Page 22 of Dangerous Silence
“Where is Cannon?” Axe repeated.
“The hell are you doing that for?”
“Where,” Axe paused, leaning closer, pressing the pointed end into the man’s cheek, “is Cannon?”
“I ain’t telling you shit!”
Axe removed the instrument and pressed it into his throat, letting the first half-inch linger in his neck.
“Where is Cannon?”
Who the hell was Cannon?
“He lives in Brackston,” the man gasped. “A few miles away from the headquarters.”
“And how secure is his place?”
“High tech. But he lives by himself. Too proud to have help.”
Axe pressed the instrument into the man’s throat, inch, by inch, until the instrument stopped at the hard table. The man swallowed, blood gurgling in his mouth. That wheezing sound filled the air, each breath with the whistle of air being let out of a balloon. My heart raced in my chest, and every muscle in my body tightened. That noise. I was back with Dad, watching as life left his body. Those wails that came out of nowhere. His last gasps. I covered my ears.
Axe said something in a low voice to the man, and I moved my hands. I needed to hear this.
“Your choice,” Axe said.
“Please,” the man begged, his voice trembling. “Make it quick.”
Axe did the same thing, piercing the man’s neck an inch lower this time. And the man’s breathing was louder, more erratic, like his body couldn’t decide whether to rebel or give up. Axe moved, piercing him again, and again, methodically, until finally, the man shuddered, and the rasping breath stopped.
How did anyone deserve this?
Axe got another instrument from the side of the room, tools I actually recognized. A bone knife, cleaver, and scissors. He cut off the man’s clothes, his body limp, then started butchering him, using deliberate force against the flesh. Like Dad.
Had Dad known about this?
He couldn’t have. That was impossible. Dad had to be as clueless as I was, otherwise he wouldn’t have let Axe get anywhere near me. And if I thought about the man like a cow being cut for steak, I could remove myself. It was normal. Axe was butchering beef.
But I knew he wasn’t.
He turned the body, lifting it up. The air pushed out of the man’s lungs in one final wheeze, so loud that it startled me, surging me back to that living room with Dad. I yelped a short squeal, then immediately covered my mouth. My own breathing hitched, too panicked to do me any good. I pressed myself against the box, pushing toward the back, as if those few inches could save me.
The thump of his boots came closer. I held my breath.
He removed the padlock, letting the wooden slats crash to the floor. I raised my eyes to meet his.
Narrowed. Black. Seething.
He unlocked the cage. I stayed pressed against the edges. Then he pulled me out by the hair.
“Fuck!” I screamed.
I immediately jabbed him in the face with my fist, then used my other arm to cross from the back.
Axe stared at me. My hands seemed to hurt more than he did.
He pulled me into a bear hug, and that chemical smell, laced with the metallic scent of blood swallowed me. I tried shifting my arms, but he grew tighter, fighting me without much effort.
Taking my wrists behind me, he pulled them into a zip tie. I kicked as hard as I could, but he still zip-tied each ankle to a metal chair. I sneered at him, huffing through my teeth. In the back of the room, Axe washed his hands slowly, then he grabbed an instrument from one of the locked cupboards, meeting me by the table.
