Page 38 of Healing Creek
Diablo smiled, showing prominent canines. “I’m only here to keep everyone else out.”
Creek lifted his eyebrows.
“Not you. The women.”
“Ah! Did anyone tell them…” Even as he asked, he knew the early hour was probably meant to deter them. Let them sleep in peace while the Dogs took care of the less savory business.
“We were surprised you weren’t first here this morning.”
“Grace needed me.”
Diablo nodded as if satisfied with the answer then waved him to the door.
When he stepped inside, the room was quiet except for the heavy breathing of the man tied to a chair in the middle of the empty space. Only a single camera mounted on the ceiling disturbed the bland whiteness of the interior.
Patel’s jaw was purple and swollen, but other than the labored breathing he looked calm. Creek strode to the center of the room and took the man’s chin in his hand.
“I see you decided to be stupid and provoke them.”
Patel winced but said nothing. His lip was split where one of his teeth had broken through.
Mercury and Carn hovered over the man, front and back. They looked calm and content to let things play out in their own time. They’d all seen enough death and torture to know a beating was rarely effective. Besides, just having the Arena Dogs in the room was probably making Patel uncomfortable. In Creek’s experience, anticipation was worse than pain. But this man was a trained mercenary, not only as good as they were at taking a beating but also patient.
“I suppose you’ve refused to turn on your employers?”
The man shook his head. “Not at all. I simply don’t have anything to tell. They never told me where the scientist was being held.”
“But there’s always something to be shared. Hmm?”
“You already know we were working for Roma.”
“How were you to get in touch with them? Where were you to meet?”
Silence.
Creek crouched down in front of Patel. He looked him over making it clear in his eyes that he found the man contemptable. “Do you know who I am?”
Patel didn’t answer.
“Most importantly, I am the protector of the woman you tried to take.” Creek felt the words deep in his soul. “She’s my woman and your treatment of her will not go unpunished.”
The man’s breathing picked up a bit. “Do you know who she is? Why they really want her?” He clenched and unclenched his fists, straining against the plasmold bonds. “I don’t even know. But I can tell you it doesn’t have anything to do with her sister.”
“But you don’t know?”
Patel huffed and turned a little green. Probably wishing he hadn’t tried to be clever. It was a tell that the man would break. Surprising.
“Give me the room.” Creek didn’t actually care if the others left or stayed, but he thought the demand might add a little fear to Patel’s worries.
He stood up and looked down at the man. He looked small and weak in his bonds. Creek dragged the chair, and Patel, over to the wall.
“I’m Creek of House Yazzi. I tear humans like you apart, limb from limb, as a warmup.” He reached down and wrapped his finger in one of the restraints. Plasmold was almost impossible to break.
He’d had plenty of practice.
He pulled hard and fast and the stretchy substance snapped. It left a deep gouge in Patel’s now bloody wrist, but it snapped on the first try.
Patel yanked his arm up to his chest, curling over it as if that could protect him from further injury.
