Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2) (17 page)

Her breath hitched. Words failed her. He kept moving, spurred on by her whimpers, her pleas, and finally, her screams. Over and over, again and again, for far longer than he’d been between her thighs. He finished inside her in a rush, coming hard enough that she felt it in her toes. 

Jack pressed his forehead to hers, panting. “All right?”

She trailed her fingers down his back, sighing when he slid out of her. She could still feel the warmth he left behind. “I love you,” she whispered.

He rolled over until she was on top of him. “Good. That was just a taste of what I’m going to do to you tonight. Are you ready?”

She snuggled into his neck. “With you, I’m ready for anything.”

The Fed

They’d gone to Rome on their honeymoon. Christmas in Philadelphia. An uneventful primary victory. Months of building their family, forming a closer bond. The winter and spring passed quickly, the girls finished school, and Caroline and Jack flew them up to camp…which left the entire summer for campaigning and carousing.

She tried to remember the good stuff. Focusing on anything else only deepened the gloom. And she couldn’t think about Marguerite and Sophie, no matter how wonderful the memory. Each little flash of her children wounded her more. So she blocked them out the best she could.

June. July. That summer. She could reminisce about that extraordinary summer.

After she refused to talk to Bob, they left her alone in her cell for what seemed like days. She couldn’t be sure. They left her in the dark, too. Permanent, awful darkness.

She hated the dark. Especially when she was alone. She used to spend occasional summer weekends at a college friend’s house in Door County, Wisconsin. The blackness of the woods behind the cabin had terrified her. In the middle of nowhere, no light could be found. Her eyes had never been that good at adjusting and she used to imagine people coming in to the bedroom of the cabin late at night, standing next to her bed.

When in a city or a suburb, she could always open the blinds. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d leave a light on in the hall or have a small nightlight plugged in. It was never really an issue in the Governor’s Mansion or anywhere else she and Jack inhabited. There were enough outdoor lights shining in through the windows to quell her fears.

She did her best to ignore the depression that came with the darkness. Funny how she’d never really considered the long term effects of not being able to see. Of noticing colors and textures, being able to observe her surroundings and analyze them. Or to simply
enjoy
them. Her feelings for her cell were far from affectionate but at least when the lights were on she had something to fucking
look
at. She tried to build a routine. But the monotony made her loopy.

Drink from the faucet. Piss in the toilet. Try to sleep without dreaming. Stare into darkness.

Drink. Piss. Sleep. Stare.

Drink. Piss. Sleep. Stare.

Lather, rinse, repeat?

She laughed at her own terrible joke. A shower. How awesome would that be? She hadn’t bathed in what had to be weeks now. The closest she came was when she carefully and methodically rinsed any dried blood off her nose, cheek, and hands until the water ran clear. It was hard to wash your face when it was busted up.

Even if they offered her a shower, she’d refuse. She had seen no female guards. Observed nothing to indicate that showering would be anything other than a danger. She could stand to be stinky. How much worse could it be?

Do you really want to know the answer to that question?

Drink.

Piss.

Sleep.

Stare.

A person could go mad in the dark. Could go mad from other things too. Her captors seemed to be hitting every note on the psychotic hit parade. She could slowly feel her stability slipping away during each moment she grappled with chronic pain. Her crippling loneliness threatened to snap her last remaining string of lucidity. They were going to win. She couldn’t go on like this much longer. They knew exactly what they were doing with their trifecta of insanity.

She tried singing showtunes and jazz standards to lift her spirits, but that depressed her more. She yelled at the walls, hoping that she shattered the eardrums of the men watching on the cameras and listening in through the cell door. She screamed herself hoarse, cursing at the guards, at the government, at Santos, at the world in general. She prayed to be put out of her misery.

Caroline did the last one silently, lest the guards grant her wish.

The line between reality and imagination blurred. Did that shadow move? Did she hear a noise? She talked to herself, undoubtedly entertaining the guards even more. Half the time she didn’t know if she spoke out loud or just had entire conversations in her head. She had the interior of the room memorized. No more fumbling around. A nice little skill. She’d add it to her résumé the next time she updated it.

Can find her way to the sink and the shitter in pitch black darkness without assistance
.

It would make her much more marketable. Of that she was certain.

Caroline tugged at her hair, hard enough to hurt. Her broken bones kept her in touch with her senses but fresh pain kept her right smack in the real world, where she needed to be.

