Page 17 of Savage Justice

“I’ll find out if Megan has arrived yet.” I check my phone but can’t get a signal down here.

“Not to worry. Ethan’ll send her down as soon as she’s checked out Molly and Lucy.”

Aaron keys in the number to unlock the cell door, and I follow him inside.

The man starts screaming as soon as he sees us. “Help me. I need help. A doctor…” He grasps his stomach as though he can somehow prevent the loss of further blood and guts just by holding it all in.

“Later,” I snap. I crouch beside him and appraise the damage, as far as I can see.

Abdominal wounds are the worst. Invariably fatal unless treated, and even then, it’s touch and go. Megan is good, but I suspect this guy has had it, whatever bunny our medic might manage to pull out of the hat. Best crack on, then.

“What were you doing at Molly Lowe’s house?” I start as I mean to go on. Direct and to the point.

He squirms on the floor, trying to roll away. I grab him by the shoulder and drag him back. “Answer the fucking question.”

He peers up at me from bloodshot eyes. “What does it have to do with you? It was a bit of business, that’s all.” Despite his injuries, he’s belligerent and uncooperative. That needs to change.

“Business that involves waterboarding an innocent woman in her own home. Terrifying children? What sort of business would that be?”

“Mind yours,” he snarls, then screeches out loud as another wave of pain seizes him.

“Stand up,” Aaron instructs him.

“Are you fucking joking?” the man retorts. “I need an ambulance. Get me to a fucking hospital.”

“Sorry, not happening.” Aaron seizes his arm and hauls him to a sitting position.

I grab the other arm. “You were told to get up. Get fucking up,” I spit.

Between us, Aaron and I manage to drag him fully upright. We brace him against the cell wall and watch dispassionately as the rate of blood loss increases.

“I’d say he’s got about twenty minutes,” I observe casually.

“Nah. Fifteen at best. I’ve seen these gut shots before.” Aaron cocks his head to one side. “Best stand back. This is going to be messy.”

“Fair enough.”

I take a step away, just as Aaron swings a punch that lands right in the man’s solar plexus. He lets out an agonised cry and collapses back to the floor.

“Ouch,” I offer sympathetically, at the same time as I wrestle him back up again. “Shall we get some introductions out of the way? What’s your name and who do you work for?”

“Fuck you,” he coughs, spitting blood.

“Oh dear.” I give Aaron a nod.

He lines up a second punch.

“No! Wait. I… I…”

“You were just about to tell us your name, fucker.”

“Johnny Dunbar,” he wheezes.

“There. It’s easy once you get going. Who pays you to torture women?”

He shakes his head and begins to slide down the wall. We both seize him and pin him in place.

“I work for myself…” he rasps.

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