Page 55 of Scar Tissue

He straightens and gestures again. This time, two guards step forward and grab my chair, hauling it a few feet away from Nathan’s. Not far. Just far enough.

“No,” Nathan snaps, straining against his restraints. “You saidyou wouldn’t?—”

“I said no such thing,” Harrison replies snidely. “I said I don’t like violence. Separation, however, is a management tool.”

My heart slams against my ribs as the space between us widens. It’s small, insignificant to anyone watching, but it feels like a canyon.

Harrison kneels in front of me then, eyes level with mine. “You’re the problem,” he says softly. “Not because you know something, but because you clearly notice things. That makes you dangerous in ways muscle never is.”

I swallow, forcing my voice steady. “If you think hurting us will get you what you want, you’re wrong.”

His smile is thin. “I don’t need you to tell me. I need you to slip.” He rises, nodding once. “Bring her back.”

Nathan roars my name as they pull me away, the sound tearing through me like a blade. My face is wet and sticky from the blood dripping down as I twist, fighting uselessly, until one of the guards slams me hard against the wall. Pain flashes white, but I keep my eyes on Nathan as long as I can.

“Remember,” Harrison calls after Nathan, “every lie buys her time. Every moment of silence costs someone else theirs.”

The door slams shut between us, and the room they drag me into is smaller. Brighter. Clinical in a way that makes my skin crawl, giving me flashbacks of Dylan laying in her hospital bed after she was rescued. A table. A chair. Nothing else. They remove me from my current chair and take me to the table where they slam me down on my back and tie my wrists and feet to the legs with rope. It bites into my skin as they pull my legs apart and fasten my ankles. My wrists ache immediately, burning where the coarse fibers press into tender flesh. I want to scream, to fight, but I know that will only give him the satisfaction. I can hear Nathan still yelling from the room over and my heart aches because I know he blames himself. I wish I could tell him I don’t blame him, that I’m just as responsible for getting us into this mess. That I wanted to help.

The air in the room feels too thin, too sterile, like it’s pressingagainst my lungs, and the fluorescent lights hum faintly, like a heartbeat. I lift my head slightly, eyes darting around.

Nothing. Just the table, walls, the single door we came through. I force myself to breathe evenly, counting silently to keep the panic from exploding.

A shadow falls over me. Harrison.

“You know,” he says softly, almost conversational as his hand trails down my body—between my breasts, down my stomach, between my thighs until he’s clutching the place between my legs. “I said I don’t like violence, but I also value results. And results require…persuasion.” He squeezes me, his fingers digging in, almost forcing me to cry out but I refuse to give him what he wants: a reaction.

His fingers tighten for another second, testing, probing at my entrance through my underwear, waiting for the flinch he expects. I give him nothing.

But inside panic is clawing its way up my throat.One, two, three,I count as I stare at the ceiling.

His grip finally loosens and he exhales through his nose like he’s disappointed. Another of Nathan’s screams tears through the door that separates us. My name coming from his lips in such a raw way that my chest tightens painfully.

“He cares,” he says lightly. “That’s always useful.” I say nothing in response. “You see, Thea,” he rests a hand on my should. “This could all be very simple. You tell me what I want to know and you both walk out of here with only a bruised ego.

“You’re lying.”

He chuckles softly. “Of course I am,” he says. “But I’m the one holding the knife, which makes the lie rather flexible.”

He whistles and the door opens before one of the guards enters. The man steps forward and tears through my underwear with the knife that is still red with my blood. The cold air hits me and I brace myself for what might be coming next as fear shreds through me.

Harrison leans down until his face is just inches from mine. “Now let’s try again,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask you a question, and this time, I would appreciate honesty.”

From the other room, Nathan slams into something hard—managing to move his chair against the concrete—and shouts again.

“Did she come to you,” he asks softly, “or did someone send you after her?”

My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs open. This is the moment. He thinks that by separating us, one of us will crack and give us the information he wants. But what he doesn’t know is that since we took Claire in, even though she’s a teenage girl, a feeling akin to being maternal has settled in me. I would never betray her.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

The word comes out hoarse, but steady. I have to make the lie believable. “We didn’t follow her. Someone tipped us off.” The smallest flicker of interest crosses Harrison’s face. “Someone inside of your operation,” I continue, letting the lie settle slowly into the air. “We never met her. We never saw the drive. All we knew was that kids were being moved through this building tonight.” His head tilts slightly and I can see the gears turning behind his mask. He’s suspicious, there’s no doubt about that.

“Convenient,” he says.

“Maybe,” I reply quietly, attempting to buy time. “But if Claire had come to us, do you really think we’d be stupid enough to walk straight into your domain alone?”

He begins pacing, folding his hands behind his back. “If what you’re saying is true,” he murmurs, “then I have a far more serious problem than two misguided heroes.” He stops at the door and the guard steps closer to the table again, flipping the knife in his hands.