odds of killing him before they had extracted every last bit of information from him. Now that he had proven he couldn't—wouldn't—be broken, the Splinters might have decided it was time to step it up a notch.
When the interrogator stepped aside to allow a new person to enter the cell, Terror fully expected to be greeted by a much bigger, more menacing and dead-eyed specialist. What he actually spotted coming through that door perplexed and surprised him. It wasn't a man at all. It was a woman holding cleaning supplies.
Small like Vee's Hallie, the younger woman entered the cell and glanced around the interior. She seemed totally composed and calm as she scanned the dimly lit space. The leather satchel resting against her hip caught his eye. It didn't move much as she took more cautious steps into the cell. Whatever was in it was heavy.
The long dark braid she wore fell to the small of her back. From his vantage point, her hair looked black as night, certainly the darkest he had ever seen. Garbed in dark gray cargo pants and an oversized men's shirt over a cotton tee, she gave off the impression of coming from an all-male household. Not much of her skin was visible in those boyish clothes but what he could see was tanned and smooth. This was a woman who spent more time up top than down here in the shafts.
Young and sweet, she looked totally out of place among the hardened Splinter terrorists who inhabited this place. Was she a daughter? A niece? A sister? He considered what he knew of the cultures of these rural people. She might be a wife to one of his captors or even a mother to little terrorist babies.
His interrogator tapped her shoulder, waited for her to look at him and then pointed to the long coils of wire and the batteries. "Tidy that up."
She nodded and crossed the cell. Terror noticed the way she didn't spare a single glance for him, probably because he was stark naked and in chains. She seemed focused on the task given to her and was completely oblivious to everything else. A flicker of hope hit him. This was the sort of situation he could easily exploit. She was a tiny little thing and could be easily overpowered if she got close enough to him.
"You like her?" The interrogator mistook his keen observation and tactical planning for sexual interest. "She's even prettier up close. Ripe for the plucking, if you know what I mean."
Terror's gaze skipped from the interrogator who made a crude gesture to the young woman who had her back turned to him. She didn't stiffen at the suggestive remarks or acknowledge them in any way. Either she was very used to being talked about so nastily or…
"Don't worry about her," the man said with a dismissive wave. "There's a reason we all call her D.D. Deaf and Dumb," he spelled out cruelly. "She's in her own fucking world most of the time—but that's the way some men like them."
Terror considered D.D. for a moment. Better and better, he thought as that flicker of hope flared stronger. If she couldn't hear him, she would be even more easily overtaken.
"How long's it been since you touched a woman, Terror? You've been in our hands for more than three months so it's been at least that long since you've felt the slick squeeze of a wet pussy around your dick." Coming closer, the interrogator motioned toward the woman. "Look at her. I mean—really look at her. That tight little ass? Those perky tits?"
Terror looked at her but not at her ass or her tits. He sized her up as his ticket out of here. What would it take to turn her against these people?
"She's never been fucked. I know that for a fact. How would you like to be the first one to sink balls deep in that virgin pussy? I can make that happen. I'll let you breed on her all you want."
Terror found the offer distasteful in the extreme but he feigned interest. Without saying a word, he glanced at his interrogator and held his gaze just long enough to show he was considering the offer. The man smiled, showing his brown-streaked teeth, and nodded.
He left Terror's side and moved toward the woman. When he drew near, she glanced at him, this time with apprehension. The interrogator leaned down and spoke slowly. "Clean the cell. Clean him. Understood?"