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Putting extra pressure on her shoulder, I spat, “The only escape you’re going to get is when you’re unconscious so if I were you, I’d stay fucking quiet.”
Soft whimpers whispered from her but she kept it low on the volume levels until we made it to Brennan’s HQ.
“Oh, my God, is this the Hole?” she moaned as I hauled her out of the SUV a few minutes later.
I grabbed her bad arm and tugged, which had her dropping to her knees on the mud-strewn parking lot with a scream of pain.
Dirt splattered everywhere, grimy water from the puddles too. Her once-pristine outfit was marred by myriad stains, and her cheeks were coated in filth—the only clean parts were the tracks where her tears coursed.
“You can either walk to the door or you can be dragged by your arm,” I told her blandly as I took in her pathetic figure. “The choice is yours.”
“Why are you doing this? Wasn’t killing my husband enough?” she screamed.
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s funny how you two were perfect for each other. He was a fucking traitor and you’re a treacherous cunt.
"Now make a decision.”
She sniffled. "I'll walk."
Forrest and Bagpipes shot each other looks but said nothing as I towed her into the weird building that was Brennan’s base, which appeared to be some kind of brothel from the forties. Bright red and brocade. Bizarre and oddly fancy for a place to torture people.
Forrest guided me to a back room where there were cattle hooks on the ceiling. The weird front had calmed her down, lulled her into a false sense of security as we wandered through rooms decorated in that strangely ornate way, but when she saw the easy-to-clean slaughterhouse, that was when she started struggling.
One tug on her arm was enough to keep her under control, though.
Luckily for her, she didn’t have a high pain threshold because there were plenty of worse things I could have done to her. Would have done, too, if she wasn’t such an easy mark.
Shoving her onto a lone seat in the center of the barren space, I watched her clutch at her arm as she peered at me through panda eyes.
“I have a son,” she cried, shoulders quaking with her sobs. “He needs his mommy.”
“It’s okay,” I told her. “He’s with his grandmother. She can raise him. And when she dies, if he needs a home, I’ll take him in. I’m surprisingly good with messed-up kids.
“Though I’m thinking he’s too young for you to have fucked him up with poison about how crappy the O’Donnellys are. Lucky for you.”
Her mouth wobbled but she surged off her seat in a pathetic attempt at an attack. “You can’t have my baby!”
As she came at me, I stuck out my foot, sent her flying, then I dropped to my knees next to her on the ground, stuck my fingers in her nose, and snapped it.
When she howled, I shoved my fist under her chin, snapped her mouth shut, and snarled, “I told you to stop with the screaming. Your baby barely sees you, Priestley. I don’t think he’ll miss you too much when you’re gone.”
Back to whimpering, she tried to roll onto her side and started sobbing. The moment I let go, she cried, “Why? Why? Why?”
“You talked.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t!”
Forrest cleared his throat. “You sure about this?”
“You soft or something?” I snapped.
“Forrest ain’t soft.”
I peered at the doorway and found the head honcho himself staring at me.
Arching a brow at Brennan, I demanded, “You got a problem?”
“No. Just checking in on the situation.”
