Читать книгу Christmas Conspiracy - Robin Perini - Страница 7

“We start again,” the voice echoed down the hall, sliding through the bars to reach Daniel.

He hated the perfect English accent, could feel himself sweat awaiting his own daily interrogation.

“Why did King Leopold hire Logan Carmichael again?”

A gut-wrenching howl echoed through the prison’s stone passageway. Daniel flinched. If only he could manage to escape, but beaten and bound to a chair, he was at the sadist’s mercy.

“Traitor,” the unknown prisoner down the hall challenged.

“Silence! I have more than one way of getting this information, and you are not that important to me. The so-called security expert should be disgraced for not preventing the massacre in the throne room, not trusted with more assignments.” A whip cracked across flesh. “What has Carmichael been commanded to do?”

Daniel tried to force his eyes open, but they’d swollen shut, and dried blood sealed the lids tight. He yanked on his ropes. A warm trail of liquid coursed over his hands and fingers. Maybe he just imagined the sensation. He’d lost feeling in his arms hours ago and his shoulders had gone numb.

The sharp lash of a whip sounded again and again.

“Why is Carmichael in Texas? Answer me.”

The beating didn’t stop.

If Logan was really in Texas, Daniel was doomed. No one else knew he’d been in Bellevaux. No one except his boss’s enemy. A sour burning scorched Daniel’s throat.

The man screamed.

“Carmichael is not at his ranch in Carder. Where is he?”

Daniel jolted. His torturers knew too much. Daniel knew too much. God, he wished he could forget. He’d been a fool. He should’ve told Logan his suspicions from the beginning. Logan wouldn’t know the betrayer was so close. Daniel couldn’t break or he would betray Logan, too.

An ominous silence fell, and foreboding gripped Daniel’s chest like a fist. He couldn’t breathe as he waited. No sound came from the room.

Crack!

A teeth-clenched groan.

“Not ready to talk? You have one hundred twenty-six bones in all. Do you have a preference?”

Crack!

An unholy scream.

Daniel shuddered.

Finally, one word.

“Princess.” The man moaned. “Heir to throne.”

A sharp curse exploded with the whip’s next slash. A loud crash splintered through the prison. “Revive him! I want to know who the princess is and where she is.”

“No,” Daniel whispered. “Don’t tell.” He had to get word to Logan. But how?

With a clang, the metal door down the hall banged open. Sweat slipped from Daniel’s brow, and his gut tensed, the response instinctive now. Heavy boots pounded toward his cell, then slowed and paused at his cell. Daniel clamped his swollen eyes tighter, using pain to sharpen his senses. He would fight them. They wouldn’t get what they wanted. He’d die first.

He prayed he’d die first.

Murmurs filtered from outside the cell. “Open it, and let me know when the other one is conscious. Although … I may be here for a while.”

With his vision impaired, at least Daniel didn’t have to look at the satisfied expression on his interrogator’s face. He hated the guy’s icy smile. Hated that the man and his cohorts had killed so many people and no one suspected.

More than that, because of their torture, the bastards knew more than Logan did and had planned accordingly. Without intel, even a legendary former CIA operative like Logan Carmichael could be ambushed. Daniel’s capture was proof of that.

“So, the silence has been broken,” his tormentor taunted.

The squeaking iron door made Daniel’s stomach lurch. His thighs clenched, his shoulders hunched. He wanted to shrink into nothing, but fought his weakness. Even so, each soft sound of the whip slapping against his captor’s hand stung like a burning welt against Daniel’s skin.

“I’ve discovered you work for Logan Carmichael. You shouldn’t keep such secrets from me, but I guarantee you won’t keep many more.”

Heavy metal clanged on the iron table beside Daniel’s chair.

Oh, God.

The interrogator trailed the leather grip of the whip across Daniel’s cheek. “Give me what I want, my friend, and maybe you’ll live. Right now, you are the suspected terrorist who bombed the Bellevaux throne room and killed Prince Stefan. I produce your body and I’m a hero. No one will question what shape you’re in when found dead. You’re assumed dead now.”

The man leaned closer. “Only I can clear your name. Now, where is Carmichael going and who is this princess?”

“Go to hell.” Daniel braced himself. The whip came crashing across his face and the force of the blow sent the chair toppling. Daniel’s head slammed into the floor. Logan, be on guard. Protect her.

“Prepare him!”

The guards grabbed Daniel’s shoulders. Knife blades of pain shot through his arms as they cut the ropes binding him to the chair. They rammed him against the stone wall, face-first, then tethered his wrists to metal rings high on the wall. Daniel arched in agony as the whip slashed his already raw back.

“Where is Carmichael and who is the girl?” The man’s voice was deadly cold.

“I don’t know.”

“Bring the wrench.”

Daniel went cold inside, then laughed bitterly. At least if the guy stuck to this line of questioning, Daniel wouldn’t betray Logan. Daniel didn’t know where his boss was or who the princess could possibly be. The first blow of the wrench smashed his left hand. His tortured scream filled his mind and body like an air-raid siren set at the highest decibel, but no sound ever escaped his clenched lips.

Please, God, let me die fast.