Like a damned baby.

Donovan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s rest. Or even four hours in a row. Since the time he’d landed here, he’d felt out of step and uneasy, swearing his innocence to anyone who would listen, disbelieving that he wouldn’t be a free man come the morning light.

It was the dreams that kept alive the nugget of hope burrowed deep in his chest. Dreams of being free, of fishing mountain streams, of running on a beach, the frothy warm Pacific tide spraying against his ankles. Dreams of making love to a woman, usually faceless, but with big tits and a juicy pussy. That was the worst. Waking up to the wet spot on his cot and knowing what he’d thought real had only been a dream, that his chances of ever screwing again were nil.

His head began to pound as he thought about it.

There was a reason coming unhinged was called stir-crazy.

No more.

Silently he pulled his tiny weapon from the inside of his shoe. He’d swiped the bolt from a metal cart in the laundry, where he’d worked for a while. He’d whittled on it as best he could, made certain that it was sharp enough to cut through skin and veins.

Barely an inch long, this tiny bit of metal was his salvation.

If there was a God.

He wasn’t so sure about that.

He bit down on his lower lip and held the blade between the fingers of his right hand.

It’s now or never. Make your move.

Clearing his throat, he went to work and attempted to slice downward from the base of his palm and across his wrist lengthwise as he’d learned. But the tender skin refused to break despite it being so thin he could see the webbing of blue veins just under the surface, even in this half-light.

Damn. Why wasn’t he able to saw through?

Because you’re weak, numb nuts. Try again.

Clenching his teeth, he gave it another go. This time he pressed harder, and as he scraped his skin, a hot pain seared up the inside of his arm.

Perfect!

At least he was scratching the surface.

In the dim light he saw the first red drop well.

It ran.

A second glistening globule appeared to chase after the first.

Now, he had only to rip a little more, make a deeper, longer cut, and then maybe a few more. Whatever it took. He needed a lot of blood to flow to get it done.

He felt a grim satisfaction at his accomplishment. Hovering somewhere between euphoria and terror, he pressed the sharpened edge to his skin again and decided to take his time.

He wasn’t in that big of a hurry.

He had the whole damned night.

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20

It didn’t take as long as he’d expected.