Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 145402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 727(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 727(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
"If you fight me, I will cut you off at the knees."
Sarcasm would only illicit the worst response, so Nathaniel gritted out, "Just do it."
The sickly sweet smell that filled the car made his stomach churn, and everything in him ordered him to struggle. He held still and let her clamp a drenched cloth over his nose and mouth. Numbness started in his fingertips and swiftly overtook the rest of his body. He heard a car door open, and he thought someone was putting the backseat down, but he couldn't hold onto consciousness long enough to be sure.
"Go," Lola said, voice nasal as she pinched her nose shut, and everything fell away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Coherent thought came back in jagged pieces. He was aware of cold stone beneath his cheek and the sight of his uncuffed hand lying limp in front of his face, but none of it held any real significance for him. Lola had lined the back of his hand with crosshatches and burned angry circles into his knuckles. Another burn mark stained the tender flesh between his thumb and index finger. The burns were starting to ooze, but drying blood smothered most of the mess. Nathaniel was impressed by Lola's cruelty for the fuzzy minute it took his mind to remember how much pain he was in.
He groaned and carefully sat up. He was in the cellar, which meant they'd come in through the garage. An underground tunnel led from one to the other, installed for the sole purpose of moving the occasional body. Nathaniel and his mother had escaped through it nine years ago. It was only fitting that he was returned home the same way.
Lola was halfway across the room. She'd turned a wooden chair around and was straddling it. One arm was folded along the thin back. The other hung limp at her side. She still had Romero's gun on her, and her finger rested close to the trigger. Whoever had helped her get Nathaniel inside from the car was long gone. One of the cops, Nathaniel guessed, who had to rejoin the chaos outside to maintain appearances.
"Going somewhere?" Lola asked.
Nathaniel brandished his hands at her. "These are going to get infected if I don't clean them soon."
"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."
"You're not me," Nathaniel said, and got to his feet.
An industrial sink was built into the far wall. It didn't have a mirror. He was glad he couldn't see his face, but it would have made this easier. He washed his hands first, hissing through clenched teeth. It hurt so bad he wanted to stop, but he made himself rub soapy water into his burns. By the time he rubbed wet hands over his face his fingers were trembling and his stomach was quaking with pain-induced nausea. He had nothing to dry off on afterward, since his clothes were dirty with sweat and streaks of blood. He held his arms out to air dry instead.
"How much longer is this going to take?" Nathaniel asked.
"The waiting, or the killing?" Lola asked. "The latter might take a while. It's not normally his style but you've caused us so much trouble and money I think he'll make an exception."
"You could have just let us go."
"Don't say such childish things."
Nathaniel sat down to wait. It was an hour before the police finished taking statements from Nathan's security and photographing evidence of the vandalism. He knew they were finally gone when a door opened at the top of the stairs. Lola was on her feet in a heartbeat. Nathaniel's heart kicked into overdrive, but with Lola's interested stare on him he couldn't afford to look afraid. He locked a calm expression on his face and watched death come downstairs for him.
Two years behind bars hadn't aged his father a bit. Aside from a couple lost pounds Nathan Wesninski looked the same now as he always had. The house was a garish demonstration of his wealth, but Nathan didn't waste his time dressing up. He saw no need for fancy clothes when he liked getting dirty at work. He came down the stairs barefoot, wearing dark gray jeans and a black button-up shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had his hands in his pockets as he reached the landing. Cool blue eyes settled on Nathaniel, and Nathaniel had to look away.
Lola wasn't much safer to look at, but Nathaniel didn't want to look at the monster who'd accompanied Nathan downstairs, either. Patrick DiMaccio was Nathan's live-in bodyguard. He carried himself like he could take on half the world bare-handed, an arrogant swagger backed by three hundred pounds of steroid-fueled muscle. He'd never laid a hand on Nathaniel or Mary, maybe knowing he could kill them with one careless hit, but Nathaniel knew how dangerous he was. He was deathly loyal to Nathan, and Nathan trusted him unequivocally. DiMaccio would have been charged with keeping the circle strong in Nathan's absence.
"On your feet," Nathan said. The sound of his voice was enough to turn Nathaniel's stomach to jelly. "You know better than to sit in my presence."
Nathaniel told himself to stay put, but he was already getting up. Lola laughed at that easy obedience and made a circle of the room so she could stand behind Nathaniel.
"Hello, Junior," Nathan said.
Nathaniel's jaw worked. He didn't dare speak; he didn't know what he would say. Nathan padded across the room toward him. It took everything Nathaniel had left to hold his ground. Nathan stopped in front of him, so close Nathaniel could smell his cologne. Nathaniel stared at the top button of his shirt like it could somehow save him from all of this.
Nathan's hand settled on his shoulder it what could have been but wasn't a reassuring gesture. Nathaniel braced himself for the inevitable blow, but his knees still buckled when Nathan punched the burns on his cheek. Nathan caught him by his throat as he fell. Nathaniel choked and scrabbled to find his feet again. He knew better than to grab his father for balance. He knew what his father would do if Nathaniel touched him.