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Still, nothing.
“What do you want? Money?” I ventured as he squatted down in front of me, holding the water bottle out at an angle like I was a fucking gerbil. “I’ll double whatever it is they’re paying you.”
He smirked. “Nice try.”
“Are you sure? What if I triple it? Come on. Google me. You know I’ll be good for it.”
“Not happening.”
“Well, if that’s your decision.” I sighed and looked away, trying to appear crestfallen. My right arm flew out from behind my back, driving the point of the ice pick through his temple.
His brown eyes popped open, along with his mouth, in a stupidly stunned expression.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I made a face at him, slowly pulling the ice pick back out. “You had a choice. It’s not my fault you chose wrong.”
His eyes dulled and he crumpled on the floor, that surprised look etched on his face.
Rolling my head to one side and then the other, I sighed with each satisfying crack of my vertebrae. I stood swiftly and stepped over the man, creeping carefully toward the door.
The rest of the basement was cluttered with junk and coated with a heavy layer of dust. It didn’t look like anyone had been down here in decades. Shafts of light pierced the dimness through the worn floorboards, allowing me to navigate without tripping over something.
A door squeaked and slammed upstairs.
“Dwight!” a male voice shouted. Brains was back, which meant Dwight was the dummy who fucked up. “Hurry your ass up!”
Cursing silently, I crouched near the rickety stairs. Heavy boots stomped back and forth overhead. It sounded like a chair scraped across the floor and then it got quiet.
I stole a glance up the stairwell. There was a solid door at the top, which was closed. With my luck, it led into the house instead of directly to the outside. Why couldn’t there be some nice bulkhead doors instead?
A quick gander around the basement didn’t produce any other brilliant ideas or clearly-marked exits. This door was the only feasible way out as far as I could tell. So, I’d have to wait out Dwight’s impatient companion.
“I’ll be in the truck!” the man yelled. The boots tromped across the floor again. Another door squeaked and slammed shut.
I stayed where I was for another beat, trying to picture the man exiting the house and traversing whatever distance there was to a waiting truck.
When I felt reasonably secure he was out of earshot, I crept up the stairs, pausing now and again to try and listen over my pounding heart. Just a few more steps and I was out of this musty basement. A few more steps and I’d be free. I held my breath, reaching for the door handle.
As I did, someone on the other side jerked it open.
The last thing I saw was the butt-end of a shotgun crashing into the center of my face.
22
Bennett
“Rise and shine, asshole.” Someone kicked the outside of my thigh — hard. Not the head, not the stomach. The leg. Which meant whoever my captors were, they were under orders not to hurt me beyond what was necessary. Hence, the buttstock to the face instead of the barrel.
I jerked myself into a sitting position, except my left hand didn’t come with me. The cold, sharp bite of metal dug into my wrist.
Handcuffs. Fuck.
Dwight’s body was gone, though I could have easily mistaken the hillbilly in front of me as his twin. Maybe it was the flannel. Or the beards. Or the smell. Jesus.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what I’m doing here,” I said, cautiously touching the gash across my nose. It was swollen and crusted with blood. I’d be surprised if itwasn’tbroken. Dickhead.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” The new man stayed standing and well out of kicking distance. He tossed a water bottle in my lap, followed by a protein bar.
I made no move to pick up either, even though my throat felt like the Sahara. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m cutting out sugar. Apparently it’s bad for you.”
