Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 39

Back in the lounge, Cara is sitting on Mitch’s knee. “Getting into practice?” I ask.

Hope and tears war in her voice. “I suppose.” Then as Cara stretches chubby arms out to me. “I think she wants a hug.”

My baby daughter gives me a gummy smile as I pick her up, cradling her to my chest and bouncing her a bit. “You been a good girl then?”

A burble is my only reply, but Georgie looks at me a little oddly. “You never used to do that with me.”

“In fact, Georgie, I did. But your mother didn't like it. She always took you away from me when she could.”

She frowns. “Mom stopped you picking me up?”

“That’s right.”

“But…why would she do something like that?”

I shrug. “I suppose she wanted control of you.” I speak off-handedly, but suddenly, the conversation is uncomfortable. “Mitch I’m making tea. Peppermint for you?”

*****

 

Klempner

Nightmares…

The world spinning…

A face… Juliana, grinning at me… Her teeth sharp and pointed, like a cat’s.

Pain… Something gnawing at me, some monster biting at my ankle.

I know I’m in a nightmare, but I can’t jolt myself out of sleep. Sickeningly, the world spins and wavers around me. I want to retch, but my sleep-bound body won’t let me.

*****

Harsh white light filters through my lashes to stab at crusty eyes. The world still revolves. Or is it me that’s turning?

Consciousness returns only slowly, one sensation after another settling enough to make sense of them.

The spinning around me slowly dies and my world settles. I’m chilled and numb. Pain stabs behind my eyes and as I move, my stomach threatens rebellion. Gradually, it comes to me that, while my shoulder muscles burn, my hands are free.

A male voice: “He should be awake now, shouldn’t he?”

A female voice: “Yes. I didn’t give him much. He should be awake by now. He’s probably faking it.”

Just lie here…

Eyes closed…

Listen…

I’m lying on some cold, hard surface, slick with damp, coated with Christ-knows-what unnamable muck. And for some reason, I’m stretched out full-length, one arm reaching out above my head.

The male voice again: “Wakey, wakey, Larry.” And something plants itself in my ribs, whoofing the air out of my lungs.

Instinctively I roll, snatching for a foot, a leg, a fist: but I catch only empty air. Then I pull up short, with the clink of metal and something biting into my ankle.

What the hell…?

The air stinks. A fetid smell; stagnant water and the rank scent of decay, washes over me. All without meaning to, I react, covering my mouth and nose with my hand before realising that my hand is part of the smell, foul with slime and muck.

Somewhere close by: a trickling sound, and the slap of water against hard sides.

Where the fuck am I?

Oddly out of place, the smell of fresh paint tickles my nostrils.

The male voice again. “He’s awake for sure. He opened his eyes just then, but closed them again.” The words sound far away, as though carried through a tunnel. My eyes won’t focus properly. Nor my head: stuffed and unclear.

it’s

pain at my ankle competes with the rebellion of my stomach. My guts heave and the sad remains of my

spatters my chin. Wiping it away with the back of my hand succeeds only in smearing foul muck

Someone giggles.

my face, I realise my fingertips too are sticky with something besides the filth:

?

sense. Every part of me screams protest as, stiff-muscled, my body torpid, I try again to raise myself into a sitting

bite at my ankle again,

for my ankle, finding a steel cuff, snapped closed. And as my vision clears, I see a padlock. With leaden fingers, I feel at the metal, probing sluggishly: it’s good quality, the steel polished and new. My feet are bare; there’s no sign of my

coming in short gasps, finally I look

light is bright, harsh and white, But it quickly fades, illuminating only a small area

waiting, sitting on a fold-up wooden chair. Jose stands beside her. Between them and me, trickled over muck and slime, a thick white line is painted on

over her lips. “You

something up, dangling it in her fingers, glinting dully: a small brass key: She passes it to Jose, who hangs it on a nail banged into the concrete wall, clearly visible, but well beyond

feeling so good, Larry?” Juliana rises from her chair, to stand a little distance from me, smirking. “Don’t worry, the nausea will pass… Or…” She sweeps an arm around… “Or maybe it won’t. I’d like to think you get the benefit of the accommodation I’ve chosen for

that. The walls and floor are concrete. Beside me, the floor drops away to a channel containing an uncertain depth of oozing water. Rusted metal grates obstruct narrow black unknowns: some dry,

Sewers?

the confined space with sharp dark shadows. And set in the wall behind Juliana, towards the

speak, “You’re consistent, Juliana. I’ll say that for you. You imprisoned Jenny below ground in primitive conditions. Now you

done it.” She squats down, noticeably well to her side of the painted line, fastidiously

Larry? Locked up in your cellars at Blessingmoors, whenever you or that bastard Jenkins…” Her lips curls…”That fucking perv you put in charge… Whenever either of you felt

remember that about you. I remember those cellars so well. We all spent time there; with the rats for company

I don’t comment, don’t move, try

of tunnels and dark places, this is your life now… for as much of it as you

at her, trying to inject some venom,

turns to Jose. “You still have his

“Of course.”

“Give it to me.”

as though she has never seen such a thing before. Then, holding it loosely, almost negligently, she waves it through the air, the muzzle

She won’t shoot…

She’s a gloater…

doesn’t

Not yet….

But my breath holds…

randomly, first one way, then the

properly yet, you know.” She aims at my forehead. “I might just shoot you dead. Bang! Bang!…” She mimes firing… Fake recoil with each Bang… “…Just like that…” Then she sniffs. “But that wouldn’t be so much

her head at me, as though it were a genuine question, as though, waiting for an answer. She

take you a piece at a time.” She stares upward, as though addressing the ceiling. “What do you

myself

In… Out… In… Out…

games: making the victim collaborate in

feet. “Which will it be, Larry? Left or right?

Fuck this…

Larry? Time to

Keep calm…

Don't panic…

Baxter…

the right one, I think…” Her face splits into a pumpkin smile and she widens her eyes at me… “… It's not as though you’re going to need it again. I'll leave you the other one for a bit.

with gunshot wounds down here, Juliana, and they'll be infected within hours. I'd be dead

of the Glock. “Quite right, Larry.” She gives a quick, sharp nod. “It's good we understand each other...” She looks toward Jose,

arms folded, legs akimbo; radiating machismo. “All your enemies are dead

to keep you that way. I don’t think you have more than a few days. And they’re

my tone, “You think I’m the one in trouble, Jose? If your only use to Juliana was to

stay out late. “… Sola can do what she wants with you. No one else knows you’re here. She has her revenge.

moves closer to him, slides one hand over his cheek, then around his neck, as though to kiss him. “As you say, Jose,

he

around her, smiles in

Dumb bastard…

“Hey, look out. She's...”

wrapped

and I’m

the Glock pressed into his belly, she

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