“I don’t know.”
“Wrong fucking answer.” The device in his hands sparks blue light, and I suddenly realize it’s a damned taser in his hands.
Well, shit; this is about to get a whole lot less fun.
Benson’s arm jerks forward, and I can’t help but scream when the thing makes contact with my shoulder. The taser is like twisting, biting heat lancing through me, clenching my muscles into painful knots and knocking the wind from my lungs .
Benson hoots as he draws his arm back; “Man, technology is a motherfucker, huh! Who needs creepy old tools anyways?” He laughs; “So you want me to keep asking until you piss yourself, or do you just wanna tell me now?”
“I’ve got no idea-“
The taser connects with my skin again, making me roar out a scream as the pain thunders through my nervous system, shorting out my brain for a second as my thoughts go numb.
“Fuck!” I shake my head as Benson draws back, trying to clear the thudding fog from my senses; “Jesus Christ, Benson, you knew me back then. I was a fucking waste-case; I was high out of my fucking mind. I’ve got no idea where we put them.”
Benson scowls at me, his lips drawing back from his teeth; “Oh I know where we put them, Connors. Problem is, the day you left, they weren’t there anymore.”
“It was a war -zone dickhead, anything could have happened to them.”
He’s grinning at me, but his eyes are anything but smiling as he leans closer to me; “You’re selling me bullshit, Connors, and I’m not buying.”
He turns his back to me, reaching for something else out of sight on the table; “How about a trade.”
“What?”
He turns, his hands wrapped around something and that wicked glint in his eyes as he grins pure evil at me.
I don’t like this.
“I said how about a trade.” He opens his hands, and I can feel my whole heart go numb as my eyes narrow in on the syringe in his hands. I’m drawn to it, like a moth to flame; unable to look away or even fucking blink. Five years clean, and I want it; I want it so bad I can fucking taste it. Five years without a drop of poison in my system, and I’m practically aroused just looking at the fucking thing.
That’s addiction for you.
“So, how about it, Connors?”
My eyes linger on the silver and glass weapon in his hand before I finally tear my eyes away to look up into his face; “I’m clean, Benson; I don’t want it.”
He smiles, his eyes narrowing even further at me; “Oh, I know you don’t.”
A very cold feeling begins to spread through me, choking the blood to ice in my veins and seizing up my chest.
And I’m scared.
Benson sees it like the predator that he is, and takes a step towards me; “Yeah, thats right, you don’t want this at all, do you you little fucking junky.”
He moves his arm out, the needle moving closer and closer to my outstretched, tied-down arm, and I can feel every muscle in my body tense up. And there’s a war being fought inside my head, between the part of me that wants to run screaming from this nightmare and the part that craves every single fucking drop in the needle.
The room starts to fade around me, the edge of my vision growing darker as Benson moves his hand closer, until the cold metal of the needlepoint is against my skin. I’m drowning, my head swimming as the freezing chill of it all starts to claw it’s way up my throat. He draws the point of it up and down the skin of my inner arm, and I’m losing control.
I’m drowning.
“Where are the diamonds, Connors.”
I want to tell myself not to break, not to give in. But the worse part is, there’s nothing to tell anyways; no answer that he wants to hear.
“Tell me.”
I’m drowning, my throat closing up inside, and the demon inside is raging. He’s tearing at his cage; ripping at the floorboards, shattering the bars, and screaming like a fucking banshee roar inside my head; I WANT IT. I FUCKING WANT IT!
The needle pulls away, and suddenly, I can breath.
I gasp, letting the air fill my lungs as the blackness in the corners of my eyes begins to fade; the rampaging demon inside crawling back to his cage.
Benson laughs; “Jesus Christ, once a junky, huh?” He shakes his head as he walks to the door and knocks on it until a man in black comes to open it. He turns and waves the needle in his hands at me; “I’m gonna ask you again tomorrow, buddy-boy,” He says evenly; “And after that, I’m gonna keep asking you.” A wicked grin creeps across his face; “But Bryce, after tomorrow, you’re not gonna be worried about what happens if I do stick you with this.” He looks hard into my face; “You’re going to be a whole lot more worried about what’s gonna happen when I don’t.”
We’re silent as we sit across the table from one another; each trying to weigh out the other, as if we’re both looking for a weak point.
