2nd Sept – 5.30pm
Lane came to and moaned around the gag in his mouth. A sharp jolt of pain knifed through his head when he tried to move and something warm and pasty matted his hair and glued the side of his face to the pillow. Another groan of pain emerged as he struggled to breathe, trying to orientate himself and figure out what the hell was happening.
The room swam in and out of focus making him feel seasick and he desperately swallowed the bile surging up into his throat so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit. Forcing himself to stay calm he went through the drill of some long ago survival training. Wiggling his fingers and toes, clenching his stomach, he established the only injury he’d sustained appeared to be on the right side of his head. It felt like someone had ripped his ear off and the blood-soaked pillow did nothing to rule that out as a distinct possibility. Pulse pounding, he closed his eyes for a few seconds to quell the panic that threatened to engulf him. He opened them again slowly and blinked, gritting his teeth against the pain. This had to be the work of his father; payback for the accusations and press conference. Well fuck him to hell and back. Lane only hoped Ashanti had found the note he’d left instructing her to contact Dimitri if he were to suddenly go awol. He wasn’t entirely sure just what action the Russian would take but one thing was for certain he wasn’t the type of guy to sit around on his ass twiddling his thumbs. He’d either find Lane or kill his father, preferably both and in that order.
The more alert he became, the worse the pain got. He quickly surrendered his futile struggle against the restraints tethering him to the bed in an effort to conserve energy, concentrating instead on his Spartan surroundings. He was in some kind of log cabin and the only furniture he could see from his limited vantage point was a rickety looking chair and a bedstand. His eyes widened and his stomach rolled at the sight of a selection of knives and scalpels laid out atop a bloodied towel. Fuck. He’d thought Brad Clark was a sadistic bastard but he was a saint compared to his monster father who clearly intended chopping him up into pieces.…Trust me when I say this; there are worse things than dying my boy, you just need to know where to look..
His father’s words echoed in the recesses of his brain just as the door creaked open and slow measured footsteps made their way across to the bed. The guy, one of his father’s minions no doubt, stood looking at him with a pensive smile on his face before leaning down and gripping his pinkie finger in one hand and his toe in the other.Eeny
what will be the next to go?
With a chuckle of amusement the man turned his attention to the array of knives. Picking up one after another he casually inspected them before selecting one that appeared to suit his requirements. Someone else came into the room and the man spoke to his accomplice while casting the blanket aside.“The boss said either his right pinkie or one of his toes but fuck that.”
Lane sucked in an involuntary breath as the cold hard length of steel was pressed gently against the base of his cock. Afraid to so much as blink lest the blade sliced off his manhood, he stared up at the man’s wildly grinning face. ”I ain't gonna lie to ya pal, this might hurt a little bit.”
Lane’s world faded to black.