Page 97 of Haunting the Hunter

Her eyes shift slightly, going distant.

“She’s already arrived,” she whispers, the fear in her voice making it tremble—I clench my jaw at the sound.

“I was told to make you afraid. Full and total sensory deprivation. I’m sorry it lasted as long as it did—but Frank had to see it.”

I look at her, steady now that I have more information. And a plan.

“I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.” I grunt, closing my eyes.

My lungs seize as I choke on nothing—

And then I’mback. Gasping like I’m surfacing from a drowning.

“There he is! Good morning, sunshine.” Ben grins wide—too wide.

I bite through the pain as I continue to fill my lungs with air, my chest rattling. Genevieve stiffens and her eyes drop when I try to meet them—her shoulders curling forward like she’s bracing for impact.

“Don’t look at her, big guy,” he snaps. “Eyes on me.” He points with his fingers from his eyes to mine and back again.

We all hear the sound of heels clacking outside the door and Genevieve backs herself into the corner—making herself smaller than she already is.

Ben straightens, turning his gaze to the door, and quips, “Right on time, boss. Our friend here was about to tell us where his baby sister is.”

“Is he ready for interrogation?” Rosa says calmly, stepping into the room, nose wrinkling with disgust.

“As ready as he’ll ever be. We had Gen warm him up for us.”

Rosa stalks over to Ben, running her hand over his shoulders, and I see Genevieve flinch.

“You’ve done well, boys—but I can take it from here.” She turns to me with a grim look and snaps to the room, “Get out. All of you.”

No one responds as they exit the room, Ben wrapping his arm around Genevieve as they leave me and Rosa alone.

I don’t know if this was the plan, but they’d better keep me alive.

“I’m sure you are thinking I’m going to kill you,” she says coolly as she tugs leather gloves from her pocket and slips them on. “We all die in our own time—and this isn’t your time, my dear boy.”

I carefully measure my words, avoiding eye contact as I keep my face blank and my eyes down. No sudden movements. Let her think I’m scared, not thinking clearly. If I am careful, I may be able to get information out of her.

“I understand why you feel this is necessary,” I rasp as she goes to a bag and pulls out two wood clamps and begins to press my hand flat against the arm of the chair.

“After what I did—torture is the least that I deserve. Do what you feel you need to.”

She forces a dry laugh, continuing to clamp my hand down until I feel the tendons pop under the pressure, the bones in my hand giving way.

“Don’t patronize me,” she says, looking down on me, her voice like a whip. “After your parents’ untimely demise, I planned on silencing you, anyway. They were fools to think you had the capacity to lead this Order. You were never loyal.”

My bones grind together, a white-hot pain pulsing through my wrist, but I don’t scream. I won’t give her that.

Crack.

My breath hitches and I bite back a groan.

“Anyone with a conscience would understand. The Covenant is corrupt; you kill people in the hope of gaining more power. It’s wrong—you know that,” I say, breathless—forcing the words past my numb lips, the pain causing me to see stars.

“You speak of a conscience when you take lives brutally without remorse. We at least have a purpose—a reason.” Her voice raises as she begins placing the other clamp on my opposite hand.

“So do I,” I tell her through gritted teeth, as I look at her with an expression that shows no regrets. I know pain, I can deal with pain.