I widened my gray eyes, as though it had just sunk into my addled brain what Elliot Slater was planning to do to me. I let out a phlegmy scream and turned to run, as though I’d forgotten all about the two giants standing behind me. I ran right into them, of course, and the two giants immediately seized my arms. Even though I had no real intention of trying to break free, I still struggled to keep up appearances. Yelling, flailing, kicking out with my legs. The bastards laughed at me and my weak blows, and turned me around to face Elliot Slater once more.

And that’s when the fun really started.

Elliot Slater snapped his hand up and slammed his fist into my face. Bastard was quick, I’d give him that. I hadn’t braced myself for the blow, and I jerked back in the giants’ arms. The force almost tore me out of their grasp.

Pain exploded like dynamite in my jaw.

But Slater didn’t stop there. He spent the next two minutes beating me. One punch broke my drippy nose.

Another cracked two of my ribs. And I didn’t even want to think about the internal bleeding or what my face looked like at this point. Thud, thud, thud. I might as well have been a piece of meat the giant was tenderizing for dinner. Every part of me hurt and burned and throbbed and pulsed with pain.

And the bastard laughed the whole fucking time. Low, soft, chuckling laughs that made my skin crawl. Elliot Slater enjoyed hurting people. Really enjoyed it. The bastard’s hard-on bulged against the zipper on his black pants.

Slater hit me again and stepped back. By this point, I hung limp between the two giants, all pretense of being tough and strong long gone. I just wanted this to be over with.

A hand grabbed my chin and forced my face up. I stared into Elliot Slater’s hazel eyes. At least, I tried to.

White starbursts kept exploding over and over in my field of vision, making it hard to focus. The light show was better than fireworks on the Fourth of July.

“Now,” Elliot rumbled. “Do you want to reconsider what you know about Jake McAllister’s death? Maybe you have something new to add?”

“I don’t know anything about Jake’s death,” I mumbled through a mouthful of loose teeth. Blood spewed out of my split lips and cascaded down my navy fleece jacket. “I swear.” I made my voice as low, weak, and whipped as I could.

Jonah McAllister stepped forward and peered at me.

Malicious glee shimmered in his brown gaze. “Keep hitting her. I want the bitch to suffer.”

Elliot Slater nodded and stepped back.