Depravity Delivered (Mission Mercenaries #4) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Mission Mercenaries Series by Marie James
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Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
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I’ve never been more grateful for the rules around here than I am today. It’s hard enough to witness his life draining out of him. If I knew his life story, who he might be trying to protect, I might fight for him.

With the rule that we don’t speak to each other, it saves me from forming that connection. The captor’s reasoning is it keeps people from wanting to help, and I’m thankful for it. I don’t want to help him in the moment, if it means harm will come to my sister down the road. There’s no one here worth it, but I’m also normally a compassionate person. It’s rare to meet someone in the medical field who didn’t at least start their careers that way. Many grow cold as time goes by. Many lose compassion just from witnessing so many terrible things so often, and I can only hope that it begins happening to me. I caught myself more than once when I wanted to step up and beg Pirro to stop hurting him.

My own wounds itch at seeing some of the same fresh marks on his skin, in particular the ones on my back and thighs. The five hundred and twelve tattooed on the back of his neck makes me wonder, not for the first time, which digits have been tattooed into my own neck.

Pirro waves his arm at the man before stumbling toward the door. I move toward the tackle box of supplies just as the door slams shut. I cringe when it takes no longer than a minute for someone else’s screams to reach my ears. I don’t consider the man lucky that Pirro stopped hurting him because he’s still alive. It means that the evil man will only wait until he’s capable of staying awake before he starts all over again.

I start by applying antiseptic to the wounds Pirro didn’t re-slice open first, unable to get the thought of that dirty water being on them out of my mind. I don’t have much at my disposal to prevent infection from setting in, but I can do my best. It only prolongs the inevitable, and I’m struggling with the idea of rubbing dirt into them. Death is the best thing this man can hope for, but I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that the camera is still recording. Trying to save him isn’t worth the threat of my own punishments if I do anything above what Pirro is asking of me.

Next, I disinfect the deepest wounds before stitching them up. He doesn’t so much as twitch this time when the needle pierces his skin. His skin is hot to the touch, making it very clear the infection I was worried about is already working its way through his body.

I tend to every wound, wiping away so much blood, working from the top to the bottom. It isn’t until I press a piece of gauze to the spot Pirro stripped his skin away from his shin that he once again jerks awake.

He cusses at me into the gag but his body still hangs, his energy completely zapped from what he’s already faced to try and get away. I’d never risk pulling the gag from his mouth or the blindfold from his eyes, but I clamp his calf, only touching part of his body that somehow managed to remain injury free, hoping he understands that I’m here to help rather than hurt.

He settles once again, but I don’t know if he’s calm because of the comfort I offered him or if he passed out once again.

I don’t spare him a second glance after I finish doing what’s been commanded of me before I leave the room. I don’t have the luxury of worrying about anyone but myself and Alani.

Chapter 6

Nash

There are many things people expect in life.

For me, I expect criminals to always be criminals. Their degree and frequency of crime may taper off some as they get older, but if they lived their life achieving goals from hurting or stealing from others, then they’ll continue that in some capacity until they die.

So Pirro hurting me didn’t come as a surprise. Pirro slicing at my skin and muttering shit about betrayal, as if I was his best friend rather than some guy that joined their poker game a few weeks ago, was a little out of character for him, at least from what I know about the man.

My guess is that he had a bet with one of the other guys that I was just some gringo idiot that sucked at poker. If they looked in my truck, they would’ve learned differently. Well, they would’ve learned I wasn’t only an idiot because it was incredibly stupid of me to have notes about the cartel in my glove box, and if I weren’t still suspended to the fucking ceiling by chains, I’d kick myself for it.


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