he was obviously older, been in the club for longer. Probably one of the originals. Resentful they had to bring in handsome young psychopaths with commanding tones. Better for publicity, maybe. If everyone in the club looked like this guy, the definition of rapist and murderer, they wouldn’t be as popular.
“We have instructions,” Nord continued, nodding to the hammer.
I swallowed roughly at the cold, businesslike tone. This, to him, was me sitting in front of the laptop. Something normal. Something necessary.
Yes, begging would not get me anywhere.
Greed grinned, lifting up his hammer, eyes wild and nasty. He licked his lips.
The duct tape gave just a little more.
I would like to say I got it in time. That the tape snapped in time for me to move, to fight. To save myself and not become a victim in yet another fricking story.
I would like to say I handled it with a fierce bravery.
And I think I did.
Right up until the hammer came down on my wrist.
Yeah, then bravery, backbone, and dignity went out the window.
My identity, my past, my future, it all cracked and crumbled, along with what I guessed was the majority of my arm.
There was nothing but pain after that.
Chapter 21
“Pain is addictive. Feeling it. Dealing it. You can make people happy with relative ease. Even if it’s temporary. But pain, real pain, it’s harder. More long lasting. Purer.”
I must’ve blacked out. For how long, I didn’t know. Not long enough for anything to change, for anyone to hear my screams. For Saint to break into this garage and save the day.
No, that did not happen.
Nord was on the phone when the room came into focus, when things were no longer just a blurry, never-ending haze of pain. Of course, the pain was still going. There were twenty-seven bones in the hand. I knew that like I knew you could lose around fourteen percent of your blood before passing out. Even though I liked to write about make believe monsters, details about death and blood was always correct.
So yes, twenty-seven bones in the hand. I was sure at least half of them were broken. Crushed. Though I didn’t want to look down, I did. And it was bad. Like something I might write about, not something I’d be suffering from.
Suffering was far too weak a word for it, but it was all I had. No energy for more imaginative or punchy adjectives.
It was mangled. Red. Swollen. A lump protruding from my wrist, almost through the skin, but not quite. Was that good that my broken bone was not sharp enough to quite tear through the skin? I wasn’t sure.
Greed was whistling.
It was high, out of tune. And I might’ve been really delirious from pain, but it sure sounded like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
He continued whistling when his eyes met mine. But he did step forward, still gripping the hammer. I knew it was going to come down again. Maybe on my other hand. Leg. Head.
If that hammer came down again, I was done. As it was, I could barely think through the pain, and the small movement of jerking my ring against the failing duct tape was causing small white spots to cloud my vision. I wasn’t sure I could push through the pain to fight, even now, but a slim chance now versus no chance after the next blow was all I had.
And Saint had instructed me to fight.
But I wasn’t doing it for him.
I was doing it for me. No way was I dying like this, with my greatest work sitting half-realized on a laptop.
“So, it seems that your boyfriend was lucky,” Greed said, smiling. He was pissed. Furious. That was good. For Saint, at least. He’d obviously won his battle.
Not so good for me, it seemed.
“Now, he probably is gonna come lookin’ for us. He might even find us,” Greed continued. “But I’m making sure he finds you first. I’m making sure the club gets at least one more victory.”
I bit my lip. Copper flowed through my mouth, sharp, bitter. Fuel. My hand slipped free of the duct tape. Greedy didn’t pay attention to detail, so he didn’t notice. Nord would’ve noticed, if his back wasn’t turned, muttering on the phone.
But it was.
And I got my chance.
`It wasn’t climactic.
It was awkward. Sloppy. I cried out in pain when I used my free hand to move forward enough just to grab the gun tucked into the front of Greed’s pants.
“Not a good place to put this,” I