Chapter Ten

  Heavy metal music bred around him to the point where Dorian couldn’t even hear himself think. Heavy bass and wailing guitars with a guttural sound coming from the singer that might have resembled singing or even words had Dorian an ear for this type of music. Instead, he just kept listening to it with the bag over his head and his hands cuffed in front of him. Any attempt to move was met with a chain securing him to the floor. The only thing Dorian could really be grateful for was that Pat opted to at least give him a chair to sit in. Though even this felt like a threat with the way it wobbled at the slightest movement. The chair ready to colpse like a house of cards if Dorian shifted his weight the wrong way.

  “I was listening to that!” Dorian called out once the music stopped. He could barely hear the heavy foot falls of boot cd feet approaching over the dull whine in his ears but sure as hell felt the fist connect to his face. His head snapping off to the side before the world around him was revealed with the removal of the bag around his head.

  Surveying his surroundings through his periphery, Dorian kept his gaze centered on Pat. An old metal hut with dust crusted windows that hardly let in any light. What little light it did allow painting the whole room in a rusty amber glow. The smell of rotting wood from the scaffolding and grease and oil from machinery tucked to the side seeped into every surface around him. Giving the air this almost viscous feel. A workshop or garage of sorts. Which meant tools, Dorian realized. Lots of tools.

  Standing before him, flexing his hand, Pat looked down at Dorian and Dorian back up at him. Only breaking their shared gnce to see the two others standing behind him. The two that were driving the truck and shooting at them earlier. One, a man with a bald head shadowed with hair made it a point to holster his pistol into the front waist of his pants. The other a bean pole of a man with long hair and the concept of a mustache on his upper lip stood with a rge yellow tool bag hanging from one hand.

  Leaning around Pat, Dorian tried to glean just what the contents of the canvas bag might be. That is until another blow from Pat struck Dorian’s head. Whipping his face to the other side now as he groaned. Figuring Pat didn’t like the attention being on anyone besides himself, Dorian slowly turned his gaze back to Pat and mumbled something under his breath.

  “You wanna run that by me one more time?” Pat asked as he seized Dorian by the chin. His face close enough that Dorian was able to lob a wad of spit and blood straight into his cheek causing Pat to back off. Wiping the lob away from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “I said you hit like a bitch.” Dorian said and watched as Pat never took his eyes from him but gestured with an open hand and the bean pole stepped forward. Yellow canvas bag in hand.

  With a quick inspection of the contents, Pat tossed the bag and its contents fell out to scatter across the floor. A power drill with a bit almost as thick as Dorian’s index finger. A ball peen hammer with a worn wooden handle. A set of slip joint pliers. Those being the only tools Dorian could see from his periphery as he kept his gaze locked on Pat’s form, his brow setting heavy across his face. Any snark he could bring to mind dulling at the throb in his head.

  “Let’s see if this hits a little harder.” Pat said and walked over to the bag, swiping up the hammer that y on the floor as he reached behind his back.

  Dorian only had enough time to register the nail between Pat’s fingers. Just before it was lodged so deep into his thigh that he was sure the only thing that stopped it going further was bone. Dorian’s wrists straining against the cuffs as every muscle in his body tensed all at once with the pinch and punch of pain that shot through his leg. His lips pressing together in a ft line as air filled his cheeks that came out as a groan instead of a scream before simmering into a breath.

  “Now let’s talk about Ashley.” Pat said as he cocked his head to the side, trying to meet Dorian’s gaze as he watched the man before him. Dorian pinning his chin to his chest. Trying to concentrate on anything beyond the rusty nail currently embedded in his thigh.

  “Nicole hired me to work with Keeva on this job.” Dorian began, his voice wavering and strained though still on the verge of a scream as the pain throbbed in his leg. “We were told shipping containers were going missing and she thought I could help.”

  Knowing the best lies always had a hint of truth to them, Dorian thought that giving a half honest answer was better than staying silent. The transaction of information was going to be exchanged either in words or screams at this point. Dorian thought he’d offer the former before Pat forced the tter.

  “That’s not what I asked you Dorian.” Pat began, positioning the hammer head against Dorian’s chin to direct his eyes up to meet him. “I asked you about Ashley, you know that blonde bomb shell you ran off with?”

  Dorian wanted to spit in his face again, maybe nd a wad straight into his eye if his mouth weren’t so dry right now. It was the only thing he could do to not conjure the image of Ashley in his mind’s eye. Knowing that even the smallest expression might give him away that he knew more than he was letting on. Instead, he tried to focus on the feeling in his wrists. The feel of the cuffs cutting into the skin. Flesh rubbed raw till it broke and blood came out. The feel of cold metal against his body as his abdomen tensed so tight he was sure he could will himself to vomit if he tried hard enough.