Sasha’s dark red lips turn up slightly in the corners, an almost imperceptible smirk on her face as she arches an eyebrow. Her eyes never leave mine, both of us locked in this ridiculous staring contest as she reaches for the silver case on the table and draws out a cigarette. She only looks away to light it, the curling tendrils of smoke in stark contrast to her jet-black hair drifting lazily up under the dim glow of the overhead light.
I’m still trying to convince myself that coming here with her, or trusting her for that matter, wasn’t a massive mistake. But, here I am, and as for the second part, what choice do I have?
Because I’m fresh out of options.
Sasha finally rolls her eyes as she blows a trail of smoke from her lips; “OK, this is getting absurd. Let’s just lay it out on the table, shall we?”
I glare at her; “Where were you?”
“My cover was blown, I told you that.”
“And I’m supposed to just believe you?”
A look flashes across her eyes, her usually obnoxiously smirking face suddenly dark and unsmiling; “I’m going to need you to trust me if we’re going to do this, you know. And right now, I can tell that you very much do not.”
Oh, was I that obvious? I grumble inside, saying nothing out loud as I purse my lips tightly together.
“And I think I know why, you know,” She says, that smirk finding its way back to her lips; “It’s Bryce, isn’t it?”
Keep it up, bitch. I narrow my eyes even more at her, feeling my jaw tighten as I burn holes in her face with my pupils.
Sasha rolls her eyes dramatically; “I never slept with your little boyfriend there, you know.”
I want to play it neutral, as if nothing she says can affect me either way, but I can’t hide the sudden look of surprise in my eyes. I know she spots it as she grins; “Yeah, I figured that was it.” She shakes her head, leaning back in her chair and tapping her cigarette ash onto the floor; “Look, not for lack of trying, mind you, but it never happened. We were junkies, we both cared much more about the H than we did about that. I mean, I-” She looks away then, that shadow darting back across her face; “We felt differently about many things,” She says quietly.
Part of me wants to feel bad for her, even if it’s a very very small part. This woman obviously had feelings for him as well, and even if the thought of her with him makes my blood boil, I’m hardly in a place to judge someone for liking someone they shouldn’t.
“It’s in the past, you need to know that,” She says evenly, her eyes locked on mine; “That went away with my addictions.”
I nod, still silent, and still skeptical, even if she is baring it all here to me.
“Being one of - what, two women I believe there were - in a mercenary unit is challenging, to say the least. Rude jokes turned to ruder gestures and then even ruder attempts. But Bryce was always one to step in; always the one to step between the weak or outnumbered and the bullies and the predators. Even when he was in his lowest point, mind you; even when it was doubtful that anything else in the world but the smack mattered to him.”
She looks
at me sharply; “Finding someone in this world who cares, someone who actually gives a shit about more than just keeping their own head above the water is a rarity, Peyton. But, I’m betting someone like yourself already knows that.”
I look away, stubbornly not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing how right I know she is on my face.
Sasha laughs; “Look, would it help if I mentioned that I haven’t dated men in four years?”
I jerk my gaze to hers, arching an eyebrow, and she laughs; “You can relax, darling. I’d have more of an interest in sleeping with you then your boyfriend these days, if you weren’t such a cold fucking bitch all the time.”
She grins at me, and I can’t stop my own lips from curling up at the corners; “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’d do the same in your position. Bryce is a…a complex man, but he’s one of the good ones, and you obviously care very much for him.”
“It’s-” I shake my head; “It’s complicated I guess.”
“Oh it always is, darling; it always is. Welcome to the world.”
I snort a laugh and blush as I look away. I don’t “open up” like this even with people I know, let alone relative strangers like Sasha. But it feels good; it feels good to let the guard down.
“So does this mean you’re willing to hear me out and maybe throw a little trust my way?”
I laugh, and even though the two most important people in my life are currently missing and locked up, there’s a feeling almost like a weight being lifted from my shoulders as I look at her and realize there’s someone else to share all this with; “Alright, let’s do this.”
She smiles, and for once, it’s not that needling smirk; “Excellent. Think we can work together to figure out a way to get your boys out of there now?”
I grin; “I believe we can.”
“Good, let’s get to work then, because I haven’t the slightest idea how to get us in there, especially now that my cover is blown.”
