The sound of the cage opening made Tom stir. The slightest of movements, but it took everything. Felt as if simply blinking took everything.
Drawing breath definitely wrung him ragged.
He'd given up on trying to predict when James Evans would show his face again. Time came and went at a snail's pace. He could predict nothing.
Other than Conner would mess with him.
That he could count on.
Footsteps drew closer to where he lay, curled in a semi-fetal position on the thin piece of material posing as a mattress, but Tom kept his eyes closed and waited. He expected Conner to come at him the way he'd been doing since the last time James walked out the cage.
"If it were up to me, you'd already be dead."
Tom opened his eyes at those word, spoken low, but clear enough that there'd be no mistaking them. The sentiment behind them wasn't surprising, not at all.
His guard leaned against the cage, a plate in his hand piled high with food. It smelled greasy and hot. Tom swore he saw the steam rising. He drooled. Food was such a scarce commodity.
"If I had my way, I'd dismember you while you're still alive."
Conner dipped his finger in the food then stuck it into his mouth, watching Tom watch him.
"Just to hear your screams."
"I'm, uh…"
Tom cleared his throat,
"I'm not really the screaming type…"
The last thing he should be doing in his weakened state was antagonizing Conner, the man who held his sustenance in his hands. Literally. But Tom couldn't help it.
Conner pushed away from the cage, face twisted into a scowl,
"You would scream."
He slammed a booted foot down on Tom's ankle,
"I would make you."
Despite the pain, Tom didn't look away,
"You would try."
He forced a smile,
"And you'd get an A for effort."
Conner was definitely not on the short list of things Tom feared.
James Evans on the other hand…
Conner smashed the plate of food into Tom's face with such force, he fell back onto the mattress.
Ah there it was
He would never get used to Conner's kicks. All over his body, most to his torso. He threw his hands up, swiping at the food on his face and in his eyes while trying to block those kicks.
"He didn't deