Page 112 of Cohesion

Another perfectly angled hit against his jaw. Fuck, he hoped that wasn’t a loose tooth. He checked it with his tongue, sliding it over his bottom teeth. Just tender. That was alright. Dental work was expensive and a pain in the ass. Those assholes were sadists, and nothing could convince Sebastian otherwise.

“Why don’t you just tell me where my idiot stepbrother stashed everything that belongs tome? The money, the hard drive, theevidence. Where is it?”

“Even if I knew”—which he didn’t, because what the fuck? Evidence forwhat?—“I’m not telling you. You burnt my house down, you piece of shit,” Sebastian spat. He was still pissed off about that. If Mulhall had told him because he thought it would break Sebastian down instead of firing him up, he’d beenwrong. “All you’re getting from me is a big, giant, fat fuck you. I’d flip you off, but I’m a bit stuck. Mind untying me so I can? I’d appreciate it.”

“I can start cutting off fingers if you don’t start telling me what I want to know,” Mulhall threatened.

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat, his fingers twitching from the imagined pain. He liked his fingers right where they were. “I can still flip you off with my tongue,” he said blithely, smiling though the panic rising to choke him.

Mulhall growled angrily. “Take him back to his fucking room. Let him sweat over which limb I’m going to remove first. Might start with his dick.”

“That sounds like a super-fun activity, but I think I’ll pass,” Sebastian said. “Besides, there are only four men in the world that are allowed to touch my dick, and you aren’t one of them.”

A bag was put over his head, obscuring his view, and then he was hauled to his feet. They didn’t give him a chance for the circulation in his legs to do its thing before he was shoved at a different door.

The hallway was becoming familiar. One of the floorboards creaked when they stood on it. Something about it was comforting, like he could pretend he was just in a nice old house with a grandma that wanted to feed him cookies and milk. Getting Stockholm syndrome about a house was cause for some major therapy. Would specialise in that?

He could have gone for some milk and cookies, though. Even an apple. One of those airplane peanut bags that always had the crap nuts in it. Practically a five-star meal at this point.

A door opened too early. This wasn’t his room. He’d been put somewhere further down last time. His escorts didn’t get the memo; they shoved him into the new room at the same time the bag was lifted.

The door closed and locked behind him before he could move.

He met Spencer’s brown gaze, and relief zapped him like a jolt of electricity straight to his heart. He’d known Spencer was alive, but seeing him and confirming it was a hundred times better than just knowing. “You’re okay.”

“Relatively speaking,” Spencer said, a tired but amused grin on his face. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, I really put some effort into my makeup routine today. I wanted to look nice for you.”

“I can find you some tutorials on YouTube. Only way to get better is practice.”

“Well, thanks.” Sebastian gingerly stepped across the room, avoiding the dust and dirt gathering in sections on the floor, and perched on the edge of the bed against the wall. It was a sparse room, with the bed being quite literally the only piece of furniture in it. Probably had bed bugs. Better company than the thugs outside.

Spencer had his legs stretched out on the floor, back to the wall near the boarded-up window. What kind of place were they being held in?

Sebastian wasn’t getting on the floor with him. He’d never be able to get back up again with his hands like this. “They put us in the same room this time,” he remarked. Mostly for something to say. He couldn’t handle silence and being alone with his thoughts. All he would do is think about his men and how he couldn’t stand the idea of never seeing them again.

“A mysterious hole appeared in the wall in the one I was in,” Spencer said. He wriggled a little and then lifted a hand, free of the rope they’d tied him with. “None of these idiots would last on a boat, let me tell you.”

Sebastian snorted. He wriggled his shoulders, awkwardly lifting his arms to the side. “My turn?”

Spencer twirled his finger, and Sebastian swivelled around, presenting his tied hands. Moments later he was free, and feeling rushed back into his arms. He groaned and stretched them wide. Damn, that was good. There was a twinge in his shoulder that he sincerely hoped was just from being in the same position for so long. They hadn’t done anything to him below the face. Yet.

“Let me see those,” Spencer said, sitting down beside Sebastian and carefully looking over his face. He whistled low. “Knew exactly where to hit.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you feeling any dizziness or disorientation?

“No, I’m alright.” Sore. Tired. One hell of a headache.

“Walked okay?”

“Yeah. Seems like my brain is intact so far.”

“That’s something. I had to be the one to tell you but you’re not winning any beauty contests today, my friend.”

“You don’t exactly look like a prize yourself.” Spencer had been worked over too. Even had a split eyebrow, dried blood smeared over the eyelid below it, his cheek, and specks of it on his nose. So far they’d left Sebastian’s piercing alone, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they used it. They’d get frustrated—or bored—and escalate their creativity.

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