Capitol Threat

52

Was he still bleeding? Loving wondered, as his eyes lolled around in their sockets. Was he awake? He was fairly certain he was awake, because not in his worst nightmare had he ever felt like this, as if a huge gushing hole had been opened in his stomach, a hole punctured by a very hot, very sharp stick. Because it was true.

But still bleeding? He wasn’t sure. He liked to think that the heat had cauterized the wound. But he was still tied to the chair. How long had it been now? Hours? Days? It seemed like days, but he knew time moved slowly when you were being tortured. One of those great truths of life, he supposed. One he had never hoped to experience.

He knew he had blacked out at some point, and that made establishing a timeline all the more difficult. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been unconscious. For all that Renny talked about wanting to kill him, he sure as hell wasn’t in any hurry about it. Even after he came back around, Loving kept his eyes closed. After a while, Wilhelm threw down the hot iron in disgust. Renny had tried to comfort him, saying that Loving would wake up soon and Wilhelm could start his fun up all over again. Such a loving father! You could see why the bond between them was so strong. The family that plays together, stays together…

The iron rod was lying on the floor, just a few feet to Loving’s left. It was still glowing hot. That meant he couldn’t have been out too long. Presumably, any moment the Torture Twins would return and resume their activities. And there was nothing Loving could do about it, not as long as he was tied to this chair. He was helpless, pinned down like a butterfly in a collection, barely able to move.

His attention returned to the glowing iron. Still hot. Not far away from him…

Could he do it? His brain was so addled that making any kind of coherent plan was difficult. He certainly couldn’t be assured he would fall where he needed to fall, and if he missed, it would be over. Renny would find him lying on the floor and he would be enraged. Loving wouldn’t get a second chance.

On the other hand, this storage closet was very narrow. It wouldn’t be possible to go too far wrong. Even if he hit the wall, he could ricochet back into place. In fact, it might be best if he hit the wall…

There were times in a man’s life when careful planning was advisable, Loving mused. And there were other times when the best damn thing a person could do was just go for it. Too much thinking would make it all the less likely it would ever happen.

Loving turned to the left, which predictably twisted his insides into a knot and made his perforated stomach burn as if it were on fire. He’d have to overcome that if he was going to get anywhere. He clenched his teeth, took his mind to a better, kinder place where he wouldn’t feel the incredible pain he was about to experience, and threw himself down, chair and all.

He flew off to the left of the storage closet, clattering against some rickety metal shelving. Something sharp punctured his arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony he was already experiencing. He slammed down on the hard concrete floor, hoping the noise hadn’t been heard by anyone outside.

The fall knocked the breath out of him. He inhaled deeply, quickly, trying to regulate his breathing and gather some strength.

Loving fell facing away from the wall, so he couldn’t see the hot iron. But he could feel heat emanating against his bound hands. Thrusting with all his might, he moved himself and the chair ever so subtly backward until the iron was within reach. Then he placed the rope that tied his wrists together directly on the iron.

The problem with having a red-hot iron between your bound wrists was that, no matter how effective it might be at burning the rope, there was no way to prevent it from also searing the flesh on those same wrists. He could feel his skin melting, peeling away. Flesh burned so much easier than rope. By the time his wrists were free, there might be nothing left of them.

Loving squeezed his eyelids tight. Tears crept out of them. The pain was excruciating, but that had been the case for a long time. And that would be the case again, if he didn’t get free.

In the end, he couldn’t wait until the iron had severed the ropes completely, but he got them weakened sufficiently that he could pull them apart. Good enough. Once he had his hands back, the rest was duck soup. He still hurt like hell. But he was free.

Of course, that was just the start. Now he had to get out of there, which would be a challenge, since he had only the vaguest notion of where “there” was. If he could get to a phone, he could call Lieutenant Albertson. Boy, did he have some information to share with the man now! Or he could call Ben. Or both. Get some help and get the word out. He already had a pretty good idea of what had happened, why Victoria had gone to the press conference, what Ben needed to know to clear Thaddeus Roush and his partner once and for all.

Slowly, carefully, Loving pushed the closet door open. The hallway outside was dark, but he could hear the thumping sound of dance music not far away. He was somewhere in Renny’s club. Someplace even more private than the room he’d had to arm wrestle his way into. If he wandered around long enough, he was sure to find one of the public areas. And from there, it would be just a short walk to the—

He froze. There was noise in the corridor. The sound of swishing. The swishing of corduroy slacks. And the only person he knew who had been wearing cords…

“It seems I have arrived just in time.”

Pretty Boy. Wilhelm. Whatever you wanted to call him, he wasn’t a welcome sight.

Loving knew that the space of a second could be critical. He raced forward, hoping to clock the creep before he had a chance to respond.

Wilhelm pulled a gun. And it wasn’t a taser.

“This is a shame. I had hoped to prolong the amusement for ever so much longer.”

Loving felt his throat clutch. Pretty Boy’s father might be a delusional sadist, but at least he was sane. Wilhelm, he was not so sure about.

“Your daddy doesn’t want me dead.”

“You are mistaken. He sent me back here for that very purpose. As much as we have enjoyed our little fun with you, he has determined that you are too dangerous to remain breathing.”

“You’ll regret this.”

“The only thing I regret is that I won’t have any more fun with the iron. But all good things must come to an end. I doubt that I could get you tied up again without the taser.” He sighed heavily. “So I will just have to kill you and be done with it. Pleasant dreams, Mr. Loving.”

He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Loving’s face.