Page 153 of Property of Fang
I glare at his mop of reddish-blond hair. “Would you rather I shot her and had somebody else fill me in?”
“Suzannah,” she snaps, tilting her head. “Make things any clearer for you?”
Neither of these assholes does much to ease my itchy trigger finger.
Loki makes his way up the path, frown deep and focus trained on my scarecrow stance.
“Where’s Jenna?” I ask the woman.
She looks to the back of Flinch’s head, eyes shuttering briefly. “She’s not here.”
“Would one of you fuckers tell me something useful!” I roar. “Fuck me!”
Suzannah jolts, steadied by Circus’s tight grip. Flinch leans his head forward a little, shoulders rising.
Loki steps inside, lifting a hand toward me.
I glare at the prick.Not now.
“Pickup belongs to Acid,” he tells me, defeat crossing Suzannah’s face as he does. “And considering he’s not in this little party, that must make you…?” He looks at the coy woman.
“His sister,” Flinch mumbles. “You’re looking at Acid’s sister.”
I drop my pistols to my side and stare up at the ceiling while I draw a deep breath. “Would somebody, please,” I grind out, “just tell me where the fuck Jenna is?”
FIFTY-ONE
JENNA
The muffledconversation battles for space with my overbearing breaths in the tiny closet. I’ve twisted and fought against the bounds enough that the wide duct tape my fucking father wrapped around me in haste has rolled into biting strips which cut at my wrists.
If only I could remove the one from my face. But that fucker winds around my whole goddamn head, stuck in my hair and pulling at my scalp each time I turn or cant my head. I just need to be able to make noise somehow. Move my goddamn legs enough to kick at the door. The wall. Anything that would tell them I’m here.
Fuck.I knew confrontation with my father wouldn’t go well, but I sure as hell didn’t count on her being here.Suzannah.I know her by name. Name and a goddamn reputation that kept everyone at the bar in line without the woman ever needing to step a foot inside the place.
“Would one of you fuckers tell me something useful! Fuck me!”
My lungs capture what air remains, frozen like my muscles.Fang.He’s still here. Who did he bring with him?Please tell me he didn’t come alone.
I close my eyes and draw a deep breath through my nose.Think, Jenna.I can’t use my hands, and my legs are too restricted to move me any which way. All I have left is…my head.Goddamnit. This better work.
Eyes squinted shut preemptively, I roll my shoulders back and swing right, away from the door on my left side. I throw everything I’ve goddamn got into the movement, damn sure my second ride in the Devil’s Breed pipeline won’t be so gentle, and this is literally a fight for my life.
My skull connects with the door, pain jolting through my head in a wave.
The noise wasn’t enough. My fucking head isn’t big enough.
A manic giggle bubbles out my nose before I try again, tears leaking down my face on the third and fourth hit. My ears ring, and I don’t know if anyone’s still talking. If they’re still here. For all I know, I could be smashing my potato against the door only to come face-to-face with a Breed gun.
Or knife.
Maybe worse.
The irony strikes me with the same force as the closet door—here I am, beating my head the same goddamn way I must have abused Mary-Beth’s. And yet, I can’t stop. Not when the tears become rivulets, nor when the occasional giggle turns to restricted laughter behind my tape gag, saliva pooling against the sticky residue.
Great. Now I’m going to drown myself, too.
I swing right, set into a rhythm, and throw myself left, only to careen off course when the door abruptly opens. I’m sprawled on my side, bound hands stuck against the doorframe, and staring at a pair of dusty black boots.
