“So,” Payne growled as he approached the bed, “did you actually think we were going to forget about your role in this?”
The injured man didn’t know what to say, so he simply shrugged his shoulders.
“You can’t be that stupid!” Jones said. “What, are you a buckwheat or something?”
The comment brought a smile to Bennie Blount’s heavily bandaged face. “I haven’t known what to think,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you guys since my accident.”
Payne placed his hand on Blount’s elbow and gave it a simple squeeze. “We’re sorry about that. We would’ve been here much sooner, but we’ve been tied up in red tape. Of course, that tends to happen when you sneak into a foreign country and kill a bunch of people.”
Jones shook his head in mock disgust. “The Pentagon and all its stupid policies. Please!”
Blount laughed despite the pain it caused in his cheeks.
Payne said, “I hear the swelling around your spinal cord has gone down. How’s your movement?”
“Pretty good. I’m still a little wobbly when I walk, but the doctors think I’ll be fine.”
“That’s great news, Bennie! I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“Me, too,” added Jones.
“Now my biggest concern is my face. That crazy dog did a lot of damage.”
Payne gave Blount’s elbow another squeeze. “Well, stop worrying about it. I’m flying in the world’s best plastic surgeons to treat you. They’ll have you back to your old self in no time.”
Jones nodded. “Unless, of course, your old self isn’t good enough. They could make you look like Denzel, or Will Smith, or give you a nice set of D-cups. Whatever you want.”
Payne frowned. “Do you think his frame could support D-cups? I’d say no more than a C.”
“Really? I think he’d look good with—”
“Forget the tits.” Blount laughed. “My old self would be fine, just fine. But . . .”
“But what?” Payne demanded. “If you’re worried about the money, don’t be. All of your hospital bills have already been taken care of.”
“What?” he asked, stunned. “That’s not necessary.”
“Of course it is! After all you’ve sacrificed, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Listen to him, Bennie. Even with a truckload of insurance, you’d still have tons of out-of-pocket expenses.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But, nothing!” Payne insisted. “Furthermore, you’ll never see another tuition bill for the rest of your life. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, you can head back to school, compliments of the Payne Industries Scholarship Fund. We’ll take care of everything—including a monthly stipend for beer and hookers.”
Blount shook his head. “Jon, I couldn’t. Seriously.”
“Hey,” Jones added, “that’s not all. We have one more surprise for you, something that’s more valuable than money.”
“Guys, enough with the gifts.”
“Hang on,” Payne insisted. “You’ll really like this one. We saved the best for last.”
Then, with his typical flash of showmanship, Payne threw the door aside to reveal the most attractive woman Blount had ever seen.
Dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes. Unbelievable figure. Simply dazzling.
She stood there for several seconds, speechless, unsure of what to do next. Finally, with her composure regained, she grabbed Payne’s arm and glided across the room to meet the family member she’d never even known she had.
“Bennie,” Payne said with a lump in his throat, “I’d like to introduce you to someone who’s very special to me. This is your cousin Ariane.”
Author’s Note
While conducting my research for this novel, I read hundreds of journal entries that detailed the ungodly horrors that occurred on many nineteenth-century plantations. And not just the accounts of ex-slaves. In order to keep my research as balanced as possible, I studied just as many narratives from slave owners as I did from the slaves themselves. And do you know what? I’m glad I did, because it wasn’t until I read the firsthand accounts of these brutal men that I started to understand how malicious and sadistic some of them really were.
Sure, it was unsettling to read about the sting of a bullwhip from a slave’s point of view, but not nearly as disturbing as the words of one overseer who described the process of whipping his workers in near-orgasmic terms. “The delicious crack of leather on flesh fills my hand with delight and sends my body a shiver.”
Chilling, indeed.
It was those types of quotes that convinced me to include the graphic sequences that I did, scenes that are so full of carnage and torture (the Devil’s Box, the Listening Post, etc.) that some readers have complained to me about nightmares. Well, I’m sorry for your loss of sleep. But