Month: January 2014

Sneak Peak, Chapter Three

I was officially losing my fucking mind. This morning I had woken up, ready to face what was ahead of me, ready to do my job. Sure I knew it would be a challenge, given that my job was to torture a kid and a woman, but hey, someone’s got to do it. I’d been here for four years, performed countless interrogations – ok not countless, fifty-eight – and not once did I ever think that a prisoner was innocent.

But as I stepped through her cell, her limp body in my arms I began to have doubt, a dangerous thing one could not afford on The Hole. Darcy, that bloody Neanderthal, crowded her doorway, and watched with curiosity as I laid her down gently on her cot. He’d not even seemed to notice the scratches on his face or his bloody lip.

I wanted to smile smugly at the damage but I didn’t.

Innocent little Carys packed a punch, not at all what I expected after she begged for mercy earlier. That tiny little plea of hers had caused a knot in my stomach, and god help me, made me angry with her. Angry that she was so weak.

But what the fuck did I care? The weaker she was, the easier my job would be.

“Get out of here Darcy,” I grumbled.

“What are you going to do to her? Can I watch?”

My jaw tightened and I gave him an icy stare. “We’re not supposed to provoke the prisoners. In fact, we’re not supposed to talk to them outside their cells or the Session Rooms at all.”

He shrugged it off like his daddy owned the place. “Who cares?”

I turned to him then, my chest puffed up like a defensive rooster and I took a step towards him. “If I come back here tomorrow and see one scratch, one bruise, or even a broken nail I will hunt you down Darce. I mean it.”

He looked at me pityingly, as though my threat were too late. I hoped he meant because she was already sort of beaten up, but I knew deep down he felt bad that he would have to go against my wishes. How the fuck was I going to leave her cell with the likes of Darcy waiting patiently on the sidelines. Why did he have such a compulsion to be a disgusting prick? Hell, I’d been doing this for four years and I still considered myself human.

“Sure Kade… I’ll see you at dinner.”

I mumbled my acknowledgement and watched him leave. I didn’t move a muscle until I heard the outer door slam shut.

I looked down at her.

Had there not been hidden cameras I might have covered her with a blanket. The thought made me laugh and I left the cell quickly so I wouldn’t wake her. I Imagined what she would think if she saw me in there laughing at her. Not that I gave a shit about what she thought.

I stepped into the hall and closed the door, leaning on it while holding my head in my hands. Why the hell was I protecting her when I was the one charged with torturing information out of her? I walked towards the exit wondering how the hell this day happened. I’d barely gotten any information from them, and I had clocked in half the time I should have… half the time split between two people was barely any time at all. I hoped Darcy wouldn’t try to tag team this, not until I figured this out for myself.

I would never stick my neck out for the prisoners, but I needed to know.

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Sneak Peek, Chapter Two

Of all the bloody bastards who could have been charged with interrogating me, they had to send in bloody Clark Kent. His sweat-glistened biceps covered in tattoos, his tall dark frame and dark hair filled the doorway and I stared at him in surprise.

He was more like Rambo in some ways, with all that sweat and muscle, but something about him was definitely Superman. I laughed inwardly, knowing how crazy it was to think about that since he didn’t obviously seem to care which one he was or how attractive he might be.

I wanted to ask him how a man like him could ever be in a place like this, but I didn’t. I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t know what type of man he was, nor did I know where the hell I was.

The way he stared scared the shit out of me.

I hadn’t had much contact with anyone since I’d been grabbed out of nowhere, thrust into the back of a van, blindfolded, gagged and tossed about like a sack of dirty laundry. Other than the hands I felt on my arms, legs and hair, his was one of the first faces I’d seen, and despite the fact that it was an attractive face, it was not welcome.

Nothing here was welcome. I had visited clients in places comparable to Newgate that were friendlier than this. It wasn’t necessarily dirty, but the air was so moist and thick that it was hard to get a deep breath, and I just knew that no matter what time of year it was, England just did not get this humid. I was afraid that I was somewhere else entirely.