  “I remember where I recognized you from.” Pat said and stood as he began to circle around Dorian. Dragging the head of the hammer across his shoulders as he circled around his back. “You’re not just any shmuck off the street, you’re one of the better smugglers this side of the equator. If anyone needs anything to get anywhere, you’re one of the guys they recommend. But now you decided that this one was good enough to keep? Come on man, where’s the professional courtesy?”

  “If you know what I used to do as a smuggler, then you should know why Nicole hired me for a job like this then.” Dorian said. “You’re full of bad ideas but you’re not stupid Pat.”

  “Oh ho ho ho!” Pat chuckled as he circled back around to Dorian’s front. “You wanna talk about bad ideas and fucking over our bosses? Then expin to me why you decided to run off with your other client’s cargo? Do you know how much girls like her go for on the bck market? She’s gotta be worth at least fifty thousand but you seriously pissed off someone cause that number jumped by at least…” Pat paused and began to count on his fingers as he stared at the ceiling before scoffing. “At least twenty times that asking price.”

  One million, Dorian thought to himself and felt his stomach drop, his face lowering as to not let it show on his face.

  “And that’s just for one of you. That guy you stiffed is offering fifty thousand for any information as to where she is now and another cool million for your head.” Pat said as he cocked his hand back. Dorian’s eyes widening just enough before shutting tight as the hammer came down against his face. Snapping his head to the side at the blow as a numbness took over the skin just after the warm spread of a throbbing bruise forming. If his jaw wasn’t broken, a tooth was certainly knocked loose. “Too bad they want you alive though. Hope there isn’t a damaged goods fee.”

  For the next several hours, Dorian endured the torture of everything Pat brought with him in that tool bag. The questions Pat asked never changing. Where was Ashley now? What did you do with Ashley? The pain would stop when he told them where Ashley was. Where’s Ashley Dorian? Answer the question, Dorian! Where is Ashley Dorian?

  Pat used the hammer just about anywhere he could swing it. A few blows to the ribs, another to his knee cap. A few more to the face. When the hammer lost its appeal, covered in Dorain’s blood with the handle near snapping, he moved on to a pair of slip joint plyers. Grabbing onto Dorian’s head as he pressed a thumb to his cheek to try and push his jaw open. When Dorian didn’t comply, Pat smmed the plyers into the bridge of Dorian’s nose hard enough to split the skin but not hard enough to break his nose. The resulting yelp of pain was enough for Pat to slip the jaws of the plyers into Dorian’s mouth.

  Taking hold of a tooth along the back of his jaw, Pat used one hand to steady Dorian’s jaw while the other held fast against the plyers. The force he needed to pull on a tooth causing Pat to pce a boot against Dorian’s chest to keep him from falling over. Even with the blows to his chin from the hammer, the teeth still came out slowly as he felt the roots pull and protest against his gums. Blood seeping and leaking from his skin as he let out a low guttural scream around the plyers before a wet slipping sound from the tooth popping out of its socket. The tooth discarded like an empty shell casing. Dorian tasing his own blood on his tongue as he absentmindedly tongued over the hole in his mouth.

  Just beyond Pat, the bean pole and bald man watched this dispy with almost wrapped attention. Bean pole leaning off to the side when Pat turned the teeth of the plyers to Dorian’s fingers. As though he wanted a better look at the carnage. The bald man only stood with a stoic expression as he kept his arms crossed over his chest. Lips pursed and brow set like he was watching a tradesmen do his craft. While the bean pole flinched and winced when the nail on Dorian’s thumb ripped off with a chunk of skin, the bald man only nodded his head in appreciation. Their expressions and means of attention never changing between them.

  When Dorian couldn’t spit the blood, he was forced to swallow and felt his stomach churn at every other mouthful. Feeling himself ready to vomit if he had to ingest anymore. Though this would only prove to be the reaction Pat wanted as he took his fist and buried it into Dorian’s abdomen. The force causing him to double over so violently that the contents of his stomach came up and out. His whole torso feeling like it was fttening to push everything inside of him out through his lips. A feeling like something sharp and coarse crawling up out of his throat before it entered his mouth and escaping. The combination of stomach acid and blood spilling across his p and the floor.

  “I want you to tell me where Ashley is Dorian.” Pat said, boredom cing his voice as though the thrill of torture had finally worn off the same way a joke might lose its punchline. “Tell me that and all of this stops.”

  In pce of a response, Dorian only winced as he pressed his lips into a ft line. His eye was swollen so badly that he couldn’t see and any words he’d try to say would be filtered through a swollen cheek and a split lip. His breathing was heavy and bored. Trying to decern if he’d cracked a rib or just bruised it. Leaning forward, he spit out another mouthful of blood so as not to swallow again but kept his eyes cast to the floor. For all of Pat’s efforts, Dorian hadn’t said a single word once the torture began. Even now, Dorian chose silence.