Hope. The thing with feathers. She always hated that fucking poem. She’d briefly considered an English degree in college, but switched to history once she realized that all the other people in her classes were pretentious literary assholes.

Keep hope alive. Keep your head up. Keep dreaming. Keep pushin’.

What a crock of shit.

Jack will find me
.

That thought often crowded her mind. Drowning out the fear she’d only voiced once. To Bob. Her feather, when her optimism started to fade. Jack was out there. She knew he was out there. And he’d come for her. Soon.

Jack will find me.

She said his name aloud, once, twice, three times. Maybe that would help.

“Jack will find me,” she whispered.

My husband will find me. Someone will find me.

Maybe if she thought about it long enough, it would happen.

The Fed

Was it morning? Caroline couldn’t tell. A low light buzzed in the hall and she recognized the voices echoing back and forth. Shift change. It had to be morning. How many mornings had there been? Two? Three? More? Probably more. Definitely more. Maybe she should have found a way to keep tally.

Her body hurt from being curled up on the bed. But things could always be worse. She could have her period. She could be knocked up. At least she had an IUD so that neither one of those things could happen.

Are you kidding, Gerard? That is some seriously fucked up glass half full bullshit. Pregnancy is the least of your worries right about now.

The low light went out and it was pitch black in her cell again.

She made a mental note not to tell the guards how much she hated extreme darkness. Unless they already knew. Which they probably did, considering how often they left her without any light.

The lights came back on, brighter than she remembered. Caroline could hear footsteps coming down the hall and tried to straighten up. The door swung open and Fischer and another guard, one she didn’t recognize, came in.

“Stand up,” the other guard said.

Caroline did as he said, then scowled at herself. Christ, a few days in this place and her responses to their barked orders were Pavlovian at times. How disgusting.

Fischer cuffed her wrists. “We’re going on a field trip,” he said.

“But my parents didn’t sign my permission slip,” she mumbled.

Fischer grinned. She could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Such a shame,” he said. “Wasting all that humor on someone like you.” He shoved her down the hall, with the other guard walking in front of them.

“That’s Powell,” Fischer said casually. “He’s an even bigger asshole than I am. He was reassigned especially for you.”

“You mean I have more to look forward to than a broken face?”

Fischer stopped short. “Oh, much more.” He pressed a finger to her cheek, trailing it down toward her jaw. He laughed when she winced. “You’re still not all that bad to look at.”

Powell frowned. “Don’t press it, man. You know the procedure with her.”

Fischer’s smile faded as he continued yanking her down the hall. “Powell here’s a stickler for obedience. He’s got seniority so I have to listen to him.”

She was punchy enough to feel a little bolder than usual. “So, do you just blindly follow authority, respecting it even if it’s been gained through illegal means? Or did you take this job so that you could finally act out your childhood bully fantasies?”

Fischer yanked her by the wrists, which hurt. Her handcuffs were again too tight.

“I don’t need lectures on morality from a criminal who hacked into a classified database,” he said.

Caroline started to say something, then snapped her mouth shut. Her resistance had weakened and he knew it. She’d almost given him one of the pieces to the puzzle the government wanted to solve. They reached a small interrogation room. Powell unlocked the door and Fischer pushed Caroline inside, shoving her into one of the metal chairs.

He grinned down at her. His teeth were yellow. She’d never noticed that before. “Here we go.”

Caroline stared down at her nails. She’d gotten a manicure the week before she and Jack had to run. A petty priority at such a stressful time but she’d done it to convince herself that life still had a bit of normalcy to it. All things considered, it was in pretty decent shape. She held her hands out, admiring the work of the manicurist. Blood red nails. She used to think the polish was sexy. Alluring. Confident. Now it looked morbid. She smiled anyway, still feeling punchy.

“This color looks good on me, don’t you think?” she asked Powell.

Caroline thought she saw the corner of his mouth turn up briefly, but he quickly regained his composure. He didn’t say a word. She’d hoped for a response, a little bit of interaction from someone she had yet to fully despise. She was sure he’d find a way to get there, though.

Shit. Her mask of indifference wasn’t working. She brought her hands back down on the table, the outline of her wedding rings still visible on her left ring finger. She clenched her hand into a fist, trying to obscure the indentations and all the memories that came along with them.  A lousy approach, since the first image that came to mind was one of Jack and Marguerite laughing as a tiara-wearing Sophie twirled Caroline’s rings off and paraded around the living room in their house in Rockville, joking that she was going to run away and live like a queen with mommy’s sparklies.

