Page 65 of Edge of Ruin
“We won’t kill you. Not yet. John will be careful. He’s a specialist, you see. He can inflict excruciating pain without causing mortal injury, particularly if the subject is healthy and strong-willed. As I can see that you are.” He chucked me under the chin with the gun. “You may not be all that pretty by the time your sisters join you, but never fear. You’ll still be able to contribute to the brainstorming.”
“Another thing,” John said, fiddling with the camera. “This guy you’re fucking. I don’t want any surprises. Who is he? And where is he?”
I swallowed, hard. “He’s no one. And nowhere.”
John slow clapped sarcastically. “Brave words. But we’ll get it out of you. Or maybe Siebling. Whoever cracks first.”
“John, go do a final check,” Haupt directed. “We were going to take you to a different location, but I’ve decided that this atmospheric place is even better for our purposes. It looks like the unit next to yours is not occupied, and I doubt the other inhabitants of this establishment will call the police even if they do hear you screaming. Chances are, they’ve got problems of their own.” He stroked her hair. “What an amazing color. Perhaps I’ll keep the hair, too. But later for that. Let’s get on with it. John, tie her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack
My heart thudded like a jackhammer when I saw the van parked at the end of the Evergreen Acres complex. I killed the engine and let the truck roll silently down the downward grade toward the parking lot. There was a black SUV with tinted windows parked a few units up from the battered van. Shiny and new. Worth a hundred and forty thousand bucks. Glaringly out of place.
I pulled up the emergency brake, wondered for a split second if it would be smarter to wait for reinforcements.
Hah. Definitely smarter, but who cared? Waiting was not an option.
I left the door open and slunk along the row of dingy, scarred doors in the long, gray-painted cinder-block complex.
I came to the last window. Edna was barking inside, shrilly and desperately. I heard men’s voices, talking. A man laughing, nastily. The smart crack of a blow, a feminine cry of pain, bravely choked off. Vivi.
I had years of experience, training. I knew better than to let rage control me, but the force that moved me felt more like demonic possession. I whipped up the H&K and squeezed off a shot through the window toward the ceiling. Glass shattered. Shouts, frantic yelling. I flung myself at the door full force and took the fucker right off its hinges. I swung the gun around wildly as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
The thunk of a silenced pistol, and a bullet rustled my hair, punching into the cement blocks behind me. Dust and debris flew, stinging the back of my neck.
I returned fire. The bearded hulk of a guy dove behind the bed, where Vivi lay hog-tied, twisted into a knot on her side. Her eyes were on me, wide and terrified. The muzzle of the silenced gun rested on her ribs.
The guy peeked up over her body. He squeezed off a shot, and I dropped, noticing with eerie clarity how the carpet was disintegrating into stinking chunks. I peered beneath the bed. Shot from below, right underneath it.
A squeal, like a stuck pig. A hit. Yes. I followed up my advantage, scrambling up to my knees and waiting for the big scowling guy to peep up over Vivi’s body.
He crawled out, clutching his bloody right arm, howling something unintelligible. Bullets sang by my shoulder and punched into the easy chair. Stuffing flew. One of them slammed into a plasterboard armoire, splintering it.
I somersaulted, rolled up to my feet, and whipped my leg up, knocking the gun from the man’s hands. It hit the wall, then the floor. My gun swung up, took aim?—
“One more move, and her head explodes,” a cracked voice rasped.
My head jerked around. A hideous, goblin-like man clutched Vivi’s trussed body against his. His pistol was shoved under her chin. Her breath hitched. Her bright eyes were fixed on mine, wide and desperate.
The old man giggled shrilly. “Drop the gun. Or I’ll kill her.”
I doubted that was true. Whatever these fucker’s kinky plans were, they involved live D’Onofrio women, not dead ones.
But I could be wrong. And my whole universe hung on that yes-or-no question.
I preferred to die rather than get it wrong.
The old guy edged along the wall, dragging Vivi’s slight body for a shield. “Drop the gun!” he shrilled. “I will kill her! I swear it!” He jabbed the barrel against Vivi’s soft, white throat. She made a desperate, choking sound.
My hands opened. The H&K dropped to the floor.
“Cut her hands and feet free,” the old guy ordered curtly.
The burly younger man, clutching his bleeding arm, gave the old guy a stupid, confused look. “Huh? What the fuck?”
“She must drive the van, you moron!” the old man shrieked.
