Page 78 of The Devil's Den

I grind my teeth, my shoulder hurting like hell, and I grow less out of it.

The van pulls out. “You got the shit?” one of them asks.

“Yeah, I got it. You gonna do it?”

“I guess.” There’s silence for a moment until he talks again. “Can’t believe he sent his own daughter out to the buyer.”

“He’s a sick fuck. Don’t tell him I said that though.”

He’s selling her? Fucking hell!

The desperation to find her grows by the second. If I’m too late, she could be on a plane to the other side of the world. My pulse pounds with a deafening beat.

“I won’t say shit. By the way, the wife asked if you wanted to come over for dinner. She’s making chicken casserole.”

“Cool. I’ll be there.”

These assholes are talking dinner when Aida is who knows where? I can’t wait to fucking kill them.

I don’t know how long we drive before they stop and get out, their footfalls crunching, then both lug me out, one grabbing my feet, the other my arms.

Playing dead or unconscious is easy. I’m sure they checked my pulse and know I’m still in there. His wife will be serving dinner to their corpses.

They throw me onto the ground. My fingertips flicker against the dirt beneath. I fight the need to jump and rip their throats out. But I’m good at waiting. I’ve been waiting for so long.

“I gotta go get the shovels. Agnelo said to drug him if he wakes up.”

“Yeah, I know. Hurry up. It’s damn creepy here.”

One runs off, while the other beside me mutters shit I can’t make out. A minute later, they start to dig.

“Fuck, I never realized how hard it was digging a grave.”

“I’m sweating balls.”

“Me too, man. Poor guy’s gonna get buried alive. You can’t piss off the Bianchis.”

“So young too. Wonder what he did to end up in that basement.”

“Who the hell knows? Look at Agnelo the wrong way?”

They both laugh.

Won’t be giggling soon, motherfuckers.

Sometime later, they’re finally done. “All right. Let’s do this shit,” one says as I open my eyes just enough to see them, their feet nearing, the shovels just an inch or two away, swaying in their grasp.

As soon as one grabs my arm, I kick my legs out, hitting them both square in the chest. Lucky I had my sneakers on when they took me.

“Get the gun!” one shouts as he falls.

But it’s too late. I flip up to my feet, ignoring the pain radiating through my arm, the blood dripping down the length of it, and I retrieve both shovels, snapping one across the neck of the guy before me. His mouth drops open, his hands falling to his throat, now spilling with blood.

“Al! Fuck!” the other asshole screams. “Stay back! I got a gun.” His hand trembles as it falls to his waistband.

I throw one of the shovels away. “A little tip.” A callous smile wraps around my mouth as I near. “Next time you wanna bury a man alive, make sure he’s actually unconscious.” I swing the shovel and it lands hard on the top of his head. He drops heavily on the ground, groaning, the gun slipping out of his pants. I kick it away, lowering on top of him, a knee pushing into his chest.

Raising the shovel, I bury it hard into his neck and watch as it sinks into him, blood spouting out. Sudden rage overcomes me, and the next thing I know, I’m on my feet, the shovel slamming into his neck over and over as I scream with all the fury sitting dormant within me, my face covered in blood. I can taste it on my tongue as drops land past my lips. When I’m finally done, his head is barely hanging onto his body.

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