Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I don’t find anything else he slipped in there, but I am relieved he didn’t find the shirt I stole. His white T from that first night he took me. On impulse, I embraced my own inner thief and snatched it before he could throw it into the washing machine the night we got all wet in the snow. I know it’s dorky, but the shirt smells like him, and I wanted to keep a little piece of him, since at that time I hadn’t talked myself into trying to make a real go at a relationship with him.
That was before I crossed that line—alone, apparently.
Not wanting to dwell on that, I take the stolen shirt and toss it on my bed so I can sleep with it tonight, then I put all my other worn clothing into the washing machine.
I pick out the pantsuit I’ll wear to work tomorrow and take a peek in the refrigerator to see what I should pick up grocery-wise after work.
It doesn’t feel right, going back to my ordinary life after the time I spent with Jasper.
It’s the only choice I have, though, so that’s what I try to do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jasper
“You seem sad. You want to talk about it?”
I look over at Adrian, scowling as I roll up the left sleeve of my black dress shirt. “What a fucking thing to say to someone. Especially at a time like this.”
“What, him?” Adrian feigns surprise. “I wouldn’t worry about him being here. Clearly he’s gonna make us kill him tonight, so whatever we talk about? It won’t leave this building.”
Adrian knows I’d never spill my feelings in front of this slob, even if I knew for certain we were going to kill him tonight.
The “him” in question doesn’t know that, though. The idea that two such close-lipped men would be willing to talk about personal matters in front of him… well, that convinces him he really is going to die tonight like nothing else could.
Our detainee pipes up, far less conversational—and far more desperate. “Please, guys, I don’t want to die. I don’t know anything. I swear to God, if I knew who was responsible, I’d tell you.”
The man’s already pudgy face is swollen and bruised. He’s been badly beaten, plus we’ve got him tied to a chair in this abandoned warehouse, placed under an exposed, hanging light bulb for dramatic effect.
The boss is a touch theatrical, but to be honest, I think his added psychological tactics do help.
Just not with this fucker. He’s not giving up anything, no matter how much we beat him.
“Please,” the man groans miserably, his head drooping forward. He’s starting to realize he’ll never get out of here unless he opens his fucking mouth, but he must know if he does that, he’ll be dead.
I mean, the fucker’s gonna be dead either way, so he might as well tell me what I want to know and live an extra day or so. At least then he’ll get a chance to say his goodbyes, maybe try to run if he’s got the nerve.
I circle the chair, making a show of slowly rolling up my other shirt sleeve. “It’s real easy, Ed. All you’ve gotta do is give us the name of the sorry bastard who thought he could get away with stealing from Mateo Morelli. That’s it.”
“I don’t know who it was,” he says, practically sobbing. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
I nod slowly, letting him see how disappointed I am by his answer before I slug him a few more times.
“Christ,” he says, crying now. Crying outright.
I sigh, shaking out my hand and looking across the room at Adrian. “What do you want to do?”
“Go home,” he says dryly. His gaze flickers to Ed. “What do you say, Ed? Can we skip past all this shit? You give us a name, we cut you loose and kill him instead. It can be that simple if you let it.”
“How many guys in your position get a sweet deal like that, Ed? How many?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him. “Not fucking many, that’s the truth. Most of the time you get strapped down in Adrian’s chair, you don’t move out of it until your brains are on the cement.”
Adrian nods. “It’s true, Ed. That’s normally what happens. Sometimes the brains aren’t the first to go, either. Did you know if you’re really careful, you can remove a man’s intestines without killing him? You can, I’m not making it up.”
Adrian grabs a shabby metal chair, turns it around backward, and takes a seat in front of Ed, looking him straight in the eye.
I know Adrian isn’t a psychopath, but given his well-deserved reputation and the menacing glint in his eyes right now as he looks at Ed… Ed probably doesn’t know that.