Page 60 of Hidden Heir

“Ah-ah,” he says. “What did I tell you about struggling?”

“Please,” I sob, losing myself to the hot, pulsing agony that radiates down my arm. “Please, I can’t tell you what I don’t l know!”

Paul scoffs and adjusts his position to grab my other hand. I immediately attempt to curl in on myself to hide my hand from the same agony but Paul is stronger. He wrenches my arm away from my body, shifting his knee from my chest to my wrist. Pinned down, there’s nothing I can do as he forces my hand flat, presses the tip of the second nail against my palm, and hammers it through.

Searing, burning pain rips through my hand and every instinct left inside me demands I move away from the pain but I can’t. Even the slightest movement radiates biting agonythrough my hands and up my forearms. There’s nothing left for me to do but cry.

The tears pour fast and hot down my raw cheeks. I’m surprised I even have any tears left to shed, considering how long I’ve been here. In the beginning, when Paul stripped me naked and beat me with a cane, I tried not to cry. I wanted to show that I was strong, and he didn’t scare me, but he wore me down pretty quickly. Torture is nothing like I’ve seen in the movies. I expected to be left alone in darkness, beaten a few times, and have someone yelling in my face, but it’s not like that at all.

It’s constant. Paul is always there, taking his time to slice an unknown pattern into my back until nothing exists there but fire and pain. He caresses my cheek then in the same movement, dunks my head into a bucket of ice-cold water, holding me there until I’ve taken in a lungful of liquid. He broke my wrist by stamping on it repeatedly after he threatened to fuck me with a rusty rail spike and I bit him on the neck. The only reason he hasn’t, in his words, is that he can still sell what’s between my legs if I don’t tell him what he wants to know.

I’ve been beaten, cut, drowned, locked in a frozen room then smothered under a cloth and scalding hot water, had bones broken and flesh split.

I still can’t tell him what he wants to know because I don’t know. I’ve never known.

He simply doesn’t believe me.

“Brooke,” Paul says, grasping my bruised face and digging his fingers painfully into my swollen jaw. “What part of this is not getting through to you? All you need to do is tell me where the drugs are, and all of this will stop.”

Blood floods through my mouth from where my teeth sunk into the back of my tongue the last time he punched me. I try togather it and spit it in his face but I lack the energy. Instead, the blood drools out of my mouth and mingles with my tears.

“I keep telling you,” I say around his embedded fingers. “I don’t know.”

“And I know you’re bullshitting me,” Paul replies. He retracts his hand and grabs me by the throat, pulling me up a few inches from the floor. Doing so causes my hands to pull against the nails embedded in them, and I scream as white-hot agony sears through my palms.

“I don’t know!” I shout in his face. “I don’t know! I don’t! How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t fucking know!”

Paul snarls in disgust and releases me, the back of my head bouncing against the stone floor. I close my eyes, weeping softly as my entire body throbs.

I wish for death.

I have no idea where anyone else is. The only light in my infinite darkness is that I know Paul doesn’t have my daughter. If he did, he’d be using her against me to get his answers. I would make up so much shit and have him running in circles just to keep her safe.

“You’re making things so much more difficult on yourself,” Paul says, walking away from me. “I’ve been kind, don’t you think? I could have had every guard in this place fucking you until your hips broke but I chose not to. Because I’m a nice guy.”

I’d laugh if I had the energy.

“Of course, that’s ultimately where you’re going to end up. Because one way or another, I will get the money I’m owed.”

“Do it,” I gurgle through a mouthful of blood. “Can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“You’re so stubborn over something that is worth nothing to you,” Paul says. “Are you thinking you can sell that shit if you ever get out of here? You won’t make anywhere near seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

Opening my eyes, I look at Paul through a foggy haze. He’s obsessed with that number. A combination of the drugs stolen and what heclaimsis damages, rounding the total amount to seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If I’ve learned anything from Leon, that amount is pocket change, so why does he care so much?

“I’d m-make more than you,” I say, my voice trembling. “Why do you care so damn much about that particular number? Surely you make triple that in a single weekend.”

“We’re not here to talk about what I do,” Paul mutters, walking away from me. It reminds me of Ant when he wants to avoid a subject. Finally, in a single stroke of light, it hits me.

“You’re not a big fish, are you?”

“What?”

“You. I thought you were a big fish but you’re not. You’re nothing more than a minnow. You’re a fucking weasel with no future, chasing something that doesn’t exist because seven hundred and fifty thousand is a lot to you. If you were a big deal in charge, that number wouldn’t mean anything.” A wheezing laugh escapes my throat as Paul advances back to me.

He drops down onto his knees and grabs one of the nails embedded in my hands. When he twists it, my laughter turns to weakened screams of pain and I attempt to turn away from him. He grabs my jaw and brings his face close.

“You’re not laughing now, are you bitch?” he spits. “This is your last chance. I’ve been plenty fucking patient but this is the end. Tell me where you stashed the drugs, or tomorrow I’ll sell you to the highest bidder, and the last thing you’ll see before I burn your fucking eyes out is my cock, understand?”

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