  “Alright,” Pat said and rubbed his eyes. “The smell in here is gonna make me sick so we’ll pick this up tomorrow. But before you get any ideas about trying to slip out of those cuffs…”

  Feeling a pinch against his thigh, Dorian sat up and widened his eyes as far as they could against the swelling. His gaze turning down to the syringe sticking out of his thigh and the liquid pumping into his veins. It was some how both hot and cold, burning against his muscles and chilling them to the bone. He’d felt this once before. Dorian already knew a dose of ketamine this rge wasn’t going to kill him, but it would make it near impossible to do anything beyond melt into his seat. For whatever moments of sharpness his mind still had, Dorian knew Pat using a pain killer on him was in no way a mercy.

  “Enjoy the sleep while you can.” Pat said as he removed the syringe and tossed it off to the side. “That dose won’t be enough to st you through the night.”

  It didn’t take long for the hit to start working its way into Dorian’s body. The sensation starting in his mind as it felt like someone had shaken his head. His brain feeling light and airy like it was made of smoke that would leak out of his ears. Next came the sensation in his limbs. Spreading out across his form and consuming his vision as the world around him began to melt. His vision smearing with everywhere he tried to look. His body becoming too heavy to support itself as he tried to force his neck to pull his head up. His split and swollen lips parting as a strand of drool and blood seeped out from his mouth. Pat said something else to him, but Dorian couldn’t quite catch it. It sounded distant or like he was trying to speak through several yers of fabric. Dorian couldn’t muster a response as he could hardly remember what words were now.

  His st thoughts before consciousness escaped him being of Ashley. Summoning an image of her in his mind’s eye. He could see her face now, framed in blond locks with eyes of tarnished cobalt. He wanted to imagine her hand running across his face right now in pce of the numbness that came over it instead. Wanted to feel anything right now as it felt like he was beginning to sink into his own body and away from his nerves. His body falling forward even further now till he slumped and sluffed off the chair. Colpsing onto the concrete as he curled in on himself. Watching as Pat walked out of the workshop with his men in tow. Dorian’s mind repeating words inside his head. First with his own voice.

  Promise…

  Next with a voice he didn’t recognize.

  Promise…

  Finally with Ashley’s voice.

  Promise.

  ~Six Months Earlier~

  Dorian’s cigarette glowed bright against the backdrop of shadows inside the dimly lit bar. Exhaling a breath of smoke into the open air. Flicking the ash into an empty can of beer set aside in pce of an ash tray as his hand held to another can. Last thing he needed was to get the two mixed up and take a mouth full of ash. The bar itself was a small one, Dorian figured he could walk from the door to the end of the room in less than twenty steps but it was the size that made him a regur at a pce like this. Small enough that when a crowd gathered, he was able to vanish among the noise of people but never big enough that he’d stick out too much were it empty.

  The bartender knew him as a regur enough that he’d often light Dorian’s cigarettes for him but not enough to strike up a conversation. Dorian’s Spanish was too rusty to really hold a conversation but enough to get him by for the time being. Though he’d long since felt like he overstayed his welcome in Mexico and opted to take the first job that would allow him to leave on at least neutral terms.

  Someone always needed something transported from point A to point B without anyone either knowing it was gone or knowing it was coming. Dorian could specialize in as much and those who needed such services always seemed to know where and how to find him. Such was the case as a man sat at the bar and greeted the bartender. A local by the looks of him, clean shaven and a well-maintained haircut. No tattoos, at least none Dorian could see beneath the button down he wore. Was this his contact, or just a stranger with bad timing? Dorian wondered as much as he eyed the stranger with a sidelong gnce. Never staring at him enough to attract the attention of the stranger but enough to get a feel on him.

  As the man ordered his drink, he produced his wallet and set it down onto the counter. The bills inside stiffed so tight into the wallet that it couldn’t close properly as it propped itself open. The man in the button down making it a point to set it between himself and Dorian. Just as the bartender turned around to grab the man his drink, he turned to Dorian and flicked his gaze down at the wallet before returning his gaze to Dorian. With a courtesy nod, Dorian swiped the wallet from the table before the bar tender turned around and produced his own wallet in return. When he tried to produce a couple of bills, the stranger held his hands up and gave him a wry smile as he said something in Spanish. Dorian could only assume he said something along the lines of taking care of his tab as he punctuated his statement with a wink. Dorian nodded in return before taking one st swig of beer and dumping the cigarette butt into the can and taking his leave from the bar.

