Page 14 of Enemy of the State

I brought it on myself, though, and I still say it was worth it to save the scorpion.

Slouched on the floor of my newly cleaned cell, I attempt to breathe through my mouth so the smell of my burned flesh won’t reach me.

My patience is beginning to fray with my brother and how long it’s taking him to pull me out of this place.“I’ll come for you, little sister. Just hold on until I can get there. I’m proud of you, Lou.”My brother’s parting words flit back to me as well as the memory of our foreheads pressed together as he held me to him.

Be patient, Louhi,I remind myself.

To pass the time, I close my eyes, filling my mind with pleasant thoughts of my closest friends: competing with—and beating—Viktor for the first time at his newly completed gun range and helping Conall track down a business adversary and eliminating them.

After an indeterminable amount of time lost in happier memories, I recognize the cadence of Digs’s marching footfalls through the mostly silent cell block. He appears before my cell a moment later and unlocks my cage, allowing himself access inside. As he crouches before me, a tub of, what I guess, is burn cream is in his hand.

I watch him as he wordlessly grasps my left arm, turning it over gently to reveal the bubbling, angry skin just below my elbow. Wordlessly, he unscrews the lid to the salve and scoops some out with his fingers. His massive hand engulfs my elbow as he holds me firmly to apply the cream expertly.

This is beginning to feel like a bizarre form of aftercare.One I truly don’t understand. Isn’t the entire point of being imprisoned here to make me break? Why would he take the time to heal me at all? He’d likely be better off letting the infection set in and praying that I’ll spill some beans in my delirium.

Not even gangrene could get me to talk, but Digs doesn’t know that.

I hiss when he makes contact with my angry flesh, but the cool cream quickly goes to work soothing the irritated burns. After distributing the ointment thoroughly, he applies a dressing to the area, then he screws the lid back on the small tub.

Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulls out a small tube of ointment, dabbing some on the pad of his thumb. His hand moves toward my face and my breath catches in my throat as I realize his intention. I hold my breath as his thumb makes contact with my swollen lip, swiping gently across my split skin. My eyes are locked on his, tracking the way his gaze fastens on my mouth and doesn’t let go, like a wolf with a prize in his sight.

The ointment is cool against my warm, irritated skin, soothing it instantly. Digs’s touch lingers even after swiping on the balm, making my lip burn for an entirely different reason.

When his thumb releases my lip, I exhale, my breath whooshing out of me as it chases his retreating hand.

“Open,” he orders next, his low, gruff voice bouncing off the walls.

“You’d like that, yeah?” I glance away with a snort, desperate for some distance from this man.

He doesn’t speak until our eyes meet again, but when he does, his tone is softer, not quite tender, but close. “Come on, I know you ate your cheek for lunch. Let me look.”

I wait for theplease,but it never comes.Figures.

Still, there’s something almost vulnerable swirling in his gaze,and it’s that unguarded glint that has me parting my lips and showing him the inside of my mouth.

“Does it hurt?”

Why does it matter to him?My brow furrows, and I have the urge to scoff, becauseobviously, it hurts.Instead, I lie, shaking my head.

His gaze bores into me for so long that I wonder what he’s seeing. With his eyes still on mine, he reaches into his back pocket, producing a small cloth like the gag I had in my mouth when I first woke here. He blinks a few times, like he’s clearing his vision, as he shoves it into my hand before stretching to his full height.

Seeming to have eased his conscience enough for him to sleep—probably in a comfortable bed—tonight, he retreats down the hallway.

Digs is a hard guy to try to make sense of. He looks ready to eat me alive, his body nearly vibrating with anticipation and excitement every time he’s about to inflict the maximum amount of pain and suffering to my body, yet he looks guilt-ridden and tormented every time he comes to care for my wounds afterward. I’ve been telling myself that he’s been coming here to check on me because I’d be useless to him dead. But maybe that’s not it. Maybe helikesme.

Sod off, Lou. He doesnotlike you.

Sean

Mining for the truth is what I love most about this job. Truth always prevails. Anyone can tell a lie—and most do—but truth is the ultimate hunter, always sniffing out and stalking his next target to take down. Truth is never the victim, never the prey—forever the predator.

That’s what I’m thinking about as I grab Louhi’s file folder and thumb through it on the rooftop as the sun descends below the horizon, painting the sky in a fiery color palette of burnished marigolds, bright yellows, and blazing reds. The automatic lights switch on as the light fades, flooding the rooftop in additional light.

I haven’t read her file in depth yet—yeah, okay, I know I should’ve read it before now—but I like my subjects to open up to me first. I want to learn their personalities and see what makes them tick for myself. The in-person version always tells me more about someone than the on-paper explanation. That’s true in every facet of life, though, not just this in this fucked-up torture prison environment.

As I flip through the contents of this folder, I get the notion that I really should’ve dug into her background before now. At just twenty-nine—I unknowingly treated her to a birthday gift of fire—this woman has already seen and done some shit.

Based on her reaction to the waterboarding I subjected her to the first time we met, I knew she had training. She was prepared.

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