Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 52

Klempner

What's the obsession with potatoes?

I called her Potato Face when she was a kid.

What does she look like now?

Jenny was no looker at that age…

… But she matured. Bloomed.

Juliana... Never the same twice.

I scratch at my beard. I’ve never liked facial hair in hot climates, but I don’t have a choice right now. Even so, the flourishing colony of lice that has stowed aboard adds an extra edge of irritation.

Lice…

Where the fuck did they come from?

Can rat lice live on humans?

Having a fucking good go at it…

I catch one, squeezing the revolting thing between my fingernails. It bursts with a Pop!

Only another 999 to go…

*****

The boredom’s the worst. Endless hours. Endless days and nights. I’ve no idea how long.

The only breaks in the monotony are Juliana’s visits: just long enough to sit, eat something at me, toss a potato at me.

No, not Juliana: Solana.

Why's she so obsessed with the name?

How many names have I used over the years? Worn like a suit of clothes to be discarded when the weather changes and something different is needed.

I’ve never been defined by my name.

But she sees it differently…

Something skritches and I jerk a look sidelong

It’s a rat…

Just a rat…

faced down

It’s just a rat…

openings, more scratching. And a

long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet.

*****

do you know what Stockholm syndrome

something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What is

kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment

you're getting attached

misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's

“So?”

I your

friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into

do you keep coming

mouth hanging a little

all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I

me to feed

the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here every

speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that

her head, giggling. “So, you're

you're worth it? The daughter you had slated as a sex-slave when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to

crosses her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows.

mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into

“Solana…” she hisses.

no more. Instead, she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the

on her heel, she

know what's coming. Launching myself at the fallen food, ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling

camera. It hardly

almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a fruit

eaten anything like this for…

For how long?

sense of time is out of

I had a

in a mouthful of empanada, then another,

down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating,

it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255