Page 136 of House of Lies

“Did you miss me?” he asks through a frantic smile. “I was saying hi to my friends.”

The ones in your head?

My head bobs as I struggle to keep my neck stiff. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion, resignation, or blood loss, but I’m in really bad shape. Angelo bundles up the rags in his hand and shoves it into my mouth.

They fucking stink.

Like filthy dish cloths left to mold in the bottom of a damp cupboard. There’s a whiff of ammonia on them too.

I gag, and almost throw up, but I might just fucking kill myself if that happens, because there’s nowhere for the puke to go. I try to push the rags out of my mouth with my tongue, and almost succeed, before Angelo shoves them back inside with his gloved hands.

Another wave of nausea rises up my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I desperately fight the urge to vomit.

Oh my God, and I thought being stabbed in the thigh was torture.

The duct tape rips free, and I sob when Angelo winds it around my head, keeping the gag in place. I’m already working my jaw, cringing as my tongue pushes against the obstruction in my mouth.

But there’s no give in the tape.

No way to loosen the glue with my saliva.

Everything is being soaked up by the disgusting rags balled up in my mouth.

Angelo pats the side of my cheek, and I get another whiff of ammonia.

No…fuck…I know what it is.

Semen.

I shudder and pull away from him, even lifting my free hand to ward him off.

He glances down, laughs. “Fuck me, I gotta be more careful.” He rips another length of duct tape free with his teeth and slams my hand back on the armrest, securing it with the tape.

There’s the faint sound of a car engine outside. Angelo looks past me to the entrance of whatever chamber I’m in, eyes wide. Then he scampers past me, his footsteps gradually moving out of earshot. He’s back less than a minute later.

“This is turning out even better than I imagined,” he says. He scans me with a quick, furtive gaze. “Now you be quiet, okay? We don’t want to spook our guest.”

He retreats with a blue-gloved finger pressed to his lips, slinking away into the dark to go stand near Becks’s box.

I breathe as shallowly as I can, forcing myself not to taste or smell.

Not thinking is impossible, though.

He’s been jerking off somewhere, and all I can think is that it was somewhere close to me. Maybe while I was floating in and out of my nightmares?

Oh God, I’m so fucking disgusted right now.

I want to close my eyes, but the thought of Angelo sneaking up on me is terrifying. So I stare at him where he’s lurking in the shadows, and try to stop imagining him crouching there as he watches me…possibly jerking off some more.

Are those footsteps behind me?

I sit up in the seat, my head wobbling.

I try to scream through the rags, but it comes out as barely a moan.

The footsteps move closer. Closer.

Then they speed up to a run.

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