Hot Revenge Box Set 4

It takes the pair of them to lift me; her at my feet, him at my shoulders; carrying me to a car parked, as I now realise, only yards away. They roll me over the edge of the trunk, where I thump down, landing awkwardly and on my face. Twisting, I’m still trying to ease myself into a more comfortable position when, letting me see her do it, Juliana delves into her bag again. She produces a small bottle, sets it on the edge of the trunk, then after another rummage, plastic packets containing syringe and needle…

My bladder tightens.

At least the needle will be clean…

“He's not going anywhere, Sola,” says Jose. “Nowhere we don't want him to go anyway.”

“I don’t want him enjoying the ride too much. Just check he's properly restrained.”

Jose leans in, gripping me at my shoulder, rolling me. He prods at my knees and my ankles, both locked tight. Then at my elbows. “He’s fine.”

“Good.” Juliana’s eyes flick between mine and the needle and syringe as she assembles them. Then she grins again as she draws clear liquid from the bottle. “You’re going to take a little nap, Larry.”

I want to look away but force myself to watch as she holds the needle over me. Lamplight glints from the tip as she hovers over my arm then moves instead for my neck.

She’s not gentle, stabbing in. My vision is already blackening, my ears buzzing as she gives me a quick pat on the cheek. “Just think of the fun we’re going to have together, you and I.”

Then she slams the lid down, and I fall into the darkness both inside and outside my skull…

*****

I wake to a banging headache and a foul taste in my mouth. Behind the tape, I swipe my tongue inside cheeks and over teeth, trying to work up enough saliva to moisten cotton-puff flesh.

It takes a little while for me to gather my head and make sense of the rest.

I’m lying side-on in the confined space of the trunk, chin pressing toward my chest, knees crooked. It’s dark, but not completely so, as light leaks through crevices.

stopping and starting irregularly with jolts that bang my forehead against some metal object; a car jack I think. My face stings where

a city centre; the grind of engines, the hooting of horns, occasional shouting and swearing. My arms are still locked behind me, the plastic ties digging in. My fingertips feel swollen and numb at the same time. My ankles are much the same. With some difficulty, I shuffle along a little to stop the jack jamming into my

the depth of her

Baxter…

I

both hands smashed; hammer and crowbar used on bone and flesh until they were all but pulped; beyond all hope of repair

shackled to a wall so he couldn’t stand

me

again? I doubt it. The surgeons can only do so much. There has to be enough left

now, I am

air is hot, stifling in

me that my cheek is pressed against something, harder, then softer with the rocking of the vehicle. It sticks slightly to my skin. And now, with time to think about my surroundings, there’s an odd smell; slightly floral, but with

Oh, fuck…

slant eyes downward, I make out plastic wrap. And inside that, packets; hundreds

pillowed against a street value of

to Christ they're

breathing

a Superman high. Quite the contrary. As I try to see sidelong, from my awkward position and in the limited light,

want me dead. Not this way

going to die. Not yet. I

What’s she planning?

rumble of

Don’t piss yourself…

She’d love that…

The drive grows smoother and for me, marginally less uncomfortable. My only possible movement