Broken Ties: A Tale of Survival in a Powerless World (Broken Lines Book 3) (7 page)

              They were loaded to the teeth with weapons and ammo. Mike also thought to pack some medical supplies, which he hoped he wouldn’t need.

              Anne didn’t say much. When she walked up to Mike she placed her hands on his shirt, twisting his collar.

              “You bring our girl home.”

              Mike led Ulysses, Fay, Clarence, and Tom down the trail. Dusk had settled outside, with the night growing darker.

              Anne’s words rang through Mike’s mind like a chorus, repeating over and over. He wasn’t going to let his daughter suffer a cruel fate like those he’d seen over the past two weeks.
Bring her home.

              The cots from the prison cell were removed. It was nothing but concrete and steel. Mary sat in the corner, huddled in a ball, listening to the bikers inside the interrogation room scream at Kalen.

              Every once in a while she would hear something hard hit the ground, but she never heard Kalen scream. Mary didn’t know what was happening in there, but she was able to imagine a few scenarios.

              She wondered why she chose to come with Kalen? She didn’t want to die. Her mind wandered to her sisters. Their faces were burning in her thoughts.

              Mary promised she wouldn’t leave them, let them be alone, and now that promise was broken. She broke it to fulfill the selfish need of revenge.

              Frankie recognized her immediately when they finally captured her and Kalen. He didn’t say anything to her as he threw her in the cell. He just smiled and laughed.

              The laugh wasn’t human. It was senseless, malicious. It was the same laugh he had when he killed her dad and the same smile when he raped her mother.

              What would they do to her? Would she be passed around to the other bikers? Used only for their pleasure at the expense of her suffering?

              Stop it.

              Mary pushed it out of her mind. She couldn’t go to pieces now. As dire as everything was, she couldn’t let her imagination get the better of her. She had to think about what she could control, and right now the only thing that she could control was how she would react to whatever came next.

              The door to the interrogation room flung open. Mary rushed to the front of the cell, grasping her hands around the old flaky iron bars.

              Two of the bikers dragged Kalen past her cell. Her head was down, her hair covering her face, but Mary could see the drops of blood falling from her body.

              Kalen’s body was limp. The biker’s were carrying her by her arms. Once Kalen was out of sight Mary could hear the thud of Kalen’s body hit the cell floor next to hers, followed by the door slamming shut.

              Mary let go of the bars and backed to the rear wall of the cell as Frankie rested his forehead in between the cell bars.

              “Your turn, sweetheart,” Frankie said.

              When Frankie brought her into the interrogation room, the first thing she noticed was the blood stains on the floor. The next thing she saw was the smeared red on Jake’s knuckles.

              There were only two chairs and one small table. Frankie pushed her down into the chair across from Jake. The two of them were only two feet apart. She didn’t like it. The setting felt too intimate.

              “Whatever you’re going to do to me, just get it over with,” Mary said.

              Jake leaned back, wiping his knuckles clean of Kalen’s blood with a rag, which he tossed to the floor when he was done.

              “What do you want us to do to you?” Jake asked.

              “I’m not giving you anything,” Mary said.

              “You don’t even know what we want,” Jake said.

              “You want to hurt us.”

              “I do.”

              The simple answer frightened her. There was a vicious truth in those words. He didn’t just have the ability to hurt her, but the desire.

              “I want to see my mom,” Mary said.

              Frankie let out a chuckle, but she kept her eyes on Jake.

              “I’m not sure you do,” Jake answered.

              “I need to see her.”

              “No. You want to see her. You want to see her the way you used to see her. You want to see her before what happened here. Trust me, girl. It’s better that you keep the image of what your mother used to be. It’s much better than the image she is now.”

              “The last image I have of my mother was her being raped in front of me. The last image I have of my father was his blood pouring out of his stomach and gasping for breath.”

              “I’m going to ask you some questions. It will be better if you give me the truth the first time around.”

              “I guess Kalen didn’t tell you the truth? That’s why she’s unconscious in her cell right now?”

              “She didn’t lie.”

              Mary’s mouth went dry. Jake leaned forward on the table. Mary caught herself staring at Jake’s hands. The only bits of blood that remained covered the rings he wore.

              Jake twisted one of the rings off his hand and extended it to Mary.

              “I was going to clean them off, but I liked the new color to much. What do you think?” Jake asked.

              “You’re a coward.”

              Jake slid the ring back on his finger. He formed his hand into a fist, his joints cracking the harder he squeezed.

              “A coward is afraid. I’m not afraid, and that’s what makes it so bad for you. I’m not afraid to hit a woman. I’m not afraid to make a little girl cry. I’m not afraid to hear them scream.”

