The old man I’d met upstairs in the study—God, how long ago was that?—stands there with his hands tucked into his pockets. He examines me shrewdly—dispassionately—before turning his gaze to Paul. “Have you made any progress?”
“She’s a tough one,” Paul says with clear respect in his voice. “But soon… she won’t be able to hold out much longer.”
“I need faster than ‘soon’,” the man says as he strides up to us, scanning my body. I’m drenched in sweat and my t-shirt is completely soaked, despite the chill temperatures down here. It’s been quite the workout to hold myself up or try to move away from the prod when he strikes out. “I suggest you try an alternative method.”
“Understood,” Paul says, and a shiver runs up my spine from the joy in his tone. He’s just been given permission to move past this particular form of torture, and I don’t want to know what could be worse.
The man nods, turns away, and starts to move to the door.
My mind races, trying to figure out how to buy time. “Wait,” I call after him.
He swivels around to stare at me impassively.
“Tell me who you are and why you want my knowledge, and maybe I’ll tell you,” I say, hoping the promise of information will buy me a conversation, which, in turn, will buy me time.
His ice blue eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a flat line. “You’re not in a position to bargain, Dr. Alexander.”
“Maybe not,” I pant as I start to sag downward, the balls of my feet weakening. “But what do you have to lose? You’re going to kill me anyway after all of this, right? Maybe if I knew what you were going to use the knowledge for—if it’s for good—I’d give it up a lot faster.”
He considers my proposal only briefly before exhaling a small sigh of capitulation. “My name is Richard Munford. My background is in aviation, not energy.”
I frown in confusion.
“But I am a passionate and dedicated American. I believe our country will be harmed if President Alexander shares it with others. You asked what my intentions are, and that’s my answer. They are pure and simple.”
“You’re going to destroy it,” I say, knowing in my gut that it all boils down to that.
He nods with a grim smile. “I want to know exactly how sound your theory is and the chances of someone else completing it any time soon, which I highly doubt, then yes… I’m going to bury it deep.”
“Sharing free energy with the world will bring far more benefits to our country—”
“You may continue,” Munford says, but not to me. His eyes are now locked on Paul, effectively cutting my explanation off because he doesn’t want to hear it.
“Yes, sir,” Paul says, eagerly running the edge of the electric prod along my calf. I jerk in reflex, but he doesn’t zap me.
Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be using it anymore anyway.
Munford moves, but not back to the door. He takes the metal folding chair I’d been in originally, turns it to face me, then lowers himself into it. Casually, he crosses one leg over the other and folds his hands on his lap, watching Paul expectantly with an almost pleasant smile, as if he’s getting ready to watch an opera or something.
Sick fuck.
Lips near my ear again, Paul whispers, “Let’s have some fun, okay?”
“Fuck off,” I growl, earning a zap from the prod to my hip. Another hoarse scream tears free as I jerk away, only to be stopped short the way I’m suspended from the hook.
Rather than cowed, his continual little tortures seem to empower me. I twist my neck to glare over my shoulder. “Keep it coming, asshole. I can take whatever you hand out because you’ll get yours one day. Karma is a bitch, and I know she can’t wait to take a big fucking bite out of you.”
Paul tilts his head back and gives a raucous laugh, once again completely amused by my brass. I’m fairly sure I’m going to die, most likely by being tortured to death. At this point in my life, my greatest regret is I won’t get to see it when Karma comes calling on him.
“Last chance,” Paul whispers in an almost lover-like tone.
I shudder and try to pull away, but one of his hands comes to my hip to hold me in place. His chin goes to my shoulder—a congenial, friendly type of move—and his tone is conversational. “I know how much pain you can take, Dr. Alexander, and I’ve been extremely impressed. But I’m curious if you’ll perhaps respond better to something different?”
I don’t speak because I don’t know what he’s thinking or has planned. The last thing I want is to spur him into something too quickly.
I study Munford, sitting across from me in his chair with that fucking bland smile as he watches.