Page 8 of The Vows We Keep

“Good luck with that.” She nods at Neva with the syringe.

Fuck me. My heart starts to race. I wonder if this is how Saint felt when we hung him from cables in the shed and beat him. The closest thing I’ve ever felt to guilt ripples through me, but it’s quickly replaced with the thought he deserved it.

I hope Neva has the dose right. A medically induced coma does not sound appealing. I like the wordslethal injectiona fraction less.

I hope I don’t shit my pants.

I think about the time I did that when I was eight years old at school and had to ditch my undies in the garbage. First day I ever went commando.

Fuck.

The needle is coming closer. I blow out a breath. I hope this isn’t it. I thought I’d be ready for it when my time came. Now that it’s in sight, I realize I’m not.

Fuck.

She’s pressing on my skin. Aiming for a vein.

I can’t watch. When I look up, I see the ringleader of whatever this is, studying me. There’s a calm to her eyes. “Don’t worry, she’s first rate at finding veins.”

“The veins aren’t what I’m worried about. It’s what she’s putting in them.”

She crouches in front of me and puts her palms on my knees. “It slows the speed of messages within your brain. It gets hard to concentrate on things that require higher functions ... like lying. You’ll feel stuck between being wide awake and asleep on a bit of a downer.”

“Sounds like a fucking trip.”

She smiles at this.

There’s a pinch in my skin, and I suck in a breath as I wait for whatever the effects are to hit me. I cycle through different facets of my body. I wiggle my toes. My breathing is even. My heart is racing, but it’s more in line with excitement than a heart attack.

Can I still do math? I try to multiply twenty-six by thirty-seven. It takes me a minute to get to nine hundred and sixty-two. Was that too slow?

The woman watches, but she’s assessing. I don’t think she wants me to die either. “You’re pretty,” I blurt, then seal my mouth. Because I’m certain that was not the kind of truth either of us was expecting.

“Thank you,” she says.

Neva packs the needle away. My head hurts from the pistol whip and the hit to the side of the face. I’m not even pissed about that. I’d do the same in a heartbeat, probably worse, if she were sitting in this chair and I thought she knew where Bates’s body was.

The two of them move to the corner of the room and start talking in Spanish.

I’m not going to tell them I can understand. Although the translation in my head starts to feel loose. I can’t remember whatque faltaandla büsquedamean. But I get the general idea. Neva is worried for my main captor. That someone will be unhappy and make her pay.

But she’s ... what’s the word ... when they’ve got fight ... shit, begins with ad.

Why can’t I think of the fucking word?

I cycle back through my body.

Toes. Yup, can still move them, but it takes a second.

Breathing. Feels slower. Okay, calm is good.

Heartbeat. Also slowing.

Can I still do math? I try to multiply nineteen by seventeen. Nineteen by ten is ... Jesus, this should be easy. One ninety. Seven by nineteen is ... wait, why am I multiplying seven by nineteen. Is it by ten and then by seven? What?

The main woman returns in front of me. “I’ll ask again. Do you know this man?” She lifts her phone in front of my face again.

I shake my head. “He wasn’t one of them.”