Page 105 of Speechless
Better for Sire to do what he did, what he was good at, and end her. Dispose of her body where Connor wouldn’t have to see what had been done to her.
Tears tried to force their way through thickly dried blood. Some trickled through, forcing their way to freedom only to turn to ice on her skin.
“Do what you like with her. She’s yours, after all. Kill her, get rid of the body, and come with me. We start over, start fresh. The FBI have gathered enough evidence to start focusing their hunt in the area, mostly thanks to that cunt’s statement.”
That voice…was it familiar? Jenna’s ears strained to catch the rhythm, the small nuances of speech. She was sure she recognized it from somewhere.
“It has penance to make before I do anything with it. Filthy, unclean thing. Well, that’s easily remedied.”
Water poured over her face in a cold torrent that blocked her nose, her mouth. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t gasp. It wouldn’t stop, almost drowning her in a wall of liquid death. Her lungs screamed and her ribs threatened to shatter and slice them to shreds.
Jenna flailed, trying to escape the flood, but her battered body couldn’t move even to save itself. Then the flood lessened, turned into a trickle. The sound of a bucket clattering to the floor beside her head wasn’t worth acknowledging.
She sucked in a breath that sent a spear of pain angling through her chest, coughed up water. Her body spasmed with pain. Her head throbbed until her world was nothing but suffering the torments of the damned.
A hand fisted her hair, pulled her from horizontal to standing with frightening strength. Mouth working in deference to the agony ricocheting through her, she barely stopped herself from throwing up.
Sire pulled the roots of her hair free from her scalp as he dragged her limp body across the shed and slammed her body roughly against the wall. Wet skin stuck instantly to the wood. “Such a bad whore, Twenty-Two. You’re going to set an example to future numbers. Bad whores get treated as such.”
Thin wire looped around her wrist, tightened as the weight of her heavy arm dropped. The noose dug into her flesh, sawing into skin. Her system flashed white as he repeated the action with her broken arm, lifting it so she felt the edges of the bone scrape together sickly.
Wire in place, Sire let her arm fall, and stepped away.
This time she did scream as her arm jolted against the pull of the wire first. A moment later, unable to support her own weight, she landed on her knees on the rough planks. The wires were too short, and she found herself hanging from her wrists, blood beginning to trickle down the frail limbs.
“Next time I’ll put one around your neck,” Sire told her casually.
With the scream still burning in her throat, she passed out.
*
It was late afternoon by the time Connor found his destination. With the help of several diversion signs—and by not following their directions—he came across the scene at a junction. Stopping well away from where he might contaminate any evidence with his truck, he surveyed the area with fear gnawing holes in his belly.
Hadley’s SUV was totaled. The black beast rested on its roof a good sixty feet away from the junction, and Connor could read the situation easily.
SUV passes the junction, car pulls out, collision.
But that scenario wouldn’t have resulted in the official FBI vehicle landing where it did. It sure as hell wouldn’t look as though it had taken on a freight train and lost.
He eyed the road leading to the junction, calculated. Park a ways back, wait for the FBI to come into view. There’d be a clear view of the direction Hadley was driving. Pick the timing, floor the gas, and hit the SUV full on. Yeah, you’d fishtail. Skid on the snow. But a good driver stood a chance of keeping the attacking vehicle on the straight and narrow rather than ditching it into a drift.
Gonna be some damage to the opposing truck, Connor mused. Not as much as Hadley’s, but sufficient to be able to identify it.
He watched men and women scurrying about in their winter uniforms, all marked with their own agency—FBI, Sheriff’s department, EMS and fire services. There was a recovery truck loitering to one side of the road, a hulking vulture waiting to pick the bones of what was now scrap metal.
The snow was finally starting to slow.
Connor frowned as he studied the authorities doing their jobs. This wasn’t going to work. Taking Luna to the scene wouldn’t help—there were so many people trudging over the crime scene, she’d struggle to pick up Jenna’s scent, if there was one left.
Plus, if the perp’s car was close by, the trail scent would only last until Jenna’s body was in the car, then Luna would lose it.
So he needed to reconsider his plan of attack carefully.
The bar.
He thought of the path Jenna had taken on her escape. She’d reached the bar on foot. She’d given Hadley and Connor enough details for him to have a general direction to start with.
Sire knew the FBI was on his tail—he wouldn’t have his minions wiping evidence if he didn’t. But Connor was willing to bet the sociopath didn’t bear an ounce of worry over the fact he was on the agency’s priority list and hadn’t bothered to relocate after Jenna got away. A sociopath’s arrogance was a tricky beast—they just didn’t give a shit.