Page 9 of Property of Fang
“The hell you doing?” Darla tugs free of Nandi and ushers the kid to safety, checking her over.
“Happy?” The greasy motherfucker from before leers at me from his position blocking the exit.
“No.” I rise to my feet. “Why didn’t you bring Eleanor back? What are you doing with her?”
He raises a brow at my move, gaze dragging down my body. I still wear the slim-fit jeans, oversized T-shirt, and worn sneakers I was in when they captured me, but I may as well be naked for how vile it feels. “Whatever we do with her,” he sneers, “it ain’t any of your business.”
“How much longer do you plan to keep us here?” It’s been a week.I think.We’re owed an explanation.
“You’re sure full of questions,” he muses, danger lurking in the elongated sounds. “Especially for somebody who still owes me answers.”
The door swings open wider, the younger guy from the van swiftly striding into the room. He crouches beside Mary-Beth’s body, a rusty machete hooked in the back of his belt.
We’ve all seen it, yet none of us dare move. Not when the greasy fucker watches us with twisted interest.
“What are you doing?” Darla asks quietly.
The younger man doesn’t answer. He tosses Mary-Beth’s boots aside, then loops a rope around her ankles in a figure-eight to bind them together.
I make the mistake of catching his eye when he stands, rope clutched in his fist. Mary-Beth’s body makes a horrid scratching sound as it pulls taut behind him. Yet he doesn’t flinch. He stares me down as though promising I’ll be next if I don’t fall into line.
What did she tell them?Is that why the kid’s back? Has Eleanor ratted me out?
Kathy looks away, Mila burying her head in her arms, and Darla staring at the floor before her while the drag/scratch of Mary-Beth’s body echoes in the small room as the guy removes her corpse.
I try not to vomit when her head bounces up the wooden stairs.
“What will you do with her?”
The fuck?I stare at Nandi like she’s lost her goddamn mind. Why does she want to know that?
“Fuck around again,” the greasy asshole promises, “and you can find out for yourself.”
“Wait.” I stall his exit, as much as I hate to do so. “Can we please have some more water? There’s none left.”
He scoffs at my simple request. “Then drink your fucking piss.” He reaches the door and turns to close it.
I notice the destitute look on Mila’s face. The frustration on Nandi’s.
“Bring us water.” I get to my feet.
The energy shifts in the air around us. Mila buries herself behind Kathy’s shoulder as best she can. Darla stiffens, sitting straighter with her lips parted.
Fear courses its toxic wake through my veins, yet I tighten my fists to divert the focus and lift my chin.
The greaser takes a slow, deep breath, hard stare fixed on me while he seemingly decides what to do with me.
He’s already lost one asset. He’d be a fool to kill me, too.
“So you’re the one who thinks you’re the boss, huh?” He takes lazy steps back into the room. “Think you can tell these whores what to do? Tellmewhat to do.”
“We need water to stay hydrated. Healthy. Alive.” I state the obvious. “Even farmers give their pigs water. Why deny us?”
A rare light enters his cruel eyes. I’d almost say I impressed him with that comeback.
“You can go three days without water,” he answers. “You don’t need it.”
Fucker.“Is that your way of saying we’re not going to be here much longer?”
