicks King in the gut. “Call her a bitch one more time, and I’m going to leave you a goddamned vegetable. Now”—he aims the gun between King’s legs—“tell me how to get out of here, or say goodbye to your cojones.”