Caroline closed her eyes, exhaling sharply. She needed to think of a better strategy for clearing her mind.

Fischer undid her cuffs, producing a bottle of water she hadn’t noticed before. It appeared to be unopened. “You’re probably thirsty,” he said to Caroline.

Her thirst could never be slaked. Drinking from the sink in her cell proved difficult. Her stomach had stopped growling days ago, too hungry to churn. She reached for the bottle and Fischer held it out of her reach.

“That’s for me.” He grabbed it and downed it in three short gulps, then crunched the bottle up in his fist. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you want some of this?” He laughed at Caroline’s expression as he settled into a chair in the corner of the room. “I think one of my supervisors is bringing you something a bit more refreshing. And don’t try anything.”

Caroline had gotten way beyond that. Part of her knew she was doomed but the other part of her, the part that held out hope that someone somewhere would get her out of this despicable place, knew that she had to remain in somewhat decent physical condition. And broken bones really fucking hurt. She heard footsteps coming down the hall.

Powell took the seat next to Fischer. “He’s coming.”

Fischer smiled. “It will be a fun day.”

The man entered the room without fanfare. He had a ratlike face but wore a tailored business suit. Not terribly well made but nicer than most, so he must have been one of the few who could afford to live decently. He carried a bottle of cranberry juice and a small gym bag. The man tossed the gym bag toward the corner of the room, smiling when he heard a metallic thud as it landed on the floor. How disconcerting.

She attentively watched his every movement as he sat down at the table across from her. He twisted the top off the bottle of juice and set it on the table, glancing at the two men in the corner before turning to face his prisoner. It was indeed going to be a very fun day, but not for her. Because as Jeffrey Murdock made eye contact with her, Caroline
knew that she was screwed.

The Fed

Murdock tapped his fingers on the table, staring at her. His gaze drifted to her nose, to her bloody clothes, and back up again. His lips curled up into a most disturbing smile. “Hello, Gerard.”

“Jeffrey,” she said. “I didn’t think you had a soul to sell and yet here’s the proof.”

He laughed. “You always were a charming woman. But not all that shrewd. I was simply thrilled when you arrived last week. We have so much catching up to do.”

Did the idiots running the place really think that the vermin sitting across the table from her could make her give them information? Caroline narrowed her eyes. “I can’t think of a single thing we have to talk about.”

He pushed the bottle of cranberry juice toward her. “You look like you might need this.”

“I could use some food too, but you all don’t seem too fond of the concept of keeping your prisoners in good health.”

Murdock laughed again. “Don’t be silly. Tell me, what have you been up to lately?”

“Don’t waste your breath. I’m not telling you a damn thing because I don’t know anything.”

His grin faded, just a little. “I’m sure you know a great many things.”

She wasn’t really in any position to make demands, but Murdock’s presence caused her to lower her guard. “Take me back to my cell.”

“Not yet. I just want to have a little chat.”

Right
. “Fuck you.”

He continued to tap his fingers on the table, moving along to a rhythm that only he knew. “What a terrible attitude. That’s too bad. When I found out you were here I requested that you be assigned to me.”

That didn’t sound good at all. “
Assigned
to you?”

“I’m in charge of interrogations.” He could barely keep the pride out of his voice. “I run a few of them, in certain special circumstances. And you’re the most special of circumstances.”

She couldn’t draw her gaze away from his. The hatred in his eyes seared her soul. Caroline was utterly fucked. “You jumped at the chance to join these bastards, didn’t you?”

Murdock smiled at her malevolently. “It was just a happy coincidence that so many people I dislike happen to be in here.”

Jesus Christ, what a small man. He’d asked her out twice and she’d turned him down twice. She hadn’t thought more of it than that, but things had gone downhill after she made it clear she wasn’t interested. They kept their distance during Caroline’s last year in Congress, but he would still
be
there at the most inopportune times, giving off a prickly vibe that always left her feeling violated.

She’d occasionally wonder if maybe his fixation on her was less than healthy, and Jack would agree. But then she’d push it aside, believing she was being petty. Clearly she’d made a terrible error in judgment. There was more to this than just a rejected date, but she wasn’t about to open that can of worms.

“You really need to get over whatever it was you thought the two of us could have,” she said. “I was never going to go out with you.”

