In the middle of the room, lying clearly where someone had thrown him, is the photographer. I want to kick him where it hurts on sight, but we’d made a promise to keep our hands off.
Swift stands, staring at him for a moment. Then she glances around. “You got a board we can lie him on?”
“What, you’re going to stretcher him out of here?” Blaze sneers. “Just give me five minutes with him.”
All the brothers are here, and all, like me, want to make the man hurt. But no marks, Swift had stated.
Bolt, I notice, is leaning back against a workbench which contains some of Salem’s tools of the trade. I see him glance at them, but he doesn’t draw Swift’s attention.
“Board?” Swift asks again, ignoring the comments and objections.
Salem huffs and goes through to the front of the hangar, coming back with something he lies on when getting under a bike. Swift nods in satisfaction.
“Blocks and rope,” she requests next.
Interested to see where she’s going with this, I place myself next to Bolt. When I raise a quizzical eyebrow at him, he just grins.
The female Satan’s Devil is looking around, an evil smile appearing as she spots something. Then, when the items she requested are found, she raises her chin at Salem.
“You want in on this?”
I see Salem hesitate, but Prez leans in and whispers to him.
Salem draws in a breath, then goes to her side. “Whatcha want?”
“Him. On his back. Ropes wrapped around him, tight enough so he can’t move. I’ve got a little surprise planned for when he wakes up.”
It’s good timing as he starts to stir just as they’ve got him trussed up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey.
He actually comes around fast, trying his bindings immediately, but they’ve rendered him immobile. He’s even bound around his head. All he can move are his eyes and mouth, and the latter he starts exercising immediately.
“Who the fuck are you? Let me go. I’ve done nothing. Let me loose.”
“Who am I?” Swift puts herself in his line of sight and adds in a tone so chilling I have no problem in believing her, “I am your greatest nightmare.” She considers him for a moment. “You can save yourself a world of hell if you answer my questions. If you don’t, I assure you, you’ll be begging for death.”
Bolt nudges me. “She knows what she’s talking about. Hard to believe, but she had torture methods used on her as part of her training. That was meant to make her strong and know what to expect if she was ever captured by someone who didn’t abide by the Geneva Convention. Of course, she knows all about the effect.” His brow furrows, and he shakes his head. “When she says he’ll beg for death, she knows what she’s talking about.”
“But she passed her training?” Or at least, that’s what I was told.
“Sure. She didn’t beg. But he will.” He jerks his head down toward where Devon is tied up.
I pull my attention back to Swift and listen to what she’s saying. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you’ve got an ounce of sense, you’re going to answer them.”
For a response, Devon presses his lips together.
“I need names of the investors, owners of the network, and anyone connected to the porn business you’re a part of.”
Devon stays quiet until she kicks him. Not hard, just a reminder he’s helpless and tied up.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I run a photography business. It’s legit.” His eyes meet mine and he reads something on my face. “Sure, I cut corners when I can get away with it, but I don’t know anything about porn.”
“So you didn’t know about the hole in the ground of the house that you rent was filled with kids? The kids you would have left to starve to death.”
“What? No.” Devon tries to sound adamant, but there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Grumbler
Sparing him only one look of disdain, Swift walks to the back of the hangar to the space I saw her looking at earlier, picks up the water bucket and fills it from the faucet.
She walks back and makes a request. “Use the blocks. Raise his legs. Make sure his head is tilted back.” When they do, she bends down as if to check the angle is to her satisfaction, adjusting it until it is.
“Wha-what are you doing?” Devon’s eyes are frantically moving left and right.
I start to grin. I’d already suspected, but now I’m certain where she’s going with this.
“I need a cloth.”
Again, Salem disappears. It seems his step is spritelier now that he, like I, have cottoned on. He reappears with an old t-shirt—one he collects to use as rags on the custom bikes he builds.
“How can I help?” he offers, as he hands it to Swift.
“Hold it over his mouth and nose.”
“No. No. What are you doing? You trying to suffocate me?” Devon’s muffled voice sounds. He seems to have no idea of the horror that’s really about to be unleashed upon him.
“You going to talk to me?” Swift asks, indicating to Salem to raise the rag.
“I know nothing. You’ve got the wrong man.”
She raises her chin toward Salem, and the rag is replaced. Then, taking the bucket, she begins to pour the water onto his face. He can’t escape. Even if he clamps his mouth shut, his nostrils will be filling, causing him to open his mouth to breathe, the only result being to take more water in.
Gagging and spluttering sounds come in vain. Swift seems to know what she’s doing, stopping the stream of water after a short time. Salem tilts his head in question. She shakes her head. After Devon’s managed to get some air in, she starts pouring again. This time, when she stops, she gestures that Salem can lift the rag.
Niran, making himself useful, goes to top up the