I didn’t know where my brothers and father were, and I had been wearing the same underwear for three days straight. All in all, not a good week.

 

I had seen enough movies, read enough books to know I was in some type of holding cell, and that I would undoubtedly be questioned for something. What it was I had no freaking idea, but I wasn’t deaf, and that other asshole that came into this hall sure seemed excited about it all. I was going to sue once they figured out they took the wrong people.

I probably seemed calm to him, like I knew why I’d been brought here. My defense mechanism, a mechanism which had crept into my personality since my mother died when I was fourteen, was to pass every problem off like it was nothing. And even though I told them, screamed at them until I was bloody blue in the face that they had the wrong family, they didn’t listen.

 I knew when it came to fear, my mind and my body worked independently of each other. I could feel that I was scared. I could feel it in my shaking fingers and my erratic, shaking breath but I held my head high, ready to tell them whatever it was they wanted to know, so we could get the bloody hell out of here. I couldn’t wait to get back home. I was so busy at work, and Mr. Lithgow was counting on me to help him through the tough times. He really needed that vacation.

 

I moved my jittery legs towards the door and out of the room before he made true on his threat to carry me. Making sure not to trip over the portal – my sore feet wouldn’t survive it – I stepped as gracefully as possible into the hallway and he grabbed my elbow, turning me down the concrete corridor. His grip was firm but not uncomfortable, and I was humbly aware that even with high-heels on, his towering presence dwarfed me.

I passed a room on my left, a room I was sure held one of my family members, and I tried to peek in as I walked by, but he held me tightly against him. Last night had been dreadful. I’d never known so much panic in my whole life, and despite my tears, despite how much I shivered in the heat, the sound of Lennon’s panic sent me into protective-sister mode, and I knew it was up to me to save everyone. I’d not seen my dad or Lennon since last Christmas and Ian was harder to get a hold of than the Prime Minister. Somehow I felt guilty for them being here. Somehow I knew this had to be my fault, but I didn’t know why. Being the only girl in the family had a tendency to make me feel left out. But if I didn’t agree with something – especially when it came to the three men in my family – I let them know it. And that was why I was able to be calm, for the now. Because I had great arguing skills and a determination that would make Hitler seem like a lazy nyaff.

They had captured us all separately but after hearing my dad sneeze on the way over here – our heads were covered by hoods, or at least, mine was – I knew it was him. His was the type of sneeze to give you goose bumps, for it was so loud, that it had actually caused me to get into a motor accident a few years ago. That had been an entertaining conversation with the insurance company. After we discovered that we were all in the same vessel we all began to talk and we all discovered that we’d been taken in the same fashion. Ian was grabbed in the hospital parking garage, my father and brother in their home and me at work. I just didn’t know why. We weren’t rich. We were all working-class Scottish nobodies, and I had to believe that this was a simple case of mistaken identity. I had seen it before on the news, and I was sure to see it again. I would get back to Britain – we would get back – and in a few months we would look back and laugh at this silly little misunderstanding.

I would have believed that more if I hadn’t overheard the men talking about “taking turns” with me. I didn’t know how many there were, only that my father managed to growl at them even tied and blindfolded. After that I didn’t hear him talk for the rest of our time together and I was sure it was because they’d knocked him out cold.

I looked over at sweaty Superman. From the few words I’d heard from his mouth, I could tell that he wasn’t part of the “taking turns with me” conversation, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. He was just another face to hate, another person I would bring the swift gavel of justice down on.

 He shoved me into another room, and I gasped.

Oh my god, oh my god.

The part of my brain that controlled all that wonderful strength was keeping its mouth shut and fear began to course through my veins as I eyed each and every torture instrument on the table. Not that I had ever been tortured before, but we’d all seen movies. I tasted bile on my tongue.

I spun around and faced him. “Please don’t do this. I don’t know anything.”

His nostrils flared and he looked down at my hands on his chest. I pulled them away, backing away a step. “I didn’t do anything I swear!”

He hissed under his breath. “Sit.”