Slate smirked, leaving the shower to change his clothes.
Gavin laid his head on his folded legs as he felt the drugs begin warping Slate into a grotesque character of himself. He raised his head to lean back on the shower wall.
“What’s he laughing at?” Ink fearfully took a step out of the door.
“I’m laughing at you shitheads. You smell like my shit and piss, and I’ve already managed to kill one of you fuckers.” Gavin turned his head to stare at the three men. “And the only thing—” Gavin couldn’t hold back his hysterical laughter any longer. “—that Slate thinks can keep me in line is making me suck his dick. I bet you can’t even get it up, you useless piece of—”
Gavin wrapped his arms around his legs, scrunching himself into a ball, as Slate vented his rage on him with boots and fists.
The best part of whatever Butcher shot into him was not feeling a fucking thing. Not one … fucking … thing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gavin paced frantically around the small basement, twisting his hands together. He listened to every sound that came near the door, lifting his eyes expectantly when he heard the slightest creak, then dropping them in disappointment when the door wasn’t opened.
He had lost track of the time and days. He no longer counted the sounds and minutes to get fed. No, what had him jacked up was the shot he no longer fought against. Scratching his arm, he didn’t notice he had drawn bloody welts on his skin.
When was Ink going to come? Had he ever gone so long without getting his fix? Gavin didn’t think so but couldn’t be sure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued pacing, stopping intermittently to look at the door before resuming his frantic pacing.
Had they forgotten he was down here? Did Crash tell them that he no longer wanted him kept alive? Memphis had already stopped coming to taunt him that The Last Riders hadn’t bothered to search for him.
Gavin was glad when Memphis stopped coming. His taunts and insults about Viper being happy he was out his life weren’t believable. Crash had made infrequent visits taunting him with his presence and goading him that no one was looking for him.
The hell of his existence grew each time he was dragged from the basement to fulfill whatever depraved need Slate could devise. It had gradually worn him down like water weathering a stone.
The hope of The Last Riders finding and rescuing him had been extinguished under Slate’s venomous jabs, and the constant drugs had distorted the truth.
Each of the brothers had one characteristic that had made them formidable opponents—loyalty, integrity, commitment, honor, bravery, strength, nobility, and intelligence. He was no longer able to find one of those qualities in himself because the degradation Slate forced on him was a blow to his very core. He had arrogantly believed he contained a piece of all the original members. The military allowed him to learn about himself and taught him ways to get out of any situation. His inability to escape his captors had not only ripped his arrogance to shreds but had him questioning if he ever had those qualities. Had Viper and The Last Riders grown tired of him not measuring up to their standards, fed up with his arguments, and had they been relieved when he had angrily given his cut back?
He shakily sat down on his cot, moaning. Every bone in his body ached. Folding his arms over his chest to combat the chill, he rocked himself, trying to get warm. Then he anxiously jumped to his feet when the door opened.
Practically running to the wall to face it, he put his hands behind his back, waiting for the cuffs to go on. At the sound of a woman’s scream, he spun around to see Ink forcing her down the steps.
Unable to comprehend what he was seeing, Gavin remained transfixed in place as Ink roughly threw the naked woman to the concrete floor. Ink moved out of the way, then Brewer shoved a man down next to the woman, who was sobbing on the floor.
“Please don’t hurt us!” she screamed.
Slate came down the steps, his gun trained on the couple who had grabbed each other in terror. “I brought you some company, Reaper. Meet … Excuse me, but what did you say your names were?”
The man and woman looked too terrified to answer.
“Wait. I remember. It’s Brad and Cami.” He proudly stared at them as if remembering their names was an accomplishment. “Brewer and Chain offered them my hospitality when their car broke down. Of course, they reluctantly agreed when Ink and Chain refused to accept no.”
“Let them go, Slate.” Gavin didn’t know how long it had been since actual words had come from him.
“Why in the fuck would I do that?”