Page 34 of Till The Sun Dies (Checkmate 2)

I study the almost naked guy in the back; the small nicks in his skin, the bruising beneath each rib, and the odd angle several of his fingers point. I wouldn’t be sorry if that was my fault…

But I don’t think it was me.

Before I can reach in and pull him out, Kane slams his fist down over Graham’s junk until his unconscious body reflexively jolts.

“Feel better now?” I shoulder Kane back and bring Graham over my shoulder. “You make him piss on me and I’ll hurt you.”

“He won’t piss. Not yet, anyway. Come on.”

“Bish.” A giant ass motherfucker – at least seven feet of hell-week muscle – stops at the entrance to the bunker and watches me lug my burden. “Strange dude I don’t know.”

“Spence. That’s Ang. Ang, Spence.”

I can’t extend a hand to shake his, so I simply nod. “Spence. Got somewhere I can put my shit down?”

He studies me through dark eyes.

He studies Kane.

With a simple nod and no further discussion, he declares this whole situation on the up and up and leads us into a concrete room that spans twenty feet by twenty feet.

It’s finally my turn to show Graham a little of what he did to Laine. It’s time he felt what she felt.

What shestillfeels.

* * *

“This is your show, Riggs.”Kane stops beside me so our shoulders touch, a wide grin stretching his face. With folded arms, we study the man that wears nothing but piss-stained tighty-whities and a burlap sack over his face.

Somehow, we’ve become Martin Riggs and Roger Murtaugh, and the man he introduced as Spence has now become Leo Getz.

We’re goingoldold school, I guess.

Spence led us into the space and stopped beside a frame I’m almost positive is a sex prop. Laughing maniacally, he helped us cuff Graham’s unconscious ass to the wood and simply stands back now and chuckles.

It might be a Saint Andrew’s Cross, but this shit ain’t sexy, and it already stinks in here.

Graham’s head hangs low… maybe I hit him harder than I intended. Probably not.

“How do we wake him up?”

“You wanna wake him?” Spence – aka Leo Getz – prowls the room with a wicked grin and enough firepower strapped to his thighs and back to wage –and win –a war on his own.

Kane doesn’t have to tell me where he knows this guy from; the fact he’s ex-military is obvious. Broad chest. Short hair. He even comes with scars on his cheek and pure fucking evil in his eyes.

But his smile lends an air of humanity.

Sort of.

“You want him awake for this?”

He makes me doubt myself. “Should we let him sleep?”

Spence lifts his hands. “I’m not judging, man. It takes a special brand of pissed off to do this to a guy while he’s awake. But hey, we’re going back to the nineties, which means you gotta stay in character. Let’s get to it.” He steps toward a long table lining the wall and extends his arm like he’s showing off a spread of lunch meats. “We got blades. We got chains. We got some other shit that’ll make him cry.” He stops by a small toolbox and rustles around inside. Taking out a small vial, he stops in front of our unwilling participant and glances back at me. “What did he do?”

“He hurt what’s mine.”

Kane moves behind me like a caged animal trying to work off violent energy.

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