Page 24 of Tortured Eyes
Ten
I’m never drinking again. My head pounds and my body aches like a bitch. But then it comes back. Like a light show flashing behind my eyes, the scenes from earlier—and why I’m waking up feeling like shit—attacks my senses.
Crap!
I crack my eyelids, but only one opens properly, and wherever I am, it’s dark. I can’t see. My hands are free, so I reach for my gun, but it’s not where it should be. Yeah, like Logan would just give me my gun back.
There’s a sudden jolt and the rumble of an engine, and I realise where I am. I try straightening my legs, but I’m met with metal, the same for my hands as I feel around to build a picture in my head of my confines. As I continue to feel the space around me, I also check for my back-up weapon. Gone. There’s nothing in the back with me to use as leverage, nothing to break the taillights or use to my advantage.
My mind races back over the last minutes I can remember before everything went black. Watching Logan’s face contort with anger as he attacked me was the first time I’ve felt real fear in years. And I don’t mean the adrenalin fuelled kind of fear that amps you up when you're chasing a suspect, or in a high-stakes situation. I’m talking about real genuine fear for your life: body shutting down, wish you’d told your family and best friends how much they meant to you the last time you saw them kind of fear. Of course, I don’t really have those people in my life to reminisce over, but I certainly felt the gap in the seconds before Logan came for me. The sting on my cheek and across my eye smarts like a bitch. Guys don’t hit women all that often, but Logan didn’t have a problem and smacked me just like he would have a guy. Fuck, it hurt.
The motion of the car bumps and knocks me around in the confined space, but as long as we’re still moving, I don’t need to worry about what happens next. I don’t know how long we were travelling before I regained consciousness, but I try and keep an idea of how long we’ve been moving since. My concentration trips out after about thirty seconds, because every thirty seconds or so, my mind skips off and runs scenarios of what might happen. Most of them end with Logan blowing my brains out with his, or even my gun. For a split second, I curse my father’s cold cases and the words he said to me before he died.
As the situation unfolds and I struggle to come up with an outcome where I’m not dead, I question if it was all worth it. Even if I proved that the Cane family were behind all of the murders, all of the crime, will it be worth my life? Is death the real price for justice in the city?
We stop, forcing me back to my current predicament. The seconds stretch as I strain to hear anything from outside. A door slamming, the sound of footsteps? Anything. But I’m only met with a silence that only builds louder in my mind.
Finally, there’s a soft sound and footsteps before an agonising pause. Without realising, I hold my breath. The gentle pop of the trunk opening is both a relief and a worry. Dull light streams in, and I tense for another attack. None comes. I peer out, uncurling from my twisted position to find Logan standing off to the side, watching as I crouch in the trunk. He doesn’t say anything, just stares expectantly. We’re locked together for a moment, both waiting on something. A move, a command, a bullet to fly, perhaps? His eyes are cold and give nothing away, other than the pain that seeps from them. And then he walks away a few steps.
As soon as his back is turned, I jump out of the trunk and take a better look at where we are. An underground parking lot is my best guess. Only a handful of other cars are present. Only one visible entry or exit with a roller-shutter of some kind. Low-level lighting and a single elevator and stairwell in the far corner.
“Don’t try to run.” Logan’s voice carries with an echo in the confined space. “You won’t get out without the codes. And then there’s the question of your weapon.” He turns around to face me. I reach down instinctively, even though I know it’s missing. Instead, it’s in Logan’s grip.
“Move.” He tilts his head in the direction of the stairwell, but I stay put. He’s had plenty of opportunity to kill me already, so if that’s his intention, he’s taking his time. Won’t hurt if I test him along the way.
His eyes widen a fraction and something, a flicker of amusement perhaps, crosses his face before he resorts back to his former frame of mind. He storms towards me, and still, I stand my ground.
The muzzle of my own gun is pressed against my chest, grinding in against my sternum so hard I’m sure Logan can feel my racing heart through his grip.
“Don’t test me. Right now, I’m just looking for an excuse to pull this trigger." His teeth grit out the words, and I feel the restraint he’s using to keep his veneer of calm. I swallow, keeping my chin up and eyes focused on his. "I want you to pay for what you’ve done, but you fuck with me, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
Staying alive needs to be my priority right now, so I ease my stance and take a step in the direction Logan indicated. The muzzle of the gun disappears, and I take an audible breath in response.
My feet start to move, first slowly and then with more confidence. The urge to look back and check if Logan is following fills every atom of my body, but I resist. I get to the bottom of the steps and place my hand on the railing.
“Keep going,” is the command.
My feet begin to climb, and strangely, it’s reassuring that Logan’s footsteps echo after mine. I continue to trudge up the steps, spiralling around from floor to floor in anticipation of our destination.
Again, I wonder if Logan is simply drawing out my death, making me imagine where, when and how. I snicker at my own macabre thoughts, but right now, they’re stopping me from descending into panic.
“You find this funny?” He comes to stand next to me.
I haven’t spoken since he knocked me out. “No, I don’t.” He just stares, a blank look in his eyes, and then nods up the stairs. I frown and keep going, trying to find something to help me out in this situation. “I didn’t shoot your uncle. By my count, I only shot armed men who were shooting at me.” They're the facts. Although, I doubt Logan will see it quite so black and white.
“You followed me, interfered in shit that has nothing to do with cops, and got my uncle killed.” His voice is like ice, bitter and cutting.
“Those aren’t all the facts. You were dealing with the cartels, known criminals, in what looked like a drug deal, at least.” My voice is smooth and doesn’t betray the other half of my brain warning me to tread carefully. “As a police detective, it is my duty-”
“Screw your duty. Aren’t you supposed to serve and protect?” He’s stopped on the corner of the steps just before we reach another level. Maybe I can make it to the door, but then what?
“I serve and protect the people of the city. Law-abiding citizens who need someone to look out for them. Not corrupt businessmen who pay off anyone they need to see their way to the top.”
“At least you’re not delusional.”
“So, you admit it? Cane is paying off the cops to cover their illegal activity?”
A menacing chuckle sounds from his lips in response, enough to make me shiver.
