Page 103 of Tormented
THIRTY
Sawyer
By the time I’ve finished turning my former acquaintance into ten smaller versions of himself, the first hues of dawn touch the horizon. Abbey sits curled into the stained easy chair, asleep with her head resting on the only clean towel she could find in this godforsaken place.
All throughout Cash’s penance she stayed eerily quiet. I’m not really sure what I expected out of her. I mean, the girl’s not the same as the other club women, which I know. But fuck, not even a whimper as I slashed and hacked my way through Cash’s joints.
A quick survey of the washhouse turns up exactly what I’d hoped to find: a bottle of grease-removing soap. Using the faucet in the kitchen since the laundry tub is jammed with maggot-infested rags that had to have come from the girls, I clean the blood and gore off my hands as best I can.
How did that feel . . .?
What do you think?
Pretty darn good, I bet . . . .
You’d be thinking right then.
I give my head a little shake. The devil’s done his job; fucker can go back to sleep now.
Well aren’t you—
Two quick thumps to the temple silences the asshole. I cast my eye over the mess on the floor, drifting past the blood that runs in a wide pool under the sofa and to Abbey. She looks so fucking peaceful; it’s almost a shame to have to wake her up. But if we’re going to get our asses on the road again by this afternoon, she’s going to need to help.
I cross over to where she’s nestled and use the free part of the towel to dry my hands off.
“Babe.”
She wriggles her face into the chair further.
“Abbey-girl.”
Nothing. I squat down beside her and watch her for a while, noting the slight flutter to her lashes, the way her lips are parted, and the protective arch of her shoulders. Her hands are clasped against her chest as though she’s holding on to something precious, yet her grasp is empty.
I reach out and set my hand on her arm. “Babe.”
Her eyes fly open and while her left hand tightens on her imaginary treasure, her right strikes out, collecting me square in the cheekbone.
“Shit. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She reaches out as she straightens in the seat, her hand coming short of touching me before she pulls it back.
The look on your face might have something to do with that . . . .
Right.
I soften the scowl and run a palm over my cheek. “Guess I should wake you from a distance in the future, huh?”
“It was a bad dream, is all.” She drops her legs over the side of the seat. “Is it time to go?”
“Not yet.” I glance over at the mess in the entranceway. “We’ve got some work to do.”
“I thought that’s what the message to Tuck was about.”
I shake my head as she stretches, my T-shirt baggy over her frame. What I’d do to rip that off and see her lithe body all stretched out before me. But . . . work first.
“Tuck’s guys will clean up the bodies, sure. But I want to get the names of those girls so it can be passed on to the authorities anonymously.”
“Why?” She frowns, swiveling to face me properly.
“Don’t you think their families deserve closure?”