Page 66 of Nightfire

The back of Chloe’s head thudded against the tile wall as hot water sluiced down over her upturned face and her head disappeared as her body simply took over, rubbing against the wall in time with Mike’s thrusts until it all became on big blur, her body contracting, Mike coming, the water falling, heat exploding inside her in a fireball of sensations. She forgot who she was and became a creature of instinct and of sensations.

Finally, Mike stopped moving, his head nestled against her neck, huge shoulders heaving as he pulled in breaths as if he’d run a four minute mile.

Mike opened his hands and she stood on shaking legs.

He kissed her neck and slowly pulled out of her, still hard.

“I think we need that bed now,” he said.

FOURTEEN

The Meteor Club

The prostitute screamed, struggled. Coughed, screamed again.

Stupid cow.

What did she think she was going to gain? She was fastened to the board and her hands were in police restraints. Unbreakable restraints.

And yet the human will to live was strong, no one knew that better than Nikitin. He’d done this hundreds of times. And even when the man on the inclined board knew it was going to end badly, he struggled.

Dmitri continued pouring water over the three layers of cloth covering the woman’s face and looked over at him.

Nikitin waited, taking another long puff on a Marlboro. American cigarettes were excellent. How stupid of the Americans to put all those warning signs on the packages. Of course cigarettes killed. What didn’t kill? Life itself killed.

The cloth was sucked in as the woman instinctively tried to breathe. But the cloth was soaked in water and the only effect was a trickle of water coming into the nose and mouth. The body considered this an imminent threat, as invasive as a gunshot wound, and reacted accordingly. The bucking and writhing increased. In silence, though, as there was no breath to make a noise.

Nikitin hated it when they made noises.

Nikitin breathed out the smoke, counted. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. He nodded. Dmitri immediately stopped pouring water over the cloth and lifted it.

The naked woman was writhing crazily. She was young and strong, kept herself in shape. Lean sleek muscles moved beneath that deep honey-colored skin

She wasn’t going to break her bonds—they’d been tested on battle-hardened soldiers, after all—but she could do herself an injury. Pull or strain a muscle. Nikitin had known men who’d broken their own bones in anguish, trying to get away from the water.

There were soft cloths between the restraints on her wrists and ankles and her skin.

The whole point of waterboarding this prostitutka was to avoid marring her. Avoid leaving any tangible signs of torture. She was an expensive commodity. No one who could afford the prices of the Meteor would be willing to pay for damaged flesh.

Nikitin blew another plume of smoke out of the side of his mouth, got up from the stool where he’d been watching the proceedings and walked over to the woman. Her forehead was strapped to the board so she couldn’t turn her head, so she did the only thing she could do. She closed her eyes.

“Look at me.” Nikitin didn’t bother putting menace in his voice. He wanted this over and done with as soon as possible. He needed information and as soon as he had it, he wanted to get away from this woman as quickly as possible.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“Dmitri,” Nikitin said quietly, and his second in command placed the cloth over her face again and slowly poured more water onto it.

She held her breath for as long as she could, but the breathing reflex is the most powerful reflex of all. Primordial. There are many ways to use the body to kill itself. You can bash your head against the wall until you fall bloody and unconscious. You can cut your arteries at the neck or the wrist. You can even swallow your own tongue. But you cannot hold your breath until you die. Your body won’t let you.

After a minute the cloth bulged inward as she breathed in water and writhed madly.

Nikitin waited a second, two, judging. Then lifted his finger. Dmitri stopped immediately. Lifted the cloth. “Look at me,” he said again, no change in his tone. “We can do this all day and all night.”

Her eyes popped open. Da. This was more like it.

Defiance was written all over her face. Clearly, Sands treated his women too well. If this woman only knew what Nikitin could do to her… He wouldn’t because she was still a money-earner, but he was tempted.

“Hijo de puta! Pendejo!” she spat.