Page 188 of The Fourth Option
“I believe you know it,” Bates said as he strapped it onto his wrist. “When I took it off Leigh Ann, I thought it was sized a bit large for her. John Staub’s if I’m not mistaken. Just wanted you to know how badly you lost.”
“Fuck you, Bates.”
The lieutenant delivered a devastating hook to Walker’s ribs and another to his jaw.
“I felt some ribs break on that one,” Bates said. “Bet that hurts.”
Walker struggled to catch his breath.
“I didn’t notice,” he managed.
Bates studied the man hanging before him.
“Badass soldier, huh? You’re nothing. And look who’s in the corner. Sweet little foul-mouthed Belle. She’s made this much easier on all of us.You look like you are almost dead as it is. Instead of torturing you, I’ll have one of my associates carve up Belle in front of you. Maybe do worse. These boys are not long out of prison. They’ll probably run a train on her right here for you to see. You’ll watch, knowing you put her in this hell. You are both going to die tonight. The ‘how’ is up to you.”
“Your ‘associates’?” Walker asked, his breathing labored.
“You don’t think I came out here without backup, do you?”
“Shitbirds like you need backup. Just so you know, your men that I killed, they didn’t die well.”
Bates stepped toward the prisoner and slammed his head into Walker’s nose. It broke with a crack. Blood started to flow. Bates delivered four uppercuts to the suspended man’s abdomen and then continued his assault on Walker’s face with jabs, crosses, and hooks, using the defenseless man as a human punching bag. He then brushed past the Afghan and wound the hand crank, watching Walker spasm on the chain, smoke rising from his feet and groin, his naked body absorbing the deadly current.
“You want to kill him?” the Afghan said by way of warning.
Bates continued to crank the handle and only stopped when the sound of another vehicle echoed through the swamp.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
STANTON DROVE THETahoe while J.J. navigated from the passenger seat.
“We’re getting close,” she said.
They maneuvered around the ruts and holes in the gravel and dirt road that led out to the Travois cabin, the headlights illuminating the Spanish moss hanging from the cypress and oak trees that lined the approach.
“This place gives me the creeps,” J.J. said.
They had lost cell service where the main road branched deeper into the marsh.
“Yeah,” Stanton agreed. “Make sure we are on the right path. I have a feeling that folks out here don’t care much for unannounced visitors arriving in the middle of the night.”
J.J. looked at the screenshot she had taken earlier.
“I think it’s right around a few more bends,” she said.
Stanton kept it slow, the trees and moss seemingly constricting around them as they ventured deeper into the swamp.
They turned a corner, the high beams tracking across three vehicles that were familiar to them.
“There’s the Eagle,” J.J. said.
“And Belle’s car,” Stanton noted.
The cone of light from the SUV illuminated a third vehicle.
“Bates,” Stanton said.
“What is he doing here?”