  Walking down the street for a moment, Dorian peered over his shoulder to survey the area. A few women standing underneath a street light with their heads on a swivel and their high heels making them look like a flock of fmingo. A couple of Americans, drunk off their asses as they wandered inside the street talking loud enough that Dorian could hear their conversation. A noises of the city like a car revving its engine as it sped down the road, a dog barking in the distance and a popping noise that could have been a firework but was more likely a gunshot. When Dorian was satisfied that the coast was clear, he opted to inspect the contents of the wallet. Last thing he needed was to inspect a wallet dened with cash in the middle of the night.

  Payment was already inside and the information as to where he’d need to pick up his assignment came in the form of a hotel key card. The room number written on the back. Beyond this, any information as to what he was hauling or where it would be going was absent. Likely for the best in the event this wallet fell into the wrong hands. Dorian wasn’t paid to ask questions anyway, whatever information he’d need, he’d just as likely find it when whomever needed him to know would tell him.

  Slipping the wallet into his pocket, Dorian started off towards the hotel named on the key card.. Some two-story inn where all the rooms led out to a walk way that faced the parking lot. The reception desk manned by a woman keeping herself busy with a small TV as she kept her back facing away from the window. Never even turning around to see who was approaching. Dorian wouldn’t need to check into a room as he’d already had the keycard anyway as he approached a room towards the back of the complex. Produced the card, and scanned it against the door.

  The tch clicking as Dorian turned the knob and entered. Flicking on the lights only to see what he’d be transporting ying on the bed and felt his stomach churn. His body frozen as he stood in the threshold with the door ajar looking on at the figure ying with her back turned towards him, curled up in the fetal position. Had he not seen her back rise and fall with shallow breaths, Dorian would have sworn she was dead. Though his only thought now being how this couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be what he was asked to haul. Maybe it was just someone who had more information about the assignment. Though that theory died the moment Dorian saw a small bck satchel sitting on the desk at the far end of the room.

  Closing the door behind him and fastening the lock, he started over towards the satchel. Peering over his shoulder to see the woman on the bed still lying there, her eyes half open as she kept her breathing shallow and low. Dorian could feel her eyes boring into him, watching his every move. He could swear he heard her try and say something as he reached for the satchel. Something that he could have mistaken for the wind if he didn’t see her lips moving. Her voice too frail to be heard and body too still to really make anything more than those small noises.

  Returning his attention to the satchel, he pulled the zipper open and winced at the contents inside. Several syringes already filled and capped with a clear liquid inside, likely whatever was coursing through this young girl’s veins right now. He saw one missing and found it sitting empty inside of a pstic bottle in the trash. Zipping the satchel back up, he turned to face the woman lying on the bed. Her lips parted now as her breath came in jagged gasps, her form lurching as she rolled over onto her stomach. Her blond hair obscuring more of her face as she pawed at the sheets. Taking a handful of them and lurched again as Dorin pulled the trash can in one hand and took a handful of her hair in the other. Holding her hair back as he positioned her head in front of the trash can as the vomit and bile of her stomach came lurching out of her mouth. Pouring into the trash can with a cough and a gasp. Her body lurching and curling in on itself again as another wave of sick washed out of her while her hands tched onto either side of the trash. A wad of spit flying from her lips before she colpsed onto the bed and back onto her side.

  Tears began to stream down her face, catching the light of the room around the two of them as her breathing came in sharp gasps and sobs. Her frail fingers gripping the sheets tighter as she let out a low whimper and wine. Her face turning into the bed as she coughed out a sob and wined a little louder.

  Looking on at this pathetic creature that id before him, Dorian could see she was cognizant enough that she wasn’t experiencing an overdose and was slowly coming down. What that come down would feel like for her now would be another question and issue to deal with all together. For now, though, Dorian grabbed a towel from the bathroom, parted her hair from her face and wiped her mouth. When her face was clean, he tossed the towel aside and knelt on the floor to try and meet her gaze. His hand brushing against the small of her back to make her aware of his presence.

  Ashley’s eyes, blue and welling with tears as her face contorted with plea and anguish, held onto Dorian’s gaze as his own eyes held her expression in his. A pressure coming down onto his chest that threatened to make his heart stop all at once as she managed to cw and crawl her palm far enough to wrap her cold fingers around Dorian’s wrist where he’d parted her hair off to the side.

  “Can you hear me?” Dorian asked and saw Ashely nod. “Can you speak at all?” Ashley shook her head but reached further with her frail fingers to grasp onto Dorian’s sleeve. Pulling him closer or perhaps ensuring he wouldn’t slip out of her grasp as she let out another low whimper in pce of words. Dorian’s other hand stroking her back continually as he watched at the tears that ran down her face. “I’m gonna take you home, I’m going to make sure you see your home again no matter what.”