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I try to block out the grunts and sounds of people fucking. I try to ignore the pleas for help, knowing what it means for the women in the other rooms. This entire operation is just one sick fucking perversion after another, and the sincerely fucked-up part of it is that people are paying to participate. I know from experience that where there’s a demand for something, there are always those that will provide it, no matter the level of depravity. It’s why I didn’t doubt Pirro yesterday when he threatened to turn the video into a snuff film. I can only imagine the money something like that would draw.
I hate Angel for sending me here. I hate that he didn’t force me to listen when he was lining out the job. I hate myself even more for letting my success rate on missions cloud my ability to take him seriously when he tried.
If I had a glance into my future, even a second of time to know this is where I’d end up, I would have forced myself to take a much different trajectory in life. I would’ve shoved down those feelings of anger I got every time someone tried to tell me what to do. I would’ve somehow accepted that I’d have a boss whose job it was to give me direction, or I would have chosen a field that put me in the position of being high man on the ladder.
I might have tried my hand at being a cop rather than being a vigilante. I would’ve attempted to obey the laws rather than thumbing my nose at them.
There’s no way to change it now, so there’s no point in wasting time on it.
Rune pushes away from the wall as I step closer, walking in front of me, leading the way rather than at my back. It lessens my chance of getting the jump on him.
I freeze in my tracks when he opens the door to the left rather than the one to the right that leads to the cell they’ve been holding me in.
Despite his uncanny ability to look bored, he doesn’t hesitate to pull his gun out and point it at my head when I don’t enter the room.
I’ve suffered so fucking much in there, that death is a better choice.
“He’ll kill her, too,” he mutters, the threat flat but somehow ringing true at the same time.
My feet move without taking an order from my brain, and I hate every single one of them for having something to force me into action with.
There’s a man in the room I’ve never seen before, but he has a stethoscope around his neck rather than a knife or some other weapon in his hand.
“He’s going to check your wounds,” Rune says. I know it’s sort of a peace offering because the man doesn’t have to explain shit to me and we both know it.
The doctor walks around me, his head shaking as his eyes skate over my injuries.
“I’ll give it to him, he really knows where to cut to cause the most pain.”
The “he” he’s referring to has to be Pirro.
Rune doesn’t acknowledge the doctor’s words.
“The antibiotics seem to be working. We’ll keep him on the same regimen for the next couple of days.”
I grind my teeth together as he walks to a black bag on the table against the far wall. The man prepares two needles instead of one.
“What’s the other one?” I growl when he turns back around with one in each hand.
I step forward, evaluating if I’ll be able to snap his neck before Rune can put a bullet in me, but the sound of him pulling the hammer back makes me freeze.
The threat to her is real, and the thought of having to witness her death over and over in my own purgatory is the only thing that makes me stand there as the doctor steps up, jabbing each of my fucking arms with the needles simultaneously.
I hiss, the fucking audacity of this man irritating me more than the fucking prick of the needles.
“What was the second one for?” I ask again when he takes a step back.
He holds up one needle, looking at the tip of it. “This was your antibiotics.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he’s offering his medical services for free in exchange for what this place has to offer him in terms of fulfilling his fucking perverted fantasies.
“This one?” I can’t help but attempt to focus on the tip of it. “This is the one that’s going to knock you on your ass.”
It’s as if his words have the power to activate the shit he just pumped into my body. My legs weaken, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the forward momentum of my body. I watch, wondering how much it’s going to hurt as the man steps to the side and just watches as I crumple to the floor.