Murdock cackled. A man, cackling. A wretched sound regardless of gender, worse coming from him. “Such a little ego you have. That isn’t what this is about.”

“So what is it about?”

He glared at her. “Political penance.”

Caroline leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. What an ass. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The fingers tapping on the table curled into a fist. “You’ve done
everything
wrong.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t win a statewide election. At least Santos managed to do that.”

“Ah, yes,” Murdock said. “President Santos. Tell me, Gerard. How do you feel about the man?”

Caroline bit her tongue. They’d sent him in here to goad her. Push her buttons. She refused to be sucked in. She remained silent.

“Oh, I see.” Murdock ran a hand through his hair. “This may be tougher than I thought.” He smiled again. “But we have all the time in the world.”

Fuckity fuck fuck. “Take me back to my cell and get back to whatever lackey job Santos has you doing.”

“I told you. I’m here to help the Administration. Believe me, I’d much rather be serving as governor of Pennsylvania, but apparently the voters were less educated than I had anticipated. Fickle. Misinformed. Caught up in a shallow romance between a one term member of Congress and his valiant wife.”

Who was serving as governor now that Jack was gone? Had the lieutenant governor taken over? Probably. A logical choice since he was the second in command. Less suspicious if he took the reins. He was much less moderate and far more ruthless than Jack. Santos loved men who were willing to sacrifice principle for ambition.

Caroline suspected the lieutenant governor may have been the one who sold them out. Although it really could have been anyone. Or anything, for that matter. Including, unfortunately, her own reckless behavior. But she couldn’t dwell on her mistakes. She couldn’t very well undo them now. And Murdock was trying to insult Jack and demean her at the same time. She wasn’t about to stand for either.

“You keep telling yourself that,” she said. “I think the fact that you’re sitting here allied with Santos tells you everything you need to know about why the public thinks you’re unelectable.”

He pushed the bottle toward her again. “You look so parched. Have a drink.”

Caroline knew she shouldn’t trust anything he gave her, but she was so damn thirsty that she didn’t care. She picked the bottle up with shaking hands and choked down the juice. If it was spiked with anything, hopefully she’d go down fast. The taste didn’t appear to be off, but she swallowed it so quickly she likely wouldn’t have noticed.

Murdock laughed when she spilled some of it down her shirt. “Desperation doesn’t become you, Caroline.”

There was something about his tone. The way he manipulated phrases. The way he addressed her. He usually stuck to her last name, as he did with everyone else. To use her first name seemed to grant their relationship an intimacy it didn’t deserve.

Her hands were still shaking. The juice would only take her so far. Damn it, they were starving her to death and taunting her at the same time. She threw the bottle across the table, smiling when he ducked. “Fuck you,” she said.

He pulled his head back up. She’d rattled him, just a little. He hadn’t expected her to go on the attack. “Again with the profanity. You used to have such a way with words. A shame you’ve been reduced to this.”

“I’m not the one who made a deal with the devil.”

“So unnecessarily dramatic. You were always such a goody goody,” he said. “Spouting off about ethics and morality and democracy and freedom, like you’d read one too many Greek or Roman philosophers. The only way you would have been more insufferable was if you’d been a Republican.” He stepped around the table, still eyeing her. “And then you fucking married one.”

She smiled. He wanted a response and she wasn’t going to give him one. A lot of politicos hated marriages between two perceived adversaries, even though such hatred was stupid and misguided. Plenty of non-politicians married their ideological opposites. The elites were clueless.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Murdock said. “That guy got more pussy than I could have ever dreamed of. I’ll give him that. You’ve got a nice rack but you’re not exactly a supermodel. And you’re not all that captivating. What was it about you, of all people?”

The juice had given her a little energy. Enough energy to be an ass. Caroline shrugged. “Maybe I have a magic vagina.”

She heard someone suppress a chuckle. Oh, great. She was the carnival sideshow. Perhaps she could play along. Warm them up a little. “Jack is ten times the man you are.” She grinned. “Probably literally.”

She heard a loud chortle and looked up to see Fischer hastily covering his mouth. Her grin grew broader. She should have known the man would appreciate a good dick joke.

Murdock stood up and backhanded Caroline so fast that it caught her off guard. Her head whipped to the side. “Wipe that smile off your face, you goddamn bitch.” He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Not a promising sign.

Blood seeped from her nose. Christ, that hurt. “Is that the best you can do?”

