Page 106 of Scorching Sienna

I stumble back as movement behind me catches my attention. A massive man, clad in chains, is brought in. His prison jumpsuit strains against his enormous frame, looking two sizes too small for someone this size. His muscles bulge, and the veins on his neck are raised. He has a tear tattoo under his left eye, and when his gaze catches mine, I am floored by the color—a brilliant turquoise, like the beaches of Cancun.

“This is Bobby ‘one fist’ Brown. He is in prison for murder.Though his victims are specific. He only targets rapists. And his name has been earned in the very specific way he delivers justice to the victims of those monsters. I thought these two should meet.”

I snap my mouth shut when I realize it is hanging open. Damon’s words form a jumbled image in my mind, merging with the image in reality. It was clear what would happen here.

Bobby eyes Lowrens, whose ass is spread wide thanks to the straps and design of the metal bed. His hearing is not impaired, so his eyes are as wide as mine, understanding like I have what is about to happen to him.

“Come. You won’t stay for this. The sedative should kick in soon, and when you wake up, everything will be over.”

“Sedative?” I ask, confused.

He points to the bottle of water I slipped into my jacket pocket.

“Don’t be angry with me. I think staying awake and mulling over this is not useful. You have been through a lot. Bob will take you home to sleep. I will be there when this is done.”

As if his words create the feeling, I start feeling sleepy, even yawning before capturing it with my palm. I’m not angry with him. I don’t have the energy to be. It has been a lot. There is no denying it, and this is precisely what I want. To escape, even just for a short while.

Bob is standing at the entrance to the warehouse, his eyes everywhere as usual. Always watching.

Damon stops us just before we get to him, spinning me around to face him.

“This changes nothing between us.” He holds my hand up and kisses my finger with the ring on before leaning in and capturing my lips. The kiss is gentle and sweet, and I melt into him.

“Can’t you come with me?” I ask when we finally pull apart, his expression torn.

“I want to. But I must see this through.” I nod, understanding. He was doing this for both of us. God knows I couldn’t see what was about to happen. My made-up visuals were already distributing enough, imagine the reality. A shiver racks my body at the thought, and he dips his head in Bob's direction.

“I will see you soon, rainbow.”

With a final look, I turn around and walk towards Bob, not looking back. I didn’t want to remember this place.

And I wouldn’t. After tonight, all of this would be my past. Damon would be my future.

Chapter 27

Shadow

If Lowrens could scream, he would, but currently, he is passed out. For the umpteenth time. In the beginning, he was able to maintain at least ten minutes of consciousness, but after just an hour, his body is shutting down, and he is passing out every other minute. It is probably due to a lack of oxygen.

The bed has moved so far forward with the activities taking place at the rear that Lowrens is beyond deep-throating the mechanized object, and now it is so far down I wonder how he hasn’t choked to death or choked on his vomit. His neck is also starting to swell from the trauma. He has minutes left. The pool of blood under the metal bed has increased in volume, and I estimate he has lost about thirty-five percent of his blood. More than forty percent was fatal.

Bobby ‘One Fist’ Brown’s nickname and the arm attached to it is covered in blood and bodily excretions. His whole body has a sheen of sweat from exertion.

When Gavin dips his head toward me, I approach.

“He is awake. And he seems to be trying to communicate.”

“Whatever he says now will be his last words. There is not much time,” I mumble to Gavin as we approach the entrance to the container.

The smell is disgusting, even for me, but I shove the queasy feeling down.

Lowrens’ eyes are bulging, and there are cut marks from the double-pronged collar around his neck.

Even bloodshot, his eyes plead for mercy.

I push the bed back and watch as the mechanized item exits his mouth, along with bile, spit, and blood. He cannot cough or splutter, and there is no way anything is going into his mouth now as it almost seems to swell shut as he wheezes through his nose. I unlatch the collar, and his head flops forward. As much as it can with the swelling.

“Loosen his hand and give him a pen and paper,” I say to Gavin when I see talking is a thing of the past for Lowrens. The Reaper. Sienna’s father’s murderer. And torturer of countless other women we may never know of.

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