Page 51 of Wired Courage

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Day Twenty-Eight

Pim Wat tested her bonds. She’d been doing that since she’d been captured two days ago, flexing her hands against the duct tape Armita had wrapped her extremities in. So far, she hadn’t been able to get the tape to move. Armita had duct-taped her feet, too, but later had to cut that off and substitute rope since they moved her back and forth between the houses with a pillowcase on her head, so she couldn’t see where she was and fight back.

Fight back and kill all three of the foul demons who’d betrayed her: daughter, sister, beloved maid.She entertained herself with a fantasy of how she would kill each of them.

Drowning. Electrocution. Suffocation. Poison. A razor blade. Or burning . . . the possibilities were endless, but the process would definitely be slow. And painful.

The floor of the storage shed Pim Wat lay upon in her former home was filthy, and dark as a cave. The duct tape over her lips itched against her skin, and her mouth was dry. She wriggled, trying to find a comfortable position on the gritty cement floor, but there was none to be had when lying on her side with her arms bound behind her back.

They were doing this to punish her, to give her a taste of what she’d doled out to Sophie’s men, and to them, each in different ways.

Pim Wat understood that. But she wouldn’t forgive it.

What they didn’t know was that she’d trained under the Master. She was inured to cold, hunger, and pain. She could go into a little room in her mind and spend time there with pleasant memories that released endorphins, buffering her against the discomfort of temporary circumstances.

She settled into what was the best possible position given her limited options, shut her eyes, and went into a calm place more restorative than sleep.

Hours passed. Maybe days.

The screech of the old wooden door against the floor was actually a rude awakening from the sleepy trance into which Pim Wat had sent herself. She opened her eyes reluctantly, recognizing Sophie’s tall outline. She lay quietly as Sophie undid the restraint on her feet.

“I will take you to use the bathroom and get you some water. And then, we will talk,” her daughter said.

This was the first time Sophie had addressed her directly since she’d knocked Pim Wat out with her gun and Pim Wat had woken up a captive. Sophie had avoided her, delegating her care and handling to Malee and Armita. Perhaps it was because she felt guilty for treating her mother so barbarically?

Hopefully that was the case. Guilt was an emotion she could use.

Pim Wat cooperated as Sophie led her to the bathroom—all part of her strategy. Her lack of resistance was confusing to the other women; they expected her to fight and thrash, to provide them with opportunities to hurt her.She was too smart for that. She would be soft and sweet, use her big eyes to beg, and when they least expected it, when they gave her an opportunity, she would strike.

The Master had given her a gift, identifying her with the cobra.

Malee was the weakest of the three, the most conflicted about her sister’s captivity. She hadn’t seen the things the other women described Pim Wat to have done; she only knew Pim Wat’s constant bullying, the little ways Pim Wat had liked to see her suffer but had learned to conceal as they grew up.

Armita would definitely kill her given half a chance.

But Sophie? She wasn’t sure.Perhaps she still had leverage with her daughter.

Pim Wat stumbled on the stairs to test the theory—and scraped her knee severely when Sophie failed to catch or support her. She let easy tears well in her eyes and run down her face, catching on the sacrilege of duct tape over her mouth.

“Crocodile tears, I’ve heard those called,” Sophie said, hoisting Pim Wat up roughly. “Get moving. We’re on a schedule.”

Pim Wat did her business on the house’s old toilet with Sophie standing guard over her. Her daughter tipped her forward and wiped for her—all with the expression of a robot, a withdrawn coldness that she’d never had when young.

Assan Ang had taught her that face, and Pim Wat felt an unwelcome stab of regret. She’d never meant that marriage to be a bad thing for Sophie. Such a shame; Ang had ruined her sweet, biddable girl and made her into this hard, formidable woman—as the Master had done for her.Maybe they had more in common than it seemed . . .

Sophie brought Pim Wat into the empty house’s living room area and tied her to one of the dining room chairs. Pim Wat tested the ropes; they were tight but not inhumane.

Sophie ripped the tape off Pim Wat’s mouth, eliciting a cry.That adhesive hurt!Pim Wat licked fresh blood from her lip, unable to wipe it off. “How can you treat me like this?”

“You’re playing the victim. None of us is fooled.”

“I’m your mother!”

“Don’t remind me.” Sophie’s clearly marked brows drew down, and with her hands on her hips, she looked just like her father, Frank, when he was getting ready to give Pim Wat “a piece of his mind” as he used to call it. “I should treat you as you treated the men who went after my infant daughter—to rescue her fromyou, I might add. Brave, good men with families—and you gutted and decapitated them.” Sophie leaned down into Pim Wat’s face and spit on it. “That’s how I feel about you. Death is too good for you.”

Pim Wat blinked in astonishment—her daughter really hated her!She wiped the spittle from her face as best she could by rubbing it on her shoulder. “Insolent bitch.”

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