He hit her again, hard enough that she toppled out of her chair onto the floor. “How was that?” he asked, kneeling down beside her.

A solid blow to an already broken nose. Who knew that such an action could hurt so much? “I’m mildly impressed.”

Murdock motioned to Fischer and Powell, who yanked her up by her wrists and shoved her back into her chair. Blood dripped down onto the table. He paced back and forth in front of her. “I’m fascinated by you, Gerard. You’re much less whiny than I thought you would be. Still annoying, of course, but not the hysterical woman I expected.”

Caroline pulled her head up defiantly, remembering Bob’s final words to her. They gave her strength. “You’ll never break me, fuckface.”

His lips turned up. “Maybe not, but we’re going to try. My supervisors expect nothing less.” Murdock walked over to the bag in the corner of the room. “Do you know how many bones there are in the human hand?” he asked, his voice nonchalant. He spun back around and returned to the table, a claw hammer in his grip. “Twenty-seven.”

What had he just said? She couldn’t take her eyes off the tool hanging lazily at his side.

“Do you like this?” he asked. “Picked it up earlier today. Fiberglass. About twenty ounces. High visibility.” He smiled at her. “You’re not the only one who pays attention to details. I just prefer useless knowledge about weaponry and handheld implements as opposed to obscure twentieth century politicians.”

Damn it. He’d been listening in during her troll session with the FBI. He’d probably been watching her in her cell, too. Analyzing her weaknesses, waiting to spring them on her at the worst moments.

The hammer had a pink handle. She could remain calm. Turn this around on him. Put him on the defensive. “Yes, Jeffrey,” she said. “I’m quite impressed with your pretty princess tool set.”

She could have sworn that Fischer and Powell both smiled, but Murdock ignored her remark. “Some interrogators are partial to firearms or other means but I thought this would be a bit more…personal, given our previous relationship.” He motioned over to the two guards, each of whom took one of her arms.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He slammed the claw hammer down, leaving a large indentation in the center of the table. Twenty ounces of weight and hundreds of pounds of pressure could permanently disable a person. She flinched, and he laughed.

“Of course, over half the bones in the hand are fingers. Phalanges and such.” Murdock looked at Caroline gleefully. She was doing a shitty job of trying to hide her growing terror. “Unfortunately, I was informed that I’m not allowed to cut off any body parts. Otherwise I’d have purchased a saw. I am, however, allowed to break bones. Have you ever broken a bone, Gerard?” He laughed shortly, squeezing her cheek as she cried out in pain. “Oh. How silly of me. I guess we know the answer to that question.”

Caroline closed her eyes, struggling in the guards’ grip. Someone had to be watching. Someone would come in and stop this. This was not allowed, under any circumstances, for any sort of interrogation within the borders of the United States of America. Even benevolent dictators had rules….right?

Murdock laughed again. “You think you can get away somehow? Your smart mouth can’t save you all the time.” He turned to the men. “Hold her still. And you, Fischer, get a nice grip on her left wrist. I think we’ll start there.”

Powell twisted her right arm behind her back, pinning it there. He wrapped his free hand around her throat.

“Good,” Murdock said. “I have to tell you, Caroline. I’ve never done this before. I’ve practiced, of course. But I’m so glad you get to be here for my first time. A mutual deflowering, we’ll call it.”

That last comment was meant to make her think about more than broken bones. The panic started to consume her. She couldn’t – she had to remain calm. It wouldn’t be so bad. But oh God, that hammer. It was so fucking big. He would destroy her hand. She couldn’t let him –

“Stop,” she whispered.

Murdock placed the hammer behind his back. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Have courage, sunshine. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Bob. Where was he now? Dead, gone, still suffering? He’d resisted them. She was obligated to do the same.

Be brave. You can do this.

She shook her head back and forth. “I don’t know anything,” she said softly.

Powell tightened his grip around her throat. “Make a wrong move and I’ll snap your arm in two,” he hissed.

Maybe now was the time for Caroline to test whether Powell spoke the truth, because if this was how Murdock was getting started, she hated to think of how far he would eventually go. She closed her eyes again. She could get through this. She’d fractured bones before. Hell, half her ribs were probably broken along with most of her face. She’d suffered any number of undiagnosed concussions, been unconscious for hours or maybe even days at a time, and now had a constant headache. What was one more injury to add to the tally? She tried to quell her fear. The men in the room probably knew full well that she was terrified but damn it, she wasn’t going to give them a grand performance.