Page 88 of Lacey's Fight

Lacey must have trashed the room. He didn’t know why but he could assume it had to do with her keep The Master busy plan.

On the large screen covering a huge portion of the wall opposite the metal framed bed was an image of Lacey.

At the sight of her, his heart clenched.

She was alive.

Something inside him relaxed at that.

That relief was short-lived as he took in more than just the sight of her alive. She was partially bent over, leaning toward the wall where she had one hand placed. Her other hand was pressed against her ear, and her head was hanging as though it were too heavy to hold up.

Dressed in a flowing, white cotton dress he noted there was no red indicating she was bleeding, but the material was clinging to her slim frame as though she were drenched in sweat.

“I can do whatever I want to you and there’s nothing—”

“Hey, put that down,” Ben ordered as he realized what was happening. The room Lacey was in was too hot, an oven specifically designed to try to torture her into telling him what he wanted to know, presumably where the little girls were. That was why Lacey’s cheeks were flushed, her forehead dotted with moisture.

Mervin was killing her.

Slowly.

And the small device in his hand must control the temperature of the room.

At the sound of his voice, Lacey’s head jerked up and Mervin spun around to face them. Even though every cell in his body called out at him to go to Lacey, find where she was, reassure her, and save her, he kept his attention focused on The Master because that was the only way to save her.

“What—? You can’t … How did you … Who are you and how did you find me?” Mervin demanded, looking utterly furious.

“Put the controller down,” Ben repeated. Lacey was swaying on her feet, and he was terrified that the temperature in the room she was locked in was continuing to rise.

“I’m in charge here, nobody tells me what to do,” Mervin screeched. There was a wildness in the man’s dark blue eyes that spoke of every horrific thing he had endured as a child and every horrific act he had committed as an adult.

Ben was under no illusion that Mervin could be reasoned with. The fact that he had been abandoned by his father, abused by his mother, and tormented by his peers didn’t mean he had an ounce of empathy for Lacey or any of his other victims.

The man was a monster.

Without conscience.

And would not go down easily or give up.

“We know who you are, Mervin,” Ghost said, his tone a whole lot more soothing than Ben could have made his own. “We know everything. About your mom and what she did to you. The kids at school, how they bullied you. We know you want revenge on those boys and that you took four baby girls twenty-four years ago.”

Instead of either confirming or denying their claims, Mervin merely shot daggers at them with his eyes. “My mother loved me,” he hissed.

In the man’s twisted mind, Ben was sure he saw his mother’s abuse as her love, but he couldn’t be more wrong. They had no idea of the extent of Mable’s involvement but at the very least she had helped her son abduct Lacey, likely she had helped him with a whole lot more.

“It’s over, Mervin. You aren’t leaving here unless it’s in handcuffs or a body bag and I hope you choose the handcuffs,” Ghost said.

Ben hoped the opposite.

He wanted the man dead.

There was not a hint of doubt in his mind that Mervin felt the same way.

The man needed control, needed to make up for everything that had been done to him as a child by inflicting that same pain on others, no way would he survive a jail cell.

“If I’m dying today, I’m taking her with me,” Mervin snarled. Pressing something on the controller he held at the same time he reached into his waistband.

Ben didn’t hesitate.

---