Parole (The Vault) by Kathy Coopmans

Author:Kathy Coopmans [Coopmans, Kathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

TRENT

Turner, answer me, brother. Where are you? my mind screams. Every part of me wants to ask these fuckers where he is. If I do, they’ll taunt me with his whereabouts, and I’ll be surrounded with more guilt than I already have inside of my heart not being able to help him.

A thickness of dread lodges in my throat when the tip of a whip slices through my jeans and snakes around my ankles. The pain isn’t sharp like the wound from being shot years ago. It burns in a circle around my skin worse than what I imagine scalding hot water would feel like.

I can’t see the men who are attacking me as. They barged in here and threw something over my head, then one of them grabbed me from behind, loosened the chains, cuffed my hands, and chained me to something on the wall.

They're trying to torture me with pain. It isn’t working. They fail to see that watching him beat Tara until her unmoving body fell to the floor brings more pain than any amount they inflict on me.

The pain eating away at me now, though, wouldn’t be so bad if I had use of my hands. Hell, they would be dead if I did. I hate pussy-ass motherfuckers who don’t fight like real men. Hands, fists, feet, and the feeling of someone’s flesh being torn by your own deadly paws is a much greater reward to a man like me than this shit, but never raise them to a woman. Especially my woman.

Now, as I sit here taking their wrath, I can’t help but wonder if he’s forcing her to watch what they're doing to me. Christ, I could see how strong she was when she stood up to him. Pride rang through my chest as I squinted to try and read her lips through the screen. It cuts me deeper than every slice to my skin that I’m down here, while she’s lying on that floor where I can’t help her either.

The chaos in my mind is at an all-time high, and I can’t help but wonder if they are doing this to my brother, too. He’s the good part of my soul, and God help these men if they hurt him. He’s been through enough.

“Is that all you got?” I tempt. Baring my teeth and waiting for the hiss of the whip through the air. I’ll keep dishing out digs until one of them talks. I need fucking answers.

Motherfucking bitch, I inwardly hiss when the whip cracks across my inner thigh and blood coats my jeans.

“You are one tough asshole, you know that? You should see yourself. The bottoms of your feet are coated in blood. You're going to die with scars all over you.” Do they really think I give a shit if I die?

“I’m not dead yet, you pussy. Where’s your boss? Get his Goddamn ass down here. Or is he scared to take on a man? We all know he is.

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