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…

down gunmen, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

scratching.

an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle

*****

you know

Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from

for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to the

you're getting attached to

Don't misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to

“So?”

your

flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she

do you keep

mouth

you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to

want me to feed you? We can

But if that were 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,

me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is

“So,

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 dig up potatoes for the rest

sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making you

changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you

“Solana…” she hisses.

mouth working, she says 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

heel, she stalks

my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with the other

green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is

a single bite taken from the corner.

anything like this for…

For how long?

I’ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense

I had a

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the

wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing

my scavenged meal, I barf it

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

Comments ()

0/255