Page 3 of Fury

Motormouth’s hands gripped his neck, throttling him, and the prisoner’s legs thrashed, his heels digging into the cement. Wheezing, choking filled the dank space, the clang and ringing of metal chains straining, dragging. I swallowed hard, but I couldn’t look away. I wasn’t allowed to look away, so I watched everything. It wasn’t new, but seeing a man fight for another breath was always inspiring.

That was me, fighting for my next breath.

Motormouth released him. “You don’t mouth off like that again, you got that, you little shit? See, your fucking club ain’t coming’ to get you. They’re playing us and playing you, prospect.” He smacked Kid on the face.

The prisoner gulped for air, his arms wrenching against the chains, then finally dropping. Not giving up or giving in, just taking a much needed break. That one bloodied eye blinked, his head lolling on the cement floor. He didn’t moan or beg. He only turned away, his chest heaving for air, the skin of his throat banded with red.

“Damn, it stinks in here. Hose him down.” Motormouth belched. “I need a drink.” Footsteps. The door slammed closed, shutting out the sounds of carousing, celebrating, madness.

“Motor!”Shit.I was locked in here now.

I moved toward the small sphere of dim light over the prisoner. His head turned to me, and the eye only blinked. The jaw remained tightly held, screwed in place by mistrust, by anger, defensiveness. Or that last struggle to fight for his life no matter what I did or said. I couldn’t let go of his ferocious gaze. I didn’t want to.

Some would have already given up by now. He’d been here in a cell two days already, and his expression had yet to change. He still hadn’t opened his mouth to curse me or call me some variation of cunt or whore or bitch like I’d expected. Despite his chains, he hadn’t tried to lunge at me or kick me. No, he was motionless, watching me like a snake waiting for the right moment to launch, fangs bared to do their worst. They hadn’t yanked too many of his teeth yet. Two only, in the back, but there would probably be more taken out tomorrow.

Still, no reply.

I opened the old yellow hose and the water spurted out, splattering on the spotted cement. “Drink. Come on, drink.”

He didn’t move.

“Get all that blood and gunk off your face and hands too.”

He still didn’t move. Only the eye watched me.

“Come on. I won’t mess with you.”

A large shaky hand reached out toward the thick spray of water, his lips parted just a fraction. He glanced at me with that eye and cupped his hands, rinsing his face. The red water swirled and gurgled around the drain.

I held the hose steady as his mouth opened, and he drank and drank and drank watching me. My face heated under his unrelenting hard gaze. I shut off the water. “You need to pee? Now’s the time.”

He pushed his naked body up on the cement with his bruised and swollen hands. His dick stirred, and he peed in the direction of the puddle heading for the drain. That defined, sharp jaw finally slackened, his long hair falling over his face.

I hosed down the last of his piss as he sank back onto the floor, his dick dropping over his thigh. His dark hair splayed out behind him. His legs wide open.

I gathered the hose and arranged it in a tight circle, setting it back in its corner and went to him. “They’ll be back soon to fuck with you again,” I said, my voice low. “There’s no more food for you. Only that one piece of Wonder Bread you get every morning. So you better eat it the next time.” A shiver crawled over my skin. “I know what that’s like.”

His eye narrowed at me. Why should he believe anything I said? But I wanted him to, I did. He couldn’t be much older than me, but he’d aged overnight, ever since they told him his dad had died. He’d stayed still, quiet. Like I had those first weeks.

A lit bulb from the hallway shot a dim glow through the tiny window in the steel door. I took in his strong features. Muscular and lean, he had thinned out since they’d first brought him here. No, he wasn’t the gnarled and beefy type of biker with an attitude that I knew so well. A hard cut to his jaw, a slight indention in his chin, visible cheekbones, and the hollows beneath. His full long lips had a sensual curve to them. He was handsome.

He didn’t seem to be the loud, arrogant asshole type, although, hell, I didn’t know him, did I? Making assumptions about men was a mistake. I never looked twice at any man, or I’d be in big trouble. Anyhow, that spring of desire had dried up inside, sparks of attraction no longer existed for me. I had shut it down because it only had gotten me into trouble. A magic potion releasing a thick sweet haze that would unfurl around me, blinding me, leading me into a maze of wrong turns and dead ends. And once, a cliff. No, acting on desire only led to being at the mercy of others.

Like me, Kid was just a grunt who did what he was told. He too had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Something about him had made me stop and notice him from the very beginning. I recognized it. It mirrored how I felt on the inside. A quiet sort of defiance. Contempt with a spine of sorrow. That recognition had rooted me to the spot that first night after they’d chained him to the post. Only an eye glared at me, muscles straining.

Yes, I see you.

Vulnerability, that was it.

I had forgotten that feeling; it had hardened inside me like melted chocolate over cold marble.

I sat down on the floor next to him and that one eye stayed on me, waiting, wondering. My fingers roamed over his hair and face, and he let out a noise. Was it relief or annoyance?

I offered him a small smile. “You okay?” It was a totally stupid question, but I wanted to know.

His tongue lazily licked at his dried and bloodied swollen lower lip. His lips moved once more, but still, no words came out.

“Are y—”

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