Page 40 of Killer Bones

Carafes of water or wine sit on the tables along with silver cutlery, glasses, and goblets. Between the tables, in the middle of the floor, is a set of stocks.

Archaic, medieval-style stocks, with places for the head and hands to be locked down.

I know that is meant for me, so I refuse to examine it. Against the wall, two black-clad waitresses stand, wearing short, pleated skirts but demure tops. They eye me, impassively.

The movers and shakers, the rich men and women this was organized for, will be sitting here soon, in this room. Watching. Laughing. Wanking, if their name is Montez. My hatred of him boils to the surface. If I can hang onto that hate, I can weather this.

Voices sound behind me, from somewhere near the atrium we just vacated.

Adelmo’s voice.

He is here, chatting casually and ambling forward with two other men. They’re heading for where I stand. The others are Montez and Kasimir Stern. Kasimir’s thick, tousled black hair and small beard are instantly recognizable from the news. This is the man who wants to be the next president, and his hands are stained with murder and worse. Everyone knows it, and no one does anything.

Adelmo sees me, where I wait with two men guarding me, and he pays me zero attention.

It’s a knife to my heart—a small dubious knife. I trust you. I trust you not. How long have I known him? It’s been one day, something over twenty-four hours, and for most of that time he was sexually torturing me. Sure, he made me come. That he enjoyed doing it, too, would be a black mark against him in most people’s worlds.

Not in mine.

Have I promised the world to a monster?

I shouldn’t take that indifference as anything bad. He’s busy.

“This is her? Izabella Fenway?” Kasimir asks.

“Put her on her knees,” Montez commands, and I’m pushed down, the men’s hands on my shoulders, until my knees thump, painfully, onto the tiled floor. “Yes. This is her. A good catch, no? Our friend here, Mr. Smith, will be putting on a show with her, fucking her, some cutting perhaps. What is to your taste, Kasimir?”

The fake friendliness in that repulsive offer is clear, though I’m concentrating on the floor. I will not meet their eyes.

“No. Don’t. Just shoot her. A bullet in the head and be done with it.”

“What?” Montez is obviously aghast.

So am I. How can I be saved? Indeed, no matter what is decided, how is it he thought it was possible?

Maybe it never was. Maybe he raised hope to keep me happy…or to make this moment even more shocking.

“Do it. Kill her. I’m not having her screaming while we negotiate.”

Fuck.

“I rather liked Montez’s idea.” That’s Adelmo, and he comes around behind me, though I refuse to acknowledge him. He lowers himself. His breath ghosts across my back, and his hands rummage there, grabbing the zip-tie binding me. There is a snick, and I feel the release when he cuts me free. My bad hand is throbbing again but it’s the least of my worries.

“We should put her in the stocks,” he says. “At least for a while? Let’s have some fun.”

I dare to look up as he moves away. He is supposed to save me. He cut the bindings. He must have a reason?

I won’t beg. I won’t. Then I lock onto him, and he regards me as if he’s felt the weight of my gaze.

Nothing. I see nothing in his eyes. No feelings, apart from resignation and possibly hostility.

Despair claws a nest inside me and settles there, cooing to itself. My stomach rebels, swarming as it is with rot, lies, and betrayal. I may vomit on someone.

“No.” That’s Kasimir again, interjecting firmly. “No. Take her outside where one of the men has a gun. Shoot her. Dispose of her body later. No torture, no rape.”

“Really?” Adelmo asks him again.

“Yes, fucking really.” Now Kasimir has steel in his eyes.