Thumper by Marie James

Chapter 24

Thumper

“This again?” I grumble when rough hands pull at the front of my ripped shirt.

“Today’s the day, motherfucker,” Ernesto’s right-hand man growls in my ear as he practically drags me out of the cell. “We have better shit to do, and we’ve already wasted too much time on you. Tell Ernesto where Juan’s body is because I’m growing fucking tired of this shit.”

I’m deadweight under his hands, and I don’t think I could help him get myself to the chair in the middle of the room if I wanted to. I don’t want to. They could kill me in the cell at this point and it would just be easier for everyone. If they took a page out of Miguel’s book, they would know that putting a bullet in my head would be less work for them if they did it at whatever location they plan to dump my body, but like I said, I’m not in a position to help them.

The man cusses under his breath as he struggles to sit me upright in the chair. My body is beaten and bruised. The swelling in my left wrist should be a concern, but like he said, after today, it won’t even matter. The tightness in my face is either from inflammation or dried blood, but it’s not like I’ve been given the chance to look in a mirror to assess the damage done to me. My arms look like a bloody roadmap, cuts carved into my skin with little to no precision.

“Are you going to talk today?”

I nod my head as best I can, my head feeling like a useless heavy weight. I struggle to breathe when it falls forward, my chin resting on my chest. His touch is violent and filled with irritation when he shoves me in the forehead to push my head back.

“You better.”

A slap rings out, my head jolting to the side, but right now is no better—or should I say worse—than it was the last time I was strapped to this chair because I feel absolutely nothing.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m overcome with guilt and grief. I’ve never fucked up so royally on a case before. I’ve never had to open my eyes in the morning knowing that more than half a dozen souls were snuffed out due to my own actions. Miguel mentioned that he slit the throats of three women, which means that there’s a chance that Lauren survived. Hopefully, she hid when shit started going down, but I know the woman, and it’s not really in her wheelhouse to hide and shrink away from danger. I squeeze my good eye closed and ask for forgiveness for the loss of her life as well since it just makes more sense than being lucky enough to survive the massacre.

Time passes as I sit here, either seconds or decades, but I’m too out of it to get a grip on such meaningless things. I can sense the man near me, that part of my training is still partially intact, but he doesn’t speak or threaten me with his tools of torture, something he says he’s bored with now but took great pride in every other time I’ve been in this position.

Or maybe he is speaking, and my brain just can’t process it.

I mentally appeal to any higher power listening that this ends quickly, that the lies I tell Ernesto don’t keep me alive longer so he can verify if I’m telling the truth. I have no idea why we left the house so quickly if finding the body was his only goal. It would’ve made more sense for him to torture me there than dragging me to wherever we are now. At least then I would be closer to what was left of Cara.

Ernesto’s worry about laying his brother to rest makes me question what will happen with the bodies of those left behind, and I smile taking some solace that Braden was coming the following morning to get the other three women. If Miguel killed them and the staff, maybe the FBI will actually take the time to collect those bodies and deal with them properly, but I know that’s a long shot. I feel like I’ve wasted my life on an organization that I know is capable of just walking away and letting them rot until the house is sold to the next evil man planning to put those cages in the basement to use.

Shadows cross in front of my face, but my level of concern is too small to register even on the smallest scale.

“You’ll talk the second he gets in here,” the man growls in my ear, his fingers tangled in my hair.

I know the grip is bruising, one last shot to hurt me, but once again, I feel nothing. Honestly, I’m grateful for the help as he pulls my head back so I can watch with one eye as Ernesto approaches. Of course, he’s showered, the blood splashed on him yesterday washed away. I get the feeling that he’s as over dealing with me as the man standing near me because he’s wearing a business suit nice enough to convince people he’s a true businessman rather than an evil bastard who rapes women and kills people for fun.

“Did Antonio tell you that today was your last day on earth?” Ernesto sneers.

My lips are thick and cracked as I smile at the man. I can’t even guarantee it looks as taunting as I want, but it’s all I have.

The tip of his gun lifts my chin a little higher.

“Tell me where Juan is, and I’ll put an end to your pain and—”

“What the fuck?” Antonio yells, but his release of my hair forces my head forward once again.

Sounds register. I know I’m hearing things, but my brain is too sluggish too separate them in order to understand what’s going on. One second, Ernesto’s shadow is there and then it’s gone.

But how is that possible? Someone is lifting my chin again and—

“Jinx?” I hiss when his face comes into view.

For not having felt the pain of my injuries, my body chooses now to go back online, and as tears clog my throat, I feel the burn of them behind my eyes.

“Brother, please make it quick. That’s all I ask.”

His eyes widen as shots ring out, and instead of him pulling the trigger on his gun, he slumps against me.

“No, no, no,” I chant as his weight causes the chair I’m tied on to fall backward.

The commotion around us is loud—more shots being fired, people yelling, baritone voices echoing all around the small room. I shift my weight, moving Jinx to the side before using the minimal power I have left in my body to turn and cover him as best as I can. I know it won’t prevent someone with any amount of skill from shooting him again, but I’m doing the best I can with what I have to work with.

After a handful of breaths, silence falls over the room, my ability to breathe nearly impossible with the position I’m in and the injuries I’ve sustained. Maybe this is for the best. My eyes flutter closed, and I begin to really accept my fate.

“Jesus, fuck, man. You’re goddamn heavy.”

A groan slips past my lips, not one of pain but a plead to just let me die in peace as my body is moved. I don’t have the strength to open my eyes, but I don’t really care to see what’s coming.

“Hey. Stop that shit. Open your eyes.”

The familiar voice has the power to make me obey, and when my unswollen eye flickers open, I’m looking up at that single stupid light hanging from the ceiling, but one blink is all it takes for darkness to take over again.

“You’re not dying today motherfucker. Keep your eyes open.” I’m shaken, and I open my mouth to tell him that he’s wasting his time.

Or maybe that’s his plan all along. Ernesto spent days torturing me, but maybe the Cerberus men that I betrayed want their turn. Maybe I don’t die today but meet my end tomorrow or the next day or however long they have before my body finally gives up.

“Sosa! Look at me.” Even the call of my real name no longer carries any power. “Thumper!”

I feel the hot trail of tears running to my temples as I finally let go.