Page 41 of Enemy of the State

He appears to ponder that deeply for a moment before declaring, “She’s still clearly some kind of criminal, though. She killed Stuco in cold blood.”

“I haven’t worked out that part yet, but I don’t disagree.”

After a beat of silence, he admits, “If you are right, and I’m not saying you are, what does that mean for her?”

“I don’t know, but I’d think we need to report the mistake before it’s too late.”

Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours as we both lose ourselves in our thoughts. I don’t know what crimes she’s committed, or how the hell she got here if she didn’t do what she’s being accused of. But I’m not stupid enough to think she’s innocent. She showed up prepared to endure extreme torture and that can only mean she’s wrapped up in something shady.

I’m not sure what any of that means for her or her future. However, Iamcertain that I’m attached. I’m hooked on Lou, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do about that.

Louhi

On the floor of my cell, I can feel myself breaking. Shattering within. I told myself I’d never splinter or collapse, but the price I’m paying is too steep, the burden too heavy.

It’sDecember,for fuck’s sake,and while I’d like to think that Mercer wouldn’t abandon me, reality is settling in. It doesn’t even matter what day it is in December, considering that my parents passed on the last day of November.“Before the anniversary,”he’d said.

It’s impossible to imagine that Mercer would intentionally doom me to death like this, so I have to surmise that he’s either dead or locked in a similar prison himself.Is he here?

Either way, I’m on my own now. He’s not coming, and there’s a crushing finality to the knowledge that I’m going to die here. Whether that’s today or six years from now is anyone’s guess.

I’ll never drive a car again, get on a flight, boil water to make pasta, paint my nails, or apply my makeup. Damn, I’ll even miss my next round of Botox. All the seemingly mundane, inconsequential things you do in a day that you never think twice about. I’ll never again do any of them. Fuck, I’ll never have the opportunity to breathe in the scent of fresh flowers or eucalyptus again. I only have my memory of those things, and I know that will eventually fade.I’ll never relive the feeling of slipping on my favorite pair of jeans or tasting the sparkly bubbles of crisp champagne buzzing along my tongue at a cocktail party while I prance around in a slinky dress and flirt with attractive strangers. I’ll never dance my heart out in the middle of my living room while I sip a glass of wine, or head-bang in the mosh pit of a metal concert. I’ll never skip among autumn leaves or feel the frigid winter air against my cheeks as I walk down the street.

I’ll never see Finland again.

At this point, I’m standing at the mouth of Hell, banging on the doors, begging to be let inside.Fucking take me already.Anywhere, even Hell’s inferno, is better than being here.

I’m crying, full-blown weeping as I sort through the things I’ll never experience again. My silent sobs are wracking my body as I hear footsteps approaching. Why couldn’t this be one of those moments when they choose to leave me alone in this cell to rot in peace?

Dipping my face inside the collar of my shirt, I wipe at my face, and for once I’m grateful for the dim lighting in this tiny rectangular concrete box.

Unyielding music masks the sound of footsteps until they’re standing before my door. When I lift my head, Digs is the one that appears through the bars, holding a tray of more foul food, cocking his head to the side as if he’s trying to discern what might be upsetting me, but I remain silent.

Instead of sliding the food through the slot, he opens the door to my cage and steps inside. I push to a sitting position as he squats down in front of me, setting the tray to the side. His eyes narrow as he studies my face, his expression clouding with something indecipherable, but for a split second, I wonder if that might’ve been concern.

Seizing me by the jaw, his strong, deft fingers dig into the hollows of my cheeks. His voice is low and gruff, all traces of his earlier gentleness gone as he asserts, “Fight, Lou. If you have to, make meyour villain, your personal demon, the enemy of your state. Go to war with me if you must, but you will not break like this. This is not how you fall apart.” As he tightens his grip, pain shoots through my mandible as I fight to clear my blurring vision. “I will be the only one to break you, and when I do, I promise to put you back together.”

He releases me and stalks from my cell, slamming the door shut behind him. I sit there for a moment, soaking up his words, and for the first time since my parents’ death, my heart begins to yawn open like a bear emerging from hibernation.

I don’t know how many days pass, but I’ve had enough time to attempt to climb out of the black hole I spiraled down. Hell obviously rejected the idea of accepting me—for now—and I’ve found myself again.

I need to fight for myself. I have to find freedom however I can. I can’t have done my skincare routine for the last time or had my final manicure. I haven’t had my last glass of Bordeaux or slice of truffle pizza. And I certainly haven’t killed my last victim. My time in this realm isn’t over, and if I need to make Digs my mortal enemy to break out of here myself, I will.

Yet again, I find myself in the torture room, my wrists hanging from the damn ceiling. They turned up the heat in this fucking room today, too. It’s hot, humid and bloody miserable. Sweat covers every inch of my body like a heavy blanket and slides down my bare skin in rivulets, pooling on the floor.

Since Honey Eyes is the one who collected me, surprise ripples through my bloodstream when Digs enters alone. He silently goes to the storage closet and comes back with a bin that he sets on the metal table I was strapped to and made to come. The heat notwithstanding, I shiver at the memory.

He wordlessly pulls the contents from the bin, arranging them on the table in full view.

I can do this. It wouldn’t be my first time being whipped, and I’ll survive this the same way.

Tossing the bin aside, he reaches for the chain whip and spins it around in his hand. The sinister clanking of the metal rods and rings that make up the foreboding weapon reverberate through my mind like a gong being struck. He saunters over to me, my naked body already on display from where he tore through my clothes…again. This guy has a serious thing for getting me naked. Under any other circumstance, I’d be all about that.

He glides the cold metal over my hot stomach, and I have to admit that the contrast in temperature feels good.

“Do you know what this is?”

“A chain whip.”

---