Page 76 of Ravaged With You

I can’t answer. My throat is too tight, and I feel like I’m strangling on unshed tears.

“No? Well, then I shall tell you, yes? It is so very clever. Because, you see, he loves you, no? And so I shall do the best torture. One that will surely destroy him. I will let him watch, helpless, as you die.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Red slammed into consciousness, jarred back to reality by the force of the water sprayed in his face. He sputtered, his soaked shirt sticking to his chest as he tried to move, tried to remember.

Then he saw her and everything clicked back into place. He tried to surge forward but was foiled by the chair to which he was strapped, one thick rope around his chest that bound him to the back. His arms were crossed behind him and tied together above the wrist. His legs weren’t bound, but all that allowed was for him to bounce across the floor, and she’d undoubtedly kill him while he tried to move.

Just like before. Dear God, this was just like before.

Except it wasn’t. This time he had his legs, if he could manage to time the use of them. That was a benefit.

But they also had Jo unless—please, no—they’d already killed her. And having her in their custody changed everything. He might take a risk with his own life, but not with hers.

“Where is she?”

“Your sweet Lisa? Those other bitches? Why they’re dead, of course.”

He growled, the rising sound low and coming out like an animal about to attack. He lunged forward, but all that happened was the chair tipped a bit, then righted.

But that movement—that slight movement—cut through the haze in his brain. He would get free. He had to. Jo needed him, and there was no way in hell he was letting her down.

“Oh, did you mean the lovely Josephine? Why she’s fine as well. Naked and ready for you.” She smiled, then settled into the empty chair behind which she’d been standing. “I’m so looking forward to watching.”

His entire being screamed for him to attack, but he forced himself to focus. To study his surroundings. To think. To analyze. To plan.

Cinderblock walls. Three hanging bulbs for lighting. A small room, probably ten by twelve, with one metal door on the far side. Two men guarding it. No windows that he could see. They were in a basement, perhaps.

“I killed you once already,” he snarled. “This time, I’ll do a better job.”

Her laugh was full of delight, a sweet sound in utter contrast with the foul, sadistic bitch he knew her to be.

“You didn’t kill me.” She stood, then crossed to him. She bent over, putting her hands on the armrests as she got right in his face. “But I will kill you.”

Fear spiked, panic building. Every flashback he’d had throughout the years threatening to come back. To fill his head, debilitating him. Making him useless to himself. And, oh please no, to Jo.

No. Goddamit, no.

He’d survived this bitch before, and he could damn well do it again. He had to.

“It won’t be an easy death, Mr. Cooper,” she said, her eyes dipping to the hose on the floor. He noticed that there was no barrel in which to submerge him, thank God, but he could see that the hose was the high-pressure kind used by firemen. She’d awakened him with it, but not at full pressure, he was sure of that.

At full force, she could drown him simply by holding it steady long enough.

A smile flickered on her lips. “Oh, no. No my dear Mr. Cooper. You will not die as easily as that. Not right away, at least. First you will watch another woman you care about die. As I had to watch my husband die after you buried us in rubble.”

“No more than you or he deserved,” he snarled, fury that she’d dare hurt Jo coiling through him.

“Try to be nicer, Mr. Cooper. It won’t save your woman, but it might earn you a quick death when you follow her. Right now, I am looking forward to killing you slowly. Painfully. But if you use your manners and show me your remorse for killing Lars, then perhaps I shall show the tiniest bit of mercy, no?”

His lip curled up, but he stayed silent. The bitch was insane, and he wasn’t going to rile her. Not because he cared what she did to him, but if he pissed her off too much, she’d undoubtedly take it out on Jo.

Think, dammit. A plan. A strategy. When his opportunity came—and, oh, he knew damn well it would come, he had to be ready. Had to be poised to kill the bitch in an instant, then go after her two protectors.

And then he had to find Jo.

He drew in a breath, then another, trying to relax his body. To ready himself for any opportunity. Behind his back, he tugged at his wrists, trying to no avail to loosen the ropes. He switched tactics, instead closing his hands over his opposite forearms, then breathing in when he felt the scar tissue beneath his fingers. The touch calmed him, reminding him that he could do this. He had the skill, the power. All he needed was an opportunity.