Page 35 of Toxic
Two of themen in suits yank me from the car, completely disregarding the body on the ground. Blood soaks my shoes, and I know there won’t be any amount of cleaning that will get the stain out. The two guys half carry, half drag me to the warehouse because there’s no way in hell I want to go wherever they’retakingme.
My labored thoughts cycle around how to escape and what horrible things they have plannedforme.
Inside the warehouse, one lone naked bulb swings from a wire and two chairs are situated by a table. There’s a long rope dangling from the ceiling, and the men on either side of me bring me to it so they can bind my hands above my head. One splits off and pulls the rope taunt, forcing me to stand on the tips of my toes to avoiddangling.
“Who are you?” I ask them. The words are thick with fear. “Did Gracinsendyou?”
One of the men looks up from his murmured conversation with the other guy in a suit. He’s got the kind of face that induces nightmares, and I know that I’ll never forget it. He’s dressed in a suit like the others, and just by the close fit and expensive fabric, I can tell it’s tailored, maybe even specially designed for him. His gray-and-white hair is immaculately styled, combed back away from the encroaching baldness. Thick gold rings with sparkling diamonds decorate his fingers. He would look average if it weren’t for the dead, blankness inhiseyes.
It’s the sort of gaze that, when it lands on you, makes your insides quake with fear. And mine do assoon as he turns his attention to me the second I say the magic word:Gracin.
He holds up a hand to his associate and sidles over to me, looking like he should belong in a boardroom instead of a back-alley place like this.My guess would be he’s the one incharge.
“So, you do know Gracin,” he says after a moment, “Gracin Kingsley. King? Have you spoken to him since you helped himescape?”
My gut tells me if I answer that question, I won’t be doing myself any favors, so I keepquiet.
He sucks his teeth, and his cheek tics. “Very well,” he murmurs. “Take care of her, Danny.” He directs this to a new arrival, who is out of breath as he shoves throughthedoor.
My own catches in my throat as I recognize eyebrows from the diner and myapartment.
“Of course, Sal,” Danny says with an angry look in my direction. I want to tell him not to be pissed at me. I wasn’t the one who told him to try to kidnap me, so it wasn’t my fault he got maced, but that probably won’t work in myfavor.
Sal leaves with two of the others, leaving Danny and one other man in the room with me. I try to breathe slowly and deeply to keep calm even though everything inside me wants to panic. Little muscle tremors sneak out, but I otherwise manage to stay in control. Shownofear.
What worries me the most though—more than Sal’s dead eyes and more than the potential pain I’m about to be dealt—is that I don’t know why. Why me? Who exactly is Gracin, and what the fuck have I gottenmyselfinto?
I knew it was bad, but these guys . . . they’re one level up from completely fuckingterrifying.
How did he know these men? How did they know I knew him before five minutes ago? What do they want with him?Withme?
As Danny and the other man, who he calls Andrew, circle me, I consider all the things I truly did not know about Gracin. And I curse him for everything he’s done to get me into this situation. I swear that if I ever see him again, one of us won’t make it out of the confrontationalive.
I expect them to start in on the questioning, but they surprise me by sitting at the table for a smoke and a tug from a bottle of dark liquor. They're trying to kill me withanticipation.
And it’sworking.
It wouldn’t be so bad if my shoulders weren’t already burning with discomfort at the unnatural position. I glance up and find my hands are already discolored. I try to wiggle my fingers, but they barely move. My wrists are burning. My legs ache and quiver as they try to keepbalanced.
They don’t touch, talk to, or even acknowledge me at all throughout the first night. I try crying, begging, pleading, screaming, but they may as well have put me on mute for all the good it does. I thought I’d been working past the abuse from Vic, but the moment they tied me up, the same fears and terror I experienced at his hands come flooding back. Each time I try to doze, my legs buckle, my arms scream in pain, and I jerk awake with a shriek, expecting blows to come from allsides.
By morning, tears are falling down my cheeks unchecked because I’m exhausted, frustrated, and numb with pain. I can’t feel my arms anymore, and I’ve long since given up trying to stay upright. Instead, I just dangle, circulation be damned.It doesn’t even hurt anymore because I can’t feel anythingatall.
Light is streaming through the windows that line the top of the walls when they acknowledge me for the first time. Danny’s been glaring at me when he thinks I’m not looking, but I can’t find it in me to give a damn about hisbruisedego.
Danny gets to his feet, his face impassive if a little tired based on the smudges beneath his eyes. If I could move, if my muscles weren’t frozen with exhaustion, I’d pull awayfromhim.
I expect him to hit me, to hurt me, to torture me, but these men are much, much too sadistic to make it that easy. Instead, Danny releases the rope from the pulley and allows me to rest flat on my feet and my arms to flop down, limp and useless.I’d think there was something wrong with them if they didn’t hurt so damn much once feeling begins toreturn.
He doesn’t say a word, just watches as I shift from foot to foot, trying to improve circulation in my arms and legs. When I do, I want to cry out in pain. The pain is far worse than I thought it would be. Like thousands of bullet ants are sinking their pinchers into my flesh. I bite my cheek to contain the sound, and I do it so hard I draw blood. The taste makes me so sick to my stomach that I puke up bile and blood atmyfeet.
Danny shows emotion for the first time and takes a step back in barely masked disgust. It almost makes me want to smile. If I weren’t gagging, I probably would have. I haven’t had morning sickness since I found out I was pregnant, but what a time for it toshowup.
Momma thinks you have a sense of humor, I tell the baby. I know it’s crazy, but spending the past however many hours strung up, unable to sleep and surviving on adrenaline, has me twisted up in all kinds of ways. Talking to the baby, small though it is, gives me a certain sense ofcomfort.
It was two weeks ago, just when I thought I was going to be okay with everything that had happened. I’d been so worried about getting an apartment and a job and keeping out of the police’s sights that I didn’t realize I’d skipped aperiod.
At first, I thought it was stress. I’d skipped a couple while I was married to Vic, so that wasn’t abnormal. But my body felt different. My boobs more sensitive, my emotions more volatile, my energynonexistent.