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That’s it. Rattling them. Getting through their fake cool. Shaking them up until they spill information they didn’t mean to spill.
I smirk despite the pounding in my head, and the nausea churning in my stomach. Fuck, I need water. And food. And I need to piss so badly my gut aches.
They need me alive, I reassure myself, because, hell, how long have I been here, tied up and beaten? They need me alive, and they lowered my hands. I can feel my fingers now, and I wiggle them to make sure.
Yeah. I’m okay. It’ll be okay.
Hold on. Breathe. Keep calm. Find out why you’re here. How deep the shit you’ve landed in this time is.
And… it’s pretty damn deep, I realize, when Elliot saunters toward me dangling a piece of black cloth from his fingers, a knowing smirk on his stupid face.
A blindfold.
Ah fuck. I should have expected it, perhaps, and it’s not a bad sign. It’s a sign they do want me alive, if they won’t show me the Boss’s face—but me and blindfolds… not good.
I fight the impulse to kick and punch and head-butt the motherfucker leaning over me to put the cloth over my eyes, reminding myself that getting more hurt isn’t a good idea. It won’t stop them blindfolding me, and maybe they don’t want me dead, but accidents do happen.
I let Elliot the stooge cover my eyes, take away my sight, and vow to introduce my fist to his face once I’ve met the boss and figured out how to get out of these bonds.
In the new, imperfect darkness, I track their presence by sound. Faint steps to my right. A cough to my right—or is it a question? The familiar whine of the door opening, then slamming.
You heard that. You’re not helpless.
Don’t let the panic in. It’s just a piece of cloth over your eyes, dammit. It will come off, soon. You’ve not gone blind. This isn’t any different from lying in the dark at night, unable to sleep and imagining monsters. No different in fact than the past two days you’ve spent here—is it two days?
Yeah, well, good luck telling that to my treacherous mind. It knows the monsters here are real.
My pulse is thundering in my ears as I strain to hear what’s happening around me. Strain to see something through the cloth, even though I know it’s a lost battle.
Heavy steps, a whisper I don’t catch, the scrape of something—a chair?—on the floor, a muffled cough—and a hush.
Oh hell. My heart is banging around my chest. No sight, no sound. I hate this. I totally fucking hate this, I ha—
“Jamie Fleming.” The voice is bass, booming, just inches from my face, and I flinch back, hitting my throbbing head against the pillar once again.
Fuck.
“Get him some water,” the guy says, and I struggle to hold myself still and slow down my frantic breathing.
Something cool is pressed to my lips, water sloshing, and I drink greedily, choking on it.
The cup is taken away far too soon, but at least my tongue is not swollen and stuck to the roof of my mouth anymore, and my throat isn’t burning.
Goddammit, focus, Hawk. This is the moment you find out what you’re here for. Breathe.
“Now, Mr. Fleming.” The bass voice resonates through me, makes my bones ache. “Let’s get down to business.”
“What, you’re not buying me dinner first?” I bare my teeth at the invisible source of the voice.
“You should stop joking.”
“You shouldn’t have kidnapped me.” I cock my head to the side, glad now for the blindfold that’s hiding my barely suppressed panic. “I mean, are you out of your fucking minds? Did you think you could just remove me from my HQ and nobody would notice? That this would go unpunished?”
“And has anyone come for you yet?” he shoots back. “Can you hear police sirens? No. I’ve taken care of it. Nobody is looking for you, Hawk.”
Ice seeps into my veins. I lick my lips as my mind whirs. “What the fuck did you do?”
“What I had to do in order to have a civilized conversation with you.”
