Prosperidad hung limp in The Chair’s bindings. She hadn’t seen daylight since entering Island Cabs. Moments of torture seemed like hours and her time within these walls already seemed eternal.
Repeated beatings delivered by St. Croix and his men had mushroomed her lips and nose. Shattered blood vessels squeezed her eyes nearly closed. Her headscarf was gone and tendrils of sweaty hair hung in her face. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth.
“This could be easier,” Stoner said, standing next to her. “You heard the Boss. He said stop once you gave up the boy. What do ya say? Tell me, and all the pain goes away.”
Only a muffled version of Stoner’s request got through. He’d burst her left eardrum and white noise filled that side of the room. She still got the message, loud and clear.
She peered at him through the slits she had left for eyes, barely able to raise her head to make contact.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I…don’t…know.”
Stoner crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.
“Too bad you want to take that route.”
He picked up two black leather gloves from St. Croix’s desk. As he slipped them on, flecks of dried blood flaked onto the floor. He flexed his fingers and made a fist.
“Anytime you change your mind,” he said, “just say the word.”
Destiny had taught Prosperidad the big lesson already. What is foretold must unfold. She’d broken the code. She’d endure what was coming. She owed it to Tommy.
She closed her eyes and tried to find somewhere safe for her mind to hide. She conjured up her grandmother’s house on the lake in the Dominican Republic. A cooling breeze blew her hair from her face. Her grandmother stood beside her, a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“It won’t be long now,” her grandmother said.
Prosperidad placed her hand over her grandmother’s. She knew. She’d seen the future. Hers was empty.
Stoner reached down, grabbed her jaw, and angled her head for the next blow.