Page 88 of His Other Half

Chapter 33

Josie

Pushed from behind, Josie fell to her knees. Blood tinged her tastebuds, having bit her tongue when she landed.

Her palms burned on the old wooden deck. A deck she recognized, having swept it weekly over the years.

Upon entering the Rez, she'd gone straight to the casino where Askook's men had sequestered her in the backroom and made one phone call. She'd known by the one-sided conversation they'd take her to Askook.

But why would they take her to her father's old house?

The reservation took possession of her childhood home after her dad was killed. When she'd escaped Askook, she'd returned to grab her clothes and found her key no longer worked. She'd broken a window and gain access to the house where she filled two garbage sacks with the essentials she'd need to go to Missoula.

Why would Askook be here? The house sat a mile from the border and at least ten miles from the casino. There were no other houses nearby, only the Moore's, who lived over the hillside and out of sight.

"Get up." A large hand circled her upper arm, dragging her to her feet.

Her knees stung. Sure that she'd skinned her legs in the fall, she straightened.

"Let go of me." She jerked her arm out of his grasp.

"Go in." He pushed her.

She stumbled forward, wrapping her hand around the handle. The mechanism gave, and she pushed her way inside.

The stench assaulted her before she became aware of the furniture and personal touches scattered around the house. She looked past the kitchen and into the hallway, where the living room sat at the back of the house.

Askook's man planted his hand on her back, forcing her forward. She moved, straining to hear what the low hum playing in her head was and where it was coming.

Stepping through the archway, she stopped at the sight of Askook. The darkness of his eyes kept her from going into the room.

Her lip curled. The smell that stung her nostrils was even stronger.

Her uncontrolled anger locked her jaw, and she hissed. "Where is he?"

Askook cocked his eyebrow and stepped to the side. Her gaze went past him to the floor on the other side of the room.

Blood contaminated the area, but a man's mishappen shape at the far side of the room pushed the smell, sight, and fear away.

Paco!

She stumbled, rushing forward, slipping on the floor. Landing in front of Paco, she scrambled to reach him.

Bile rose in her throat. She refrained from touching him.

Fresh lacerations covered his face, oozing blood. His torn shirt showed a chest carved up in the same manner. Some long cuts, some short. Just deep enough, any movement opened the wounds.

Holding her hands out in front of her, wanting to touch him, but stopping just short of making contact, she was scared to cause him more pain.

Tears blurred her vision, and she shook her head in denial of what she was seeing.

Revolted at the sight of what Askook had done to him, she felt her empty stomach protest. Panting through her mouth to keep from gagging, she looked at his lower half. His left leg turned out as he balanced on his hip, a steady stream of blood slowly bubbled through the material of his jeans.

She silently cried out, gripped at how it was possible he was even alive.

His chest rattled. She could hear his labored breathing, echoing in the room.

A sob caught in her throat.