Page 162 of Flint’s Strike

“If you think that’ll stop her, you don’t know her at all,” I grit out.

My arms are shaking. The strain from the pipe and the position are working against me. How long until I can’t even hold my head up?

“No,” Dines says. “I don’t think it will.”

He looks almost pleased with himself. If I could move at all, I’d rip the smile off his goddamn face with my bare hands.

“That’s why she gets to watch.”

The other man steps into the room and sets a small video camera encased in a thick plastic box on the floor just out of my reach.

I study it for a moment, then narrow my eyes at Dines.

“It’s rated up to a thousand degrees. The camera has a cellular chip in it that will stream the video to a secure location.” He nods at the damn thing. “It should last long enough.”

My mouth goes dry.

“No.”

Dines snaps his fingers, and the other man returns with a full-face respirator. Clear plastic, adjustable straps, and an oxygen tank connected by a thick hose.

No. God, no.

“Smoke inhalation is quick. You know that. Painless, mostly. You pass out before the flames ever reach you.”

Dines steps out of the way, and his henchman starts to fit the mask over my face.

I thrash, try to stop him, but there’s nowhere to go. He grabs a fistful of my hair and slams my skull against the pipe.

The fight drains out of me in an instant.

All I can do is blink.

He sets the mask in place, tightens the straps, and then steps behind me. Everything is moving in slow motion. I hear a metallic click. Then another.

When he’s done, the mask digs into my cheeks. He pulls a roll of duct tape from his pocket and secures the hose to my chest, covering it with layer after layer of tape until there’s no way I’ll be able to pull it out even if I did get my hands free.

“You’re a fucking monster!” I scream through the plastic. The words are so muffled, I doubt he can hear me at all.

“Enjoy the next hour,” Dines says after a quick glance at his watch. “There’s enough oxygen in there for twice that. But the fire will be here long before it runs out.”

He crouches slightly, peering at me through the clear plastic.

“Tomorrow, the video will show up in your girlfriend’s inbox. That way she can watch you burn alive again and again, and again.”

I pull against the restraints until my shoulders scream. Neither man moves to stop me. They don’t need to.

Dines strolls out of the room like he doesn’t have a care in the world, his muscle following. The door shuts, and the lock turns with a heavy thunk.

Then…nothing.

I know what this is going to feel like. I don’t have to imagine the pain the way another man might. My body already knows. I remember the sound before the pain. Seven years ago, I remember thinking that a person’s skin isn’t supposed to make noise. Then being unable to forget the sound of burning alive.

I should have died back then.

Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe this is the Universe’s way of balancing the books.

If this is a debt coming due, there’s a part of me that understands why.