This whole time I haven’t opened my eyes. Not that I really could since my right is swollen shut and the other sees nothing but red and a dot in the distance that never leaves no matter how much I try and blink it away.
A coarse cloth is tossed at me, followed by the words, “Put that on.”
I open my one functioning eye then and scramble for the garment they fashioned out of a potato sack. At the top is a hole for my head to go through and cuts at the sides for my arms. The hem reaches midthigh. The material abrades against the barely scabbed-over slashes on my body. I endure. It’s just another one of their torture methods. Then I wait for my next set of instructions. My easy compliance is more for my sake than a loss of pride. There’s no use baring my teeth; they’ve already knocked out several over the course of this week.
The underboss’s broad frame darkens the doorway. The flinch that comes at the sight of him is involuntary. He grins, catching my reaction to his presence. The urge to shift my weight and fidget is overwhelming. Only the throbbing in my broken ankle keeps me still.
“Good, you’re dressed,” he says in a self-satisfied tone. “Today you die in front of the entire city.”
My relief is instantaneous that I sag heavily against the wall I’ve been leaning on. Finally… finally this will be over. I almost weep for joy.
“But we have a couple of stops to make first,” he adds with relish. He gestures at my guards and I let out a breath when they lift me by my armpits. I couldn’t have walked even if they wanted me to.
Head bowed, I watch the floor change from smooth concrete to gleaming wooden panels to a pebbled path. We halt at a set of tall bamboo gates. A sentry presses a button and the gates open outward, revealing several black SUVs lining the sidewalk. The underboss passes us and gets into the middle one. My guards quickly deposit me in beside the man who took great delight in inflicting pain. I clamp my mouth shut against the onslaught of negative sensations. My muscles scream. My bones wail. My entire body weeps. What should have been a soft leather seat designed for ultimate comfort now only serves to distribute the agony evenly. Shifting does nothing to alleviate my discomfort.
The underboss places his large hand on my thigh and squeezes until I shudder. Then he gives a nod for the driver to proceed. A signal is given and the SUV moves in front of us. We follow. Cars who notice the Halehorn insignia of a sword with wings on the caravan move out of the way, ensuring a smooth trip within the city streets.
“You will like where we’re going, I promise.” The underboss smiles at me as if he can’t wait to show me his surprise. Knowing how he operates, this is another one of his ways to fulfill his promise of taking everything away from me.
I turn toward the window. My semiworking eye widens when I recognize the dilapidated buildings. We’re heading into Shanty Town. My heart punches the wall of my chest so hard I’m light-headed from all the blood rushing through my body. I open my mouth, but no words come out. The underboss laughs when he sees my mounting horror.
With a last burst of strength, I thrash around, fists pummeling every part of the underboss I can reach. The driver and guard riding shotgun don’t react, trusting their employer has things handled. And the underboss does. Soon he has me on his lap, his arms wrapped around my body in a vise grip. Securing both my wrists in one hand, he uses the other to open the door. In my adrenaline-laced panic, I don’t notice we’ve stopped until he is carrying me out of the car.
Tears tumble out of my eyes at the sight of the brick building that once held my garage. Soot covers the walls that manage to remain standing. All the windows are broken. The roof has collapsed into the structure. Then my gaze lands on the charred remains of three bodies lined up at the shutter gate. So badly burned, none of them are recognizable. But I know who they are. Sweet Trevor, who wandered in one day like a stray cat and never left. Screw, my mighty mechanic, who never let me and my GT down. And ever-reliable Mac.
Keening sounds reach my ears. Soon I realize they’re coming from me, from the ragged throat that will never work right again. Despite the underboss holding me up, I feel my body drop. Everyone who counted on me, who were innocent but for the fact that they worked for me, are dead. From the way the bodies are positioned, arms and legs bent behind them, images of them tied up while the building burned flooded my mind’s eye. Forget physical pain. The emotional, the mental is far, far worse. Nothing can compare.
“Like that, do you?” the underboss whispers into my ear, his breath hot and minty fresh. I cringe from disgust. My urge to kill him wars with my despondency. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing. “We’re just getting started.” He walks us toward the back of the building where the parking lot is.
In the open space sits my GT. For a moment, happiness at seeing my baby unharmed undercuts all the trauma I have suffered so far. That is until I notice the compactor it’s sitting beside. The underboss nods at the operator, who then starts the machine. I fight to get free, to run to my baby and get her out of the way. The sadistic man holds on, refusing to release me no matter how much I beg. A platform lifts my GT into the bowels of the monster and at the flick of a lever the roof lowers. It
