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Jesus. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.
Guilt washes through me, despite the knowledge that this is the man who tried to kill me.
They’re torturing him . . . for me.
“Can I ask him some questions?”
All eyes in the room turn to lock with me and suddenly, I feel a tad out of place. A set of stormy gray ones, in particular,bore into mine with the intensity of a thousand hurricanes from across the room.
Mason’spissed.
My cheeks flame as I take in the other people. All people I don’t recognize. Some I do. The two that checked out my throat the night of the attack are here, but neither shows any expression on their faces. Logan Prince, sans the suit, stands in front of the man, little flecks of blood on his white dress shirt. Other people I don’t know, but who all seem to know me as they look amongst themselves.
“And what do you need to ask him, Ms. Gaines?” Logan sneers. You know, for as handsome as he is, he really is an ass sometimes. Must be the FBI in him.
I shrug. “That’s for him to know.”
Mason looks like he’s ready to either kill me or fuck me into oblivion. I can’t decide which. Maybe a bit of both.
“Look, he attacked me, not you guys and he’s pretty well tied to that table, so I don’t think it’s going to happen again. You can stand right outside, but I don’t think torturing him is the best course of action.”
“You know we have guards who should have shot you for coming in here?” Logan challenges, completely glossing over the fact that I just asked to speak to the man he’s currently torturing.
“Well, they didn’t.” When he stares at me some more, I roll my eyes. “Look, that’s between you and your agents. I just want to get to the bottom of this and you don’t seem to be doing a very good job, considering there’s a battery hooked up to his, um, bits.”
Logan stares at me for a moment and I have to admit, he’s fucking terrifying. It could be the dark, dark-gray eyes, but there’s also this unkillable energy. Like he could walk through the fires of hell and come out with a light tan.
“You have ten minutes.”
He stalks toward the door and with a wave of his fingers, the others follow like he’s a king in a room of peasants. I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. Mason, on the other hand, hangs back, staring at me darkly from across the room.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, but he doesn’t seem convinced, looking back at the man who stares between us like if he moves a single muscle, he might get ripped to shreds. Hell, he’s probably still scared of Mason and his diabolical crowbar swing.
He points a finger at the man, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You touch her, it’s your life.”
Mason shoots me a look that tells me I’ll have hell to pay for this later. Then he stalks toward the door and shuts it behind him with a harsh slam.
I’m now completely alone with the man who tried to murder me.
Now that I’m seeing him in this light, I can tell he’s young. Younger than me. He’s practically shaking when I approach, stepping gingerly over the puddle of bodily fluids mixed on the floor.
He hisses through his teeth when I very cautiously kneel down beside him, gingerly removing the battery cables from his balls.
“I’m sorry they did this to you,” I murmur softly and he doesn’t respond as I very quickly drop the cables from whatever they could have on them.
Ew.
I take the chair in front of me and move it around to sit next to him, away from the urine and blood staining the floor.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not. I’m afraid of them.” He looks behind me and I follow his gaze to the two-way mirror.
“Yeah,” I agree, turning back to him. “I imagine I would be, too, in your shoes.”
Finally, the kid’s gaze turns to mine.
“My name is Hannah, but I’m assuming you already know that?”
