When he figured out that his screams excited Slate to slam into him even harder, he forced them back and started praying for death. The wind blew the curtains aside and a memory came to his mind of the last song he heard before he’d been kidnapped.
The words did not provide the comfort the song intended, Gavin having gone past where solace could be found. What he needed, a warm waft of air provided. It was the whisper to endure, stroking what was left of the tiny ember of his will to live with promises of wreaking havoc on those who hurt him, to a love that was waiting for him … just for him.
All he had to do was survive.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Go to the wall.”
Gavin remained sitting sideways on the cot with his back to the wall, one of his arms resting on his raised knee.
“Gavin, go to the wall!”
Unmoving, he didn’t care if they fed him or not. He would rather starve than eat another peanut butter or baloney sandwich.
Watching the side of the steps, he saw three pairs of legs come down.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Don’t you know there are starving kids in the world?” Slate picked up the sandwiches while Ink held the gun on him.
Gavin didn’t flinch as the sandwiches were thrown at him one at a time. He just stared unblinkingly as Ink and Brewer descended the steps to stand next to Slate.
“Do you really want to do this the hard way?” Slate twirled the handcuffs on his fingers.
“Is he okay?” Ink whispered, as if he couldn’t hear him from mere inches away.
“He’s fine. It’ll take Gavin more than being raped a few times for him to lose it. Isn’t that right, Gavin?”
Again, he didn’t bother to give the reaction they were waiting for.
“You think he’s playing possum?” Brewer asked.
“I think he’s waiting for us to drop our guard to kill us.” Slate narrowed his eyes on him. “Make it easier on yourself—put the cuffs on.” Slate threw the cuffs, hitting him on the check. They fell down unheeded to his lap.
“You’ve wasted enough of my time. Give me the gun, Ink, and go get Hock and Chain. When I’m done with him, he’ll wish he’d put the fucking cuffs on.” As Slate took the gun, he also took a syringe out of his back pocket.
When Ink turned to go up the steps, Gavin got off the cot, letting the cuffs and sandwiches fall to the floor. The three men froze in place.
“Be cool, Gavin. I don’t want to kill you. But Memphis won’t have any problem taking out your kneecaps, and Butcher will enjoy putting you back together again.”
Disregarding Slate’s threats, Gavin went to the bucket and did his business. Letting out a steam of piss, he ignored the men staring at him dumbfounded.
“I told you, I think he’s lost it,” Ink muttered.
Slate remained silent, watching his every move.
“I think so, too,” Brewer stated when Slate didn’t say anything.
Gavin shook his dick as they watched. He took the opportunity he had been waiting for, reaching for the almost full bucket, then throwing it at the three of them grouped together. The men tried to scramble out of the way to avoid the contents.
Ink ran into Slate, preventing him from firing the pistol and knocking the syringe out of his hand.
Gavin ran at the men like a bulldozer, grabbing the back of Ink’s shirt and knocking his head against the side of the steps. By the time he crumpled, Gavin was already running, swiping the needle up as Slate turned at him, pulling the trigger.
Gavin kicked the gun out of Slate’s hand, sending it flying toward the far wall. Gavin didn’t even try going for it, knowing the men would take him from the back. Instead, he kicked Slate in the stomach, sending him toward the cot.
His foot was on the first step when Brewer tried to rush him. Gavin did an about-face, picking up the needle, plunging it into his neck, then throwing him backward. Swiveling on the ball of his foot, Gavin ran up the steps, hearing footsteps and cursing behind him.
Reaching the top, he grabbed for the open door and, with a heave of his shoulders, jerked the door off the loosened hinges. Turning back, he threw the door at them, sending them falling down the steps. Hell-bent for leather, he ran through the doorway, out of the closet, and into the empty bedroom.
“Chain, Butcher!”
Gavin knew if he could hear Slate’s yells, then the others could, but he had already anticipated the house was full of Slate’s men. Gavin picked up a lamp, ripped it out of the wall and ran to the window, smashing the glass, shade and all.
Gavin’s body was midair through the window when the sound of bullets exploded behind him. Ignoring the sting on his shoulder and cuts on his arms, he levered himself off the ground and took off running for the thick trees closest to him.