Page 75 of Man of the Year

“This”—the corners of his lips curl downward—“will affect your nervous system and brain, soifyou ever wake up, you’ll be lucky if you remember your name.”

Oh, god…“Is that what you gave Cara?” I snap, and he frowns. “The one who went home with Rosenberg last week?”

His expression becomes suddenly concerned. “Oh, that’s interesting. If that’s the slut from the club, then she must’ve gotten the blue one. She said some things she shouldn’t have. We have a reputation to protect here. Now, you, on the other hand…” He brings the blue cartridge close to my face and taps my nose with it.

“Please, don’t,” I beg. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse. I’ll leave town. I’ll go away?—”

“You will.”

He leans closer.

I try to shift back, farther away from him. “Nick, please,” I beg and shake my head. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever Rosenberg did, you are not part of it. It’s not your fault. I won’t tell anyone. You are?—”

He slaps my face so hard that my head hits the floor. I gasp and hold my breath, trying to fight the pain and dizziness.

Nick’s harsh words pulsate in my head as he speaks. “You should’ve minded your own business. There’s no chance you are getting out of this alive, doll. You understand, don’t you?”

His low chuckle makes my eyes snap open, tears blurring his cruel features.

“Please,” I beg.

“I’m curious how much you’ve uncovered,” he says. “That’s the only reason I’m letting you stay alive for another”—he checks his wristwatch—“until tonight, I guess.”

His phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and grunts. “Moron,” he mutters and clenches his jaw but doesn’t pick up. His gaze slowly slides up my body. “Unfortunately, I have to cut our date short. You just so happen to be sitting on a very sensitive asset. So guard it with your life.” He pouts his lips in playful pity. “My little feisty dragon guarding the treasure,” he coos.

Huh?

He reaches for my face and slowly drags his finger from my chin, down my body, giving my thigh a casual pat.

I clench my teeth in disgust.

“I do want to know what else you found out in this house,” Nick says. “As well as who else you told about this. But that will have to be when I come back. Right now, you are getting a very small dose of the red pill.”

“No-no-no-no. Please,” I beg.

“I need you quiet for the foreseeable future. Even though no one will hear you here anyway.”

“Where are we?” I choke out.

“Home, doll, home.”

He studies me with some sardonic amusement as he twirls the red cartridge between his fingers, then pops the top off and rearranges it for a stab.

“Please, don’t,” I beg, trying to appeal to his better judgment.

“Oh.” He pauses suddenly. “Out of curiosity, for when the time comes, and that will have to be soon. What would you prefer? Suicide? Or your body wrapped in a blanket, stuffed in a trash bag, and buried in a landfill?”

Anger and despair rise in me like a tide. “You…” I start thrashing on the floor, pointlessly trying to yank my hands out of the restraints.

Nick laughs in my face, the sound of it chilling. Then he fists the hair at the back of my head and brings my face close to his. The pain of a hundred needles prickling my scalp makes me gasp, but he tightens his hold on my hair even more.

The only rebellion I can manage is a loud spit in his face.

His smile vanishes. Pure hate flickers in his eyes. “I guess you belong in the trash, doll. You shouldn’t have come here.”

The stab of the syringe feels slightly familiar. The warmth starts spreading through my body, numbing it.

Stupid. I’m so, so stupid.

---