Page 62 of These Reckless Hearts

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The knife drags across my thigh.

The blade isn’t from the same set as the one in my pocket—fat lot of goodthatdid when two huge, trained men came at me, restraining me to the chair while three more lingered in the background. No, this blade was pulled out of a weapons belt. It isn’t the type you have to flip open like Wyatt’s, either. It’s a knife that glints in the light, its sharpness parting skin like warm butter.

The cut stings, pain flaring out, but I grit my jaw, breathing roughly through my nose.

“Tell Jacobs what he wants to know,” the leader demands, standing back with his arms crossed. He fractures in front of me through tears I refuse to let fall.

“She’s going to show us where the treasure is,” Lance announces, finally moving out around the gang surrounding me. However, as soon as he sees the blood dripping down my leg with my sweats hiked practically to my panty line, he steps back out of view where he’s been hiding this whole time.

Fucking coward. He can’t even watch while his team works. “You’re weak,” I bite out at Lance. “Watch them do this to me.”

He doesn’t give in to my taunt, but I think I see a glimmer of respect from the man holding the sharp blade. Not that it changes his mindset because he goes back for another cut.

My leg looks like a gory movie as blood spills down my skin in rivulets. The first crimson drop splatters on the tile floor.

“Show us where the treasure is,” the leader commands. His face says he can do this all day, so I try to give him the same one back. I don’t know how long I can last with blood loss, but I’m not showing Lance where my fucking treasure is. I would never forgive myself.

“It’s been missing for a couple hundred years. If my family could’ve found it already, we would have.”

“But you have the map,” Lance scoffs from the back.

I growl. “We’ve had the map this whole time. The son of the original finder drew it. It hasn’t helped.” I thought changing tactics might work, but it doesn’t. The ex-military crew doesn’t care. I wonder how many slices ten thousand dollars buys?

My tormentor draws the blade across my skin again, and a fresh cut opens up, this one a smidge deeper than the others.

My nostrils flare as I breathe out, determined not to cry.

“But you’re closer, aren’t you?” Lance guesses. “I see what Stone was doing now. You had the knowledge, and he had the technology. How much more ground have you covered with them than you ever did with your father?”

I press my lips together. Mr. Blade Happy peeks at me, then shakes his head. He makes another cut, the fourth horizontal slice over my thigh, and I grind my jaw through the pain. “The least you could’ve done was draw me a picture.”

Lance roars in the background. “Is this really worth it, Dakota? If you help me find the treasure, you can go on with your life. It’s done. It’s over. Isn’t that what you want?”

“You don’t understand any of it,” I tell him, tears slipping over now as the cuts become too much. “You never did.” The two men holding my wrists cinch their grip tighter, and pain flares.

“Tell me you’ll help me find it,” Lance growls.

“No.”

This time, Mr. Blade Happy uses the very end of the blade to prick my skin. The tip plunges lower, and he keeps going and going until I scream. He yanks the knife free and a flow of blood immediately follows—the crimson color running out turning my stomach. Dizziness sweeps over me, and my head hangs.

“Patch that one up,” the leader demands.

One of them retreats to the kitchen and brings back sterile bandages like the ones we used on Lucas. The memory of Lucas, Stone, and Wyatt keeps me still. It captures hope in my heart. I don’t know what they went through in the flood, but if they lived, I can do the same for them.

Bucket Guy wipes at the blood with a paper towel that I hope won’t give me an infection, then he dresses the wound and tapes it up, slapping it when he’s done. I growl, kicking out at him. “Sadistic fucks.”

Mr. Blade Happy laughs. “I don’t know, I kind of like her.”

“She’s a penniless whore,” Lance calls.

“Not everyone has money to throw around,” he counters.

I eye Lance’s hired team. “You can keep going, but I’m not giving in. Not to him. Not ever. He’s the worst kind of human being.”

“And I reckon he doesn’t care about that,” Mr. Blade Happy offers.

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