Page 9 of Love of the Egoist
GAWKING AT HIS SURROUNDING, Kuon expected to be brought to the familiar office down the corridor, but instead, the man took him upstairs. Closed doors prevented Kuon from drawing a good mental map with all the ins and outs, but he managed to grasp the insides of one storeroom and a dining room. He was still staring back at the grand staircase when Greg opened a door and pushed him inside.
The smell of chlorine filled his nostrils, bringing back the horrible memories of that godforsaken basement decorated with orchids. Kuon shivered, shaking off the flashback as he spun around, observing the clinical bathroom.
“Huh?” He threw a brief look over his shoulder at Greg, expecting some kind of explanation.
A bathroom? Now? What kind of a joke is that after all this time? This doesn’t make sense… but…The blood rushed through his veins, and his muscles tensed. His head worked with a processor’s speed, analyzing all the possibilities. His feverish gaze jumped from one object to another in an attempt to find something useful but kept moving, never catching anything.
The bathroom was too plain: bluish-gray marble walls, minimal furniture, shower cubicle with frosted glass walls, vanity sink, and a toilet behind the half-open chestnut door. No razors, no toothbrushes. Stripped clean, it lacked anything that could be used as a weapon. Even the frosted glass looked tempered and thick. He wouldn’t be able to break it with bare hands.
Greg didn’t wait for Kuon to undress. Grabbing his elbow, he shoved him into the shower cubicle and turned on the water. Icy cold sprays hit Kuon’s skin. He shuddered, but in a few seconds the water warmed.
“I think Boss has taken an interest in you. Wash yourself well and don’t try anything funny. If you’re good maybe he’ll let you go when he gets tired of you.”
Kuon was dumbfounded at how talkative the guard had become. His brain wrapped the words around but took its time with absorbing the meaning.
What?The question died on his lips as he found the answer in front of his eyes. The sight of a small rectal syringe, placed on the tiny metal shelf, froze the blood in his veins. Sparks of water ricocheting from his skin, beaded all over the blue silicon it was made of, and slid down smooth, round sides.
No way…He stepped back, trying to shake off the obvious hallucination.This isn’t happening.This shit isn’t happening!
His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to process everything.Did he say that in a few minutes I will become the fucking bitch of the man I’ve been chasing for the last year? Did I get that right?
Ripples of adrenaline rushed through his limbs, and his blood pressure elevated. Kuon hung his head, cloaking his eyes in the cascades of water pouring down from the shower head.
No fucking way.Despair spread in his guts, and he pressed his hands against bleak, wet tile in an attempt to control the adrenaline tremor.Over my dead body.
Warm water ran down his face, blurring his vision, but it also provided the perfect cover. His gaze darted around from under his lowered lashes. The glass shower door stood wide opened, and he doubted he could slam it fast enough to win some time or to hurt Greg. Escaping the limits of the cubicle, streams of water poured out into a few small puddles on the floor, probably making it slippery. He stole a glance at Greg’s feet. His military boots, mismatching with his classic but baggy suit, had thick anti-skid soles. Barefoot, Kuon would break his neck before he could make Greg slip on the wet floor. The build-in shower looked solid, and he wouldn’t be able to wrench the fittings out of the wall. He sighed, finding nothing he could use.
He shot a glance at Greg, trying to figure out his weak points.
Knees? With his weight, his knees must be weak. If I aim…
“Stay still,” Greg warned, his eyes unreadable. He took a knife out of the leather sheath hanging on his belt and moved closer. Kuon stiffened watching the light die on the black, all-absorbing surface of the military double serrated blade. The Gerber Mark II was a knife Kuon wouldn’t mind having himself. The knife warned Kuon not to do anything stupid.
The touch of the steel stole his breath.
Guided along his handcuffed wrist, the knife filled the air with the sound of the tearing fabric. Kuon flinched when the shirt he’d been wearing for days smacked against the tile floor.
Under different circumstances, he would have felt relieved to get such dirty and bloody clothes off him. Now, he couldn’t help feeling exposed.
Greg, who didn’t appear to be even the slightest bit embarrassed by another man’s nudity, squatted down in front of him and started ripping at his jeans.
This is a perfect chance… I have to try…
Kuon twisted his torso and turned his hip, putting all his weight on his left leg, then crushed the guard’s ear with a right-side knee strike. At least his ear was where he aimed. Either his muscles had atrophied from inactivity and weren’t fast enough, or the guard expected an attack. Kuon’s knee missed his head and skated down Greg’s forearm, raised in a block.
The back-blow to his abdomen came without delay. Thrown back against the wall, Kuon doubled over in gut-wrenching pain. The middle of his back hit the shower faucet, and all his nerve endings screamed in agony. His knees buckled as he sank to the floor on his butt. Water splashed around his hips, and he leaned forward tugging his knees to his chest.
He tried to gasp, but his lungs numbed and millions of black flies stained his vision, depriving him of seeing or hearing anything.
Kuon sucked in some air, and his central vision cleared. He dropped his head, absorbing the pain and trying to accommodate it within his body without losing control over his limbs. Pulling himself together, he tried to get up; his hand slapped then slid down the slippery tile wall.
Greg’s face was a living resemblance of a Moai statue—emotionless. His wide palm slapped Kuon’s chest, pushing him back on the floor. He squatted down again and picked up where he left off, getting the wet fabric off his prisoner’s body. His military boots stood in the water near Kuon’s crotch. His hands worked fast. One seized Kuon’s leg above the knee as the other cut on his jeans.
When the keen steel touched Kuon’s thighs, the detective gave it a last try. Hoping for the best, he grabbed Greg’s arm with his cuffed hands and launched forward. A blaze of pain inflamed his left side when the knife ripped open his skin. The short moment of confusion was enough for Kuon to direct the guard’s arm between his torso and triceps. He flipped his hands forward, shoving the handcuffs under Greg’s armpit, then forced his right elbow up as his fist went down, wrapping and tightening the chain around Greg’s biceps. Pressing his elbow on the man’s shoulder, he dove forward, aiming his forehead at Greg’s nose, but instead head-butting Greg’s jaw.
With an animalistic roar, Greg pulled back and shoved Kuon aside with inhuman force. The side of Kuon’s head whacked against the tile wall, and a huge fist collided with his temple, imprinting him into nothingness.
CHAPTER 3