I frown as I look down and smooth out the map of the area strewn across the table between us. My eyes narrow on the monastery where everything I hold dear in this world is locked away, and I can feel the heat rising inside. But suddenly, my eyes move over the faded paper, down to a familiar looking name on the map not far away.
The idea that hits me suddenly is insane, but this woman sitting across from me just might be crazy enough to get on board with it.
“What?” She says, furrowing her brow at the wild look in my eyes.
“What do you know about driving a diesel stick shift?”
She grins, clasping her hands together; “Ooo, I knew I was going to like you.”
“Take a hit.”
“I’m clean now.”
The laugh, the same laugh that’s in every dream; “The fuck you are. Take the fucking hit, Connors.”
The laughing skull holds up a disembodied hand, the needle primed and ready. A single drop of cloudy-white bliss bleeds from the tip, and I can feel every single atom in my body craving it at the same time, like this screaming chorus of NOW.
“I’m clean.”
The skull starts to laugh; louder and louder, it’s mouth opening wider and wider until the fracture lines start to etch their way across it’s jaw; “Take the hit, Connors!”
The skull is screaming now, cracking and fissuring under the strain of it’s own demonic laugh.
I’m scared now, my mouth dry and my head pounding as I try and move away. But of course, I can’t; same as every night. My feet won’t move, or won’t let me move, and the skull gets bigger, it’s jaw wider as the screaming laughter hits a fever note ringing in my ears.
“TAKE THE HIT, CONNORS!”
I’m screaming then as the skull’s cracking jaw roars wide and just fucking explodes into a million stinging white, bone-dust pieces.
I’m awake with a start. The skull is gone, but the pounding in my head is still there, along with the grimy dryness in my mouth.
Fuck, and here I was thinking it’d been awhile since I had that dream.
I blink awake, moving to stand before realizing I’m stuck to the chair I’m currently sitting in; my arms and legs bound to it. And then it all comes rushing back to me in this sickening wave. Peyton, Benson, the needle, the threat; all of it.
“Hell of rescue, bud.”
I freeze at the sudden voice in the darkness of the room, not quite trusting that I’m not still dreaming; “Logan?”
The room is barely lighter than pure darkness, but I’m peering into it, turning my head and trying to decipher where his voice came from.
“Behind you; don’t worry, I can’t turn either.”
“Jesus, Logan, are you-“
“I’m fine, man.” He laughs; “I think one of the dudes broke a hand trying to ‘work me over’ the other day.” I can hear his deep laugh, and then a clearing of his throat before he spits; “Fuck ‘em. Anyways, hey, tell me you smuggled a gun or a key or a something up your ass before you got tossed in here so we can get ourselves out.”
I wrinkle my nose in the darkness; “Jesus, Logan-”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He starts to chuckle; “But c’mon, you've done that right?”
“Dude, what?”
“Smuggling, you know, up your-“
“Are we seriously going to talk about this right now?”
Logan snorts; “Just making conversation.”
“That bored in here, huh?”
He laughs; “You’re the first person I’ve talked to since my jaw broke that guy’s hand like four days ago. What took you so long, by the way?”
I grin, shaking my head. We might be stuck in this hopeless situation, but damn did I miss this guy.
“And tell me the plan was more than just you; I mean, no offense.”
“Yeah, none taken. They got me, but Peyton-“
“What about Peyton?” His voice is very quickly utterly devoid of his joking tone from before.
Fuck.
I freeze for a moment; “I mean she got away.”
I can practically hear him frowning in the darkness; “Well what the fuck was she doing here in the first fucking pl-“
“Trying to save your ass.”
He lets his breath out in a stream; “Jesus, that fucking girl.”
“Tell me about it.”
I should tell him. I mean I’ve been to war for fuck’s sake. I’ve fought addiction, and I’ve been to the brink of hell and back. Why the fuck am I scared to tell the truth about the girl I- I- fuck it, the girl I love to the guy that’s been my brother through it all?
Because THAT truth might get every limb in your body broken by him, that’s why.
But more than that, and more realistically, it’ll lose me one of the only brothers I have.
“So what’s the plan now?” Logan’s voice is even, and I’m trying to calm the thudding of my pulse; the anxiety welling up inside.
“They- well, hopefully they come.”
“We might die in here, you know.” His voice is dark; measured.
Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) Page 14
