Page 71 of Duke
“Why cut off my fucking ponytail? It’s just hair. What’s that prove, other than your lack of imagination?”
“I could cut off your ear. Is that creative enough for you?” He dragged the tip of the knife along my skin where my ear met the side of my head, sending blood trickling down my neck. “Maybe cut out your tongue.” He slid the blade flat between my teeth, grabbed my jaw where it hinged and forced it open.
I just stared at him until he let me go, wiping the blade on my arm. When he stood up and backed away, I rolled to my back and sat up. “Quit the games, Rayburn. Cain wants to use me as bait? Fine, but get on with it. Kill me, don’t kill me, torture me, don’t torture me. I don’t give a fuck. Just quit your goddamn yapping.” I stood up, cradling my fractured arm against my belly. “Let’s go, Quasimodo.”
This earned me a laugh from Rayburn. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” He sheathed his blade and stood behind me, the barrel of his rifle to the back of my head. “To the vehicle. And if your friend with the Barrett out there pulls that trigger, you die.”
I’d tossed the radio, so I couldn’t tell Anselm to hold fire, but I hoped—and was gambling with my life—that he’d correctly read the situation.
I was marched across the yard to an undamaged vehicle, shoved in hard enough that I toppled across the seat, landing hard on my broken arm; the sudden lance of agony sucked the light out of the world, sent dizziness rushing through me, shoving me under the surface of consciousness.
The last thing I heard was Rayburn’s voice, speaking to someone else. “Yeah, it’s me. I got him. I’m down to maybe a dozen guys, but I got him….yeah, that many of us. Told you it’d be costly, Cain…the girl? No, just Silver, no sign of the girl. Yeah, well, you weren’t here, boss. It was a fuckin’ bloodbath. I hope this is worth it, that’s all I’m gonna say…”
I passed out, then, the pain too blinding to ignore, the darkness too powerful to resist.
10: NEW FRIENDS
I sat huddled in the corner between the toilet and the tub, clutching the huge, heavy, cold shotgun in shaking hands, my breath in my throat. The gunfire had stopped, and Duke had gone radio silent. Fear and worry boiled in my throat, warring for supremacy. I heard engines roar, the sound fading.
After a moment, I keyed the radio. “Anselm? What’s—what’s going on?”
“They have taken Duke, and are now exiting the compound.”
“Did they hurt him?”
The hesitation told me everything. “He is an extraordinarily tough and resourceful person, Miss Kennedy. If anyone can survive this situation, it is Duke.”
“Where are they taking him?”
“I do not know.”
“Are you going to rescue him?”
Another hesitation. “I am going to contact my employer first. This rescue will require more than just me, I believe.” Silence, then, for a minute, almost two, in which I tried to exert some control over my breathing. Anselm’s voice startled me. “I am entering the house, now. Please, do not fire your weapon.”
I stood up slowly, gingerly, shakily, and warily pulled open the bathroom door. Mistake, big mistake—the two men I’d shot were laying on the ground in a huge pool of blood. Nausea shot through me; I dropped the shotgun at my feet, barely making it to the toilet in time to empty my stomach, tears trickling down my cheeks.
I heard footsteps. “It’s me, Miss Kennedy,” I heard Anselm say from behind me.
His hand gathered my hair and held it aside. “It’s all right.”
I shook my head, coughing bile and spitting. “It’s not. He’s gone, they took him. And I just—we just—Duke and I—”
“I understand. I know things are not okay. I meant it is no shame to be sick the first time you end a life.”
“I couldn’t—I didn’t have a choice.”
“You did exactly the correct thing, Miss Kennedy. Kill or be killed is the rule of law in the world in which Duke and I live. They would have killed you or worse. It was unpleasant, but necessary.”
“His head—god, I’ll never be able to forget the way his entire head just—” I heaved again as the image burned through me.
“Would you care to hear my advice?”
“Yeah, please,” I said, finally feeling like the vomiting was over. I sank to my butt on the floor, wiping at my mouth.
Anselm left and returned with a new, sealed toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, handing it to me. I stood up and began brushing my teeth while Anselm sat on the edge of the tub and watched, his huge rifle cradled easily in his arms.
He let out a breath and then began speaking. “To kill, it is not an easy thing. It should never be easy. But when you are faced with a situation in which you have no choice, well…you must constantly remind yourself that you did what you had to do to remain alive. When your mind attempts to remind you of the events, showing you what you did—then you must force the images away. Refuse to think about them. Do not give the event power over you. You did not choose it, you did not do it out of malice. You must not allow guilt to enter you.”