              Mary felt Frankie place his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the calluses on his hands running up along the side of her neck.

              “Did you kill any of my men before today?” Jake asked.

              “No.”

              Frankie grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck. He brought the edge of a blade to her flesh.

              “Did you kill any of men before today?” Jake repeated.

              “No,” Mary answered.

              Frankie slammed her head down on the table. She was able to brace herself with her hands, but she felt the trickle of blood run from her nose over her lips.

              “Two days ago one of my men was killed. Who did it?” Jake asked.

              Mary wiped her hand under her nose. A streak of blood smeared across her finger.

              “I don’t know,” Mary answered.

              “The cabin you’re staying at. Where is it?”

              Her sisters.
She couldn’t give them up. She wasn’t going to give them anything.

              “I know you’re staying with a family. I know someone helped you escape. I will find it eventually. The only difference you can make now is how I treat your sisters when I find them.”

              They’re bluffing. They couldn’t know where the cabin was.

              Jake rose from the table at her silence. He kicked her chair leg, knocking her over and sending her to the floor. He grabbed her arm and flung her against the wall. He slapped her across the face.

              When his hand made contact with her cheek, it was like a being dumped in cold water. The pain was overwhelming and shocking all at once.

              Jake’s hand came across the other side of her face, harder than the before. Mary could feel her face reddening. The stings from each hit lingered, then replaced by a swelling on each side of her face.

              “Where’s the cabin?” Jake asked.

              His voice was calm. Mary felt his hand closing around her windpipe. The grip tightened. She gasped for breath. She tried to peel his hand off her but struggled against his size and strength. 

              The life was being choked from her. Mary started to panic. Her head felt light. Her vision started to blur. Just before she thought she’d pass out, he let go.

              Mary dropped to the floor, coughing, hacking, and gasping for air. Jake kicked her stomach. The shot sent pain rippling through her body.

              “Give me the knife,” Jake said.

              Frankie handed him the blade. He grabbed Mary’s hand, stepping on her wrist to keep her arm pinned down. He dug the tip of the blade into the flesh of her exposed palm, slowly.

              Mary screamed. She reached for the knife with her free hand, but Frankie held her down. She writhed and twisted on the ground, crying and screaming as Jake dug the blade’s tip deeper into her hand, cutting away flesh, scraping against the bones.

              “Where’s the cabin?” Jake shouted.

              “Stop! P-p-please stop!” Mary cried.

              Jake pulled the knife out and lifted his boot off Mary’s wrist. Each time she tried to move a finger a sharp pain shot up through her arm.

              “Stand her up,” Jake said.

              Mary pulled the injured hand to her, pressing it against her chest to stop the bleeding. Frankie lifted her from the ground.

              “You wanted to see your mom? Let’s go see her,” Jake said.

              Frankie pulled her through the sheriff’s office. She looked back at Kalen still lying on the floor of her cell, passed out. Maybe she
was
dead. No one could take that kind of pain. They had to have killed her. That’s why Kalen never screamed.

              Now, they were going to kill her, probably in front of her mother. More torture. Or maybe they’d rape her in front of her mom, make the both of them suffer more before she died.

              They were closer to the motel now. The pain in Mary’s hand was replaced by the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

              When they turned the corner, Mary’s stomach started to sink. They weren’t leading her to one of the rooms. They were taking her to the center of the courtyard. They were taking her to the burnt bodies.

              “No,” Mary said.

              She didn’t want to see them. She didn’t want to hear the truth that was sinking in right now.

              “God, no, please don’t, no,” Mary said.

              Mary pushed and pulled against Frankie’s grip but she couldn’t break free.

              “You wanted to see her?” Jake asked.

              Frankie tossed her to the ground in front of the charred bodies, which formed an altar of death. Mary could smell the remnants of flesh no longer covering their bones.

              “There she is,” Jake said.

              Mary looked up at the corpse, shriveled and still tied with her hands behind her back to the pole. Her mother’s body was rigid, holding her in place.

              The woman she knew was gone. She was always told by people that she looked like her mother. They had the same hair, the same eyes. She always wore that compliment like a badge of pride.

              Those similarities were gone now. Mary couldn’t prove that she was the daughter of the woman on the pole. She was gone. Completely wiped clean by fire.

              Mary fell to her side, sobbing hysterically.

              “Mom,” Mary said.

              She mouthed the words more than she said them. The spit and tears coming from her face mixed together. Whatever pain they caused her before, whatever pain they would bring her next wouldn’t hurt like this. This was the type of pain that you never came back from. It was the type of pain that you carried forever.