Page 70 of Psychopath

“Mackie. You want to be debriefed, let’s—”

“One last chance, Quinn,” Mackie said. He splayed his hands out on the table. “One last chance for you to tell me the truth.”

Quinn shook his head.

“Did Zane tell you to remove me from the study?”

Quinn opened his mouth, but no words came out. Mackie tapped his nails on the table as he waited.

Quinn twisted in his seat, hand at the ready to slap the button on the wall, but the table hit him in the chest. The impact was so sudden and so violent Quinn couldn’t process what happened. Mackie had rammed the table into him, and his flailing hand missed the button on the wall.

The table was dragged away again, and Quinn dropped out of his chair, onto the floor. “Mackie, don’t.”

He held his hand up, not to hit the button anymore—he couldn’t reach it where he was sprawled out—but to stop Mackie as he advanced.

Mackie smacked Quinn’s hand aside and went for his throat.

His chipped and broken nails caught the skin as Quinn fought with him, trying to make sure he didn’t get a hold, but all eighteen stone of Mackie was on top of him and Quinn’s chest was already tight from the impact to the wall and the compression to his chest. He panted and tried to call out, but his words rasped and Mackie got him by the throat.

Quinn scratched.

He clawed at Mackie’s hand, tried to elbow him in the face, but Mackie moved his head aside, easily dodging Quinn’s attempts to save himself.

“I’m going to choke you out,” Mackie hissed through his teeth. “And when you come round, I’ll ask you again, and if you lie, I’ll choke you out again, and we’ll keep on like that until you tell me the truth or you die.”

Quinn couldn’t draw in a breath. Mackie increased the pressure on Quinn’s throat, starting to squeeze. No air passed his lips, his chest grew tight, and his head felt heavy, like it was filling with lead weight. He couldn’t lift it from the floor, no matter how hard he tried. Darkness crept in around his vision. His hands weakened and dropped uselessly to the floor.

Then the pressure on his throat vanished.

Black receded from his vison, and he wheezed in a breath.

Then another.

He coughed.

He spluttered.

There were footsteps, and shouting, and the table got thrown thankfully away from where Quinn curled up on his side.

Zane was there.

Zane was on top of Mackie.

They were both throwing punches and snarling at each other, but it was Mackie who stopped moving, Mackie that slumped with his arms at his sides and leaked blood all over the floor from his mouth.

Zane didn’t stop.

He stood at full height, and he kicked Mickey as he lay on the floor.

Cleo rushed by him with a few other officers whose names Quinn didn’t know, but they went for Zane, forcing him against the wall, then onto the floor, where they fixed his hands behind his black.

Their eyes met. Quinn’s were watering from pain and fear, but Zane’s were ablaze. He shook with rage, and as the officers picked him off the floor, he swung his foot out again at Mackie, still unconscious on the floor.

Two of the officers took Zane, and two more knelt at Mackie’s side.

Cleo rushed over and helped Quinn into a sitting position.

“Are you alright?”

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