Page 40 of Web of Lies
Chapter Fourteen
Wyatt
“That son of a bitch!”
I'm in the middle of making lunch when Shaun yells from the living room. He continues cursing while I turn the heat down on the burner. When I get to the living room, he's standing in front of the television, white-knuckling the remote control. I glance at Larken to find her also staring at the screen with her mouth agape. I look over at the TV and immediately understand why Larken is dumbfounded and Shaun is cursing.
There, right there on the screen as clear as morning, is a bad police sketch of me. Police sketches are never as accurate as they need to be, but this one is close enough to my actual appearance that someone will definitely notice if they've seen it. I look away from the television and at Larken.
She looks up at me, her face drawn and pale. “Adrian.”
“If you have seen either of these people, please contact the authorities immediately at the number on your screen.” The news reporter says more, including Larken's name and a description of the clothes she was last seen in, an inaccurate description. Larken isn't wearing a blue blouse and jeans, she's wearing a pair of thin, gray pajama pants and a loose black tee-shirt.
The news broadcast switches to a commercial and Shaun turns off the TV and throws himself onto the couch. “Well, fuck.”
“It's inconvenient, but it doesn't change anything,” I tell him. “This is merely the husband's attempt at pushing me to do what he wants. He's never worked with someone like me before. He assumes that I’ll be too afraid to be caught to continue this job.”
Shaun rolls his eyes and starts flipping the remote control in his hand. “This job,” he rolls his eyes and peaks over at Larken, “isn't turning out the way you assumed it would.”
“No,” I agree, staring directly at Larken, “it isn't. But the husband has just created a more unstable environment. I'll just have to show him exactly what that means.”
Chapter Fifteen
Larken
I stare right back at Wyatt. “I won't go back. I'd rather die here, if that's what you're insinuating, than go back there.”
Wyatt's mouth turns up as he considers me, then he nods slowly. “That could do it,” he says softly. “Shaun. In the kitchen, in the drawer under the microwave, there is a pair of scissors. Go get them.”
He's going to cut off my finger with a pair of kitchen shears. Maybe a toe. He's going to cut something off and send it to Adrian. While I definitely do not want him to cut any part of me off, I doubly don't want Adrian to have it. “What are you doing?”
“You'll be fine,” he answers. “Get a freezer bag, too.”
Shaun's expression is tight as he gets up to do what Wyatt asked. He's back in less than half a minute with a quart size freezer bag in one hand and the shears in the other. He hands them to Wyatt and sits back down on the couch.
Wyatt picks up the shears and moves toward me. “Stay still.”
I do not stay still. I do the exact opposite of stay still. I start yanking on the cord keeping me attached to the chair. It's just a metal ring! How is it this difficult to pull out?
“What are you doing?” Wyatt asks, his brows furrowed.
“I'm not going to sit here and just let you cut off my finger.” I pull even harder on the cord. The cord, at least, should break but it's barely even stretching. What is this stuff made of?
“Stop it,” Wyatt barks. “You're just going to bruise your wrists.”
“I don't care,” I bark back. “If you want to cut anything off of me, you're going to have to work for it.”
Wyatt presses against his eyebrow and sighs. “I'm not going to cut off any of your fingers. Just be still.”
“No,” I argue. “I will not be still. Criminals are liars and you are a criminal and I'm not going to sit here quietly while you cut off my fingers and toes just to prove to Adrian that you're serious.” I plant my feet on the floor in front of me and try to pull free from that angle. I manage to lift the front of the chair but that's about it.
“A little help.” Wyatt motions to Shaun.
Shaun stretches out his legs underneath the coffee table and reclines against the back of the couch with his hands clasped behind his head. “I wouldn't sit there and let you cut my fingers off, either.”
Wyatt drops the freezer bag onto the coffee table and takes a step closer to me.
“If you get close enough,” I snarl. “I'm going to bite you.”
