Who Dares Wins - An Alex Dorring Thriller by Vince Vogel

Author:Vince Vogel [Vogel, Vince]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

18

The water they chucked over Dorring was ice cold. He was jarred awake by the shock and immediately became aware of the terrible pain in his face. He gathered it was from a broken nose. He’d busted it before, so he knew the pain by heart. Apart from the general throbbing, it didn’t bother him. It was easily reset, so there was no need to cry over it.

Glancing about, he saw that he sat in a cell painted the color of diarrhea. In the electric glow of the strip lighting buzzing above his head, it looked terrible. Nevertheless, it didn’t resemble his idea of Hell. So he gathered he wasn’t dead. Which was something.

Standing before him in the room, holding a dripping bucket in his hand and a scowl on his face, was Fergus the cop. Behind him, the heavy metal door was wide open and other police officers glared in at Dorring from the doorway.

He heard shouting.

Someone cried: “Let’s lynch the bastard!” And someone, possibly the person who’d cried it, tried to push past the men at the door. But the man was stopped, his raging face glaring over their shoulders at Dorring as they bustled him back.

“Let me at him,” the guy screamed. “I’ll do it myself.”

Dorring ignored him. He glanced down at himself and then along the length of the wooden bench he was sitting on. It lined the far end of the cell. His hands were behind his back and cuffed together. He tried to scoot forward but they stopped him. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw that the hands were shackled to a ring that stuck out of the bench. Two holes went through the wooden plank and the ring was bolted to the other side.

“You all good there?” Fergus asked, crouching before Dorring and gazing malevolently into his eyes.

“What happened?” Dorring asked. “Why am I not dead?”

“You wanna die?” the cop asked. “It can be arranged.”

Fergus lurched forward and pressed his thumb into Dorring’s broken nose. A terrible electric pain shot through the front of his skull and attacked his brain like a bolt of lightning.

“Agh!” he couldn’t help crying, annoyed that he’d let it out at all.

There was more commotion at the door. A woman’s voice called out.

“What’s all this bloody nonsense?” she said. “Get out o’ my way.”

She pushed past the men at the door and stopped in the center of the room as Fergus stood up and came away from Dorring. It was the woman with the mole. It was Abigail Pritchard.

She turned fiercely on the men at the door.

“Go away!” she snapped. “Every one o’ you. Get back from that door. I will not have you harming him.”

Dorring was getting more confused by the second. He had awoken with the distinct impression that he’d been handed over to the cops to keep him safe until Appleby’s men—possibly Conner—came to torture him into telling them everything he knew. But the emergence of Abigail Pritchard confused it all.

Again he asked:

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