Page 147 of Finding Noah

“We're past being friendly,” Benjamin sneered before smacking my exposed armpit with the muzzle of the gun in his hand.

I hissed at the sting against the sensitive tissue.

He clambered onto the bed, straddling my waist. He aimed the mouth of his gun beneath my chin, digging the metal into my flesh. I winced and braced for impact, hoping death would be quick. Hoping Benjamin wouldn't let me wait long for the relief it'd bring.

“You're gonna talk right now,” he said, his raspy voice low and sinister.

“Whatcha wanna talk about?” I asked through a clenched jaw, swallowing. “Politics? Religion? Whether or not you're gonna get into Heaven? ‘Cause, no offense, man, but I don't think—”

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

“But you wanted to t—”

The hard steel dug deeper into the soft skin beneath my chin. I gritted my teeth, my head tipping back against the mattress.

“Who's been in here?” he hissed, leaning over and bringing his face within inches of mine.

Alarm bells rang loudly in my head as I thought of the man in black. “J-just you,” I strained to reply.

“You're lying to me.”

“No,” I said, bringing my gaze to his. “If I was lying—”

“Someone's been coming in here to help you,” he stated, assessing me with narrowed eyes.

He seemed so sure in his insinuations, and I knew he must've known something.

Which meant the man in black wasn't working with Ben.

He truly was helping me.

“This ends here today, Noah,” Ben said, his voice calm and eerily steady. “We have to be done. Tell me who has been helping you, and I'll make sure your death is fast and painless.”

I couldn't help but laugh. “Benny, nothing about what you've been doing to me has been painless.”

“Your death,” he replied, “will be … if you tell me who's been helping you.”

“And if I have nothing to say?”

“You're still dead,” he said, his lips curling into a smile. “You might as well make it fast and painless.”

My brain was working overtime as I slowly shook my head. “I … I don't know what to tell you, Ben. I—”

Ben moved the gun, shifting his arm lower and lower until he found my groin, where he dug the open mouth of his pistol. Panic set my heart at a gallop, my breath ragged and tripping against my throat.

“I watched my uncle chop a guy's balls off once,” Ben muttered, his hot, rancid breath against my cheek. “He bled out right there on the floor, but, man, oh man … it was slow. And I can still remember the way he screamed. This big, tough guy … bawled like a fuckin' baby until he just”—Benjamin shrugged casually—“stopped.”

He pressed down harder with the gun, and my teeth ground together, my jaw aching from where he’d pistol-whipped me.

“I wonder how long it'd take for you to die if I blew your cock right off. How much would that hurt?”

Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down. “P-p-pretty fuckin' bad, I b-bet,” I stammered, my eyes squeezed shut tight.

Meg. I tried to conjure her image with the thought of her name. Tried to see her eyes, the cascade of soft curls framing her face. Tried to hear her voice, telling me I'd be okay, that I was almost there, that I was one step closer to salvation.

Just keep going. You're almost there.

Meg.