Page 86 of Destroyed With You

It wasn’t ideal, not by a long shot. But Linda needed him.

He smiled, cold and dangerous.

Yeah. He could make this work.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“You fucking little bitch. You goddamned whore.” Billy Hawthorne paces in front of me, his white-blond hair seeming to glow in the dim light of this garage.

I just sit there, my arms and legs strapped to this wobbly old kitchen chair, as his words bounce off me as if I were a wall and they were rubber. I’m too numb to feel. He’s dead. Oh, dear God, Winston is dead.

It feels as though the universe is punishing me, slapping me with such horrible, painful irony. Telling me that it’s all over, the fight’s done, and that at least I’ll be with Winston again soon.

Except that’s not who I am. I’m not going to submit. I’m going to fight. For myself, for Winston, and for every person Hawthorne has hurt over the years. Especially those he and Collins manipulated me to hurt.

So no. It’s not the universe punishing me—it’s Hawthorne fucking with me.

And although I don’t have a clue how I’ll manage it, I intend to end this guy. Or die trying, anyway.

“I trusted you, you cunt,” he snarls, pacing in front of me. “I was your friend. I gave you work. I let you into my circle. And now I learn this? Let me tell you, sweet cheeks, I am very, very disappointed in you.”

I want to tell him to fuck off. Instead, I keep looking straight ahead. I know Hawthorne. My reaction is what he wants. My fear is what gets him going. My hatred gets him hard.

I’m not giving him any of that.

He makes a scoffing noise, then comes closer. “Pity about your big strong man. Not so big and strong now, is he? Now he’s just little bits of goo scattered all over the lawn. Serves the fucker right. Shame about that truck, I’ll admit that. But the prick inside it? I got no remorse there at all.”

I can’t help it. I lift my eyes to look at him. But I say nothing. I still won’t give him the satisfaction.

His face goes red, and he rushes forward and gets right in my face, his hands on the arm of the chair. He’s so close I can smell his breath. Onions and something putrid. I want to gag.

“Say something, bitch.”

I meet his eyes. I stay silent.

He pulls a knife from his back pocket, flicks open the blade. I go stiff, fear icing my blood. If I’m going to die, I’d prefer it be quick. Hawthorne, I’m sure, will make sure that it’s not.

I expect to feel the steel of that blade on my skin. Instead, he starts to slowly and methodically cut my clothes off of me.

“No fast death for you,” he says as he slices the seams on the jacket. “No, we’re going to do this layer by layer.”

He’s detached the sleeves, and he slices forward, opening the armhole so he can take off the bulk of the jacket. He tosses it on the floor, and I hear a subtle clink as the ring tumbles from the pocket onto the concrete floor.

He doesn’t notice, and I force myself not to look down. I continue to look straight ahead as he uses the knife to start slicing my shirt, peeling it off in strips until it’s in a pile on the floor, too. I’m still in my bra with the suit’s detached sleeves on my arms, and I force myself to stay still. No reaction at all.

“I’m down to skin,” he says. “So do I undress the rest of you? Or do I start peeling away the skin of those lovely brea—”

He cuts himself off, and I frown, then bite back a curse when I see what’s drawn his attention. The ring.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” He bends to pick it up. “Collins always did give his people the most interesting toys. This one has two needles, right? A sedative for most missions and a poison for those dark and dangerous circumstances.”

I say nothing. He’s right, of course. I’d intended to use the poison on Bartlett. It’s conveniently untraceable. And later, I’d tried to maneuver it so that I could use the sedative on Winston.

That didn’t go so well.

And now, because of the guard in the vault, there is only poison left in the ring.

“I’d intended to draw this out,” Hawthorne says, taking a step toward me. “But now I’m thinking that a fast death might be amusing. I can watch the fear build in your eyes, as I come closer and closer, because you know exactly what’s coming.”