Page 12 of Savage Justice

Otherwise…

“You’re awake. Took long enough. Do you think I have all night to fuck about here, with you?” He grabs the hood and hauls my head back until I think he means to snap my neck. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I groan, the sound muffled beneath the heavy sacking.

“Lying bitch.”

His voice has risen to a near screech. Surely someone will hear him. Then I remember the family next door are on holiday and the old lady on the other side is deaf as a post. No one is coming to help me.

“It’s true. I never—” My stuttering attempt to speak meets an abrupt end when he slaps me again. I promptly pass out once more.

When I come round again, I’m on the floor. My head feels as though it’s stuffed with cotton wool, and there’s a roaring sound in my ears. I drift in and out of consciousness and wonder how long it takes to actually die of terror.

Please, God, let it be quick. And let this animal never find my babies.

“I’m going to ask you once more, then I’m going to lose my temper. You won’t like that. Where did you stash the brat?”

I don’t answer.

Roughly, he pulls me to a sitting position. “Last chance.”

“Fuck you,” is the best I can manage through the fuzzy blur which has become my reality.

He lets go of me, and the next thing I hear is the distinct sound of running water. So, we’re still in my kitchen…?

He drags me to my feet and shoves me backwards. My bound ankles slide along the floor, and something solid hits me in the small of my back. He forces me back still further, bowing my body over the whatever it is until my feet leave the floor and I’m dangling. The running water is very close now. Is he about to drown me in my own kitchen sink?

The utter shock of water hitting my face and cascading around my head quite literally takes my breath away. I’m drowning, gasping for air and finding only cold, wet sacking. My mouth fills with water, and it tastes foul, stale. My nostrils, too, as water forces its way in, everywhere.

Panic grips me. I’m fighting, kicking and squirming, twisting this way and that in a vain attempt to escape the torrent choking me. My head is upside down, the water is everywhere, I start to pass out and I’m glad of the respite.

“Now will you tell me?”

I’m on the floor again, shivering, gulping in moist air as my body refuses to give up, clutching at any last wisp of oxygen. I shake my head. “C-can’t…”

“Okay. We go again.” He hauls me upright and bends my spine backwards over the sink.

“Please,” I beg. “No, please—”

The cold water hits me again, and if anything, this is worse than before. I’m spluttering, gasping, fast losing the battle for air. My limbs are heavy, there’s no fight left in me anymore. I allow my boneless body to submit to the inevitable and go limp in his arms.

CHAPTER 4

Nico

“How’s the training going with Frankie?”

I glance across at my boss in the passenger seat. Ethan Savage rarely asks idle questions. He’s going somewhere with this.

I try for a non-committal response. “Okay, I suppose. He’s enthusiastic.”

Ethan snorts. “I’m wanting a soldier, not a Labrador puppy. Can he hit a fucking target?”

“Some of the time,” I concede.

Ethan growls in his throat. “‘Some of the time’ won’t get him out of trouble. And it’ll be no good to the men relying on him.”

I try again. I genuinely like the boy. Frankie Sillitoe is our latest recruit, just seventeen years old and mine to train in the noble art of marksmanship. Sadly, it’s a lost cause. We’re six weeks in, and he’s technically competent and that’s about it. Young Frankie can load and unload his weapon with the best of them. He can manage to note the wind speed and general direction but somehow entirely fails to take any of that into account when he pulls the trigger. I suspect he’d struggle to hit a barn door at three paces. Reluctantly, I have to share that feedback with the boss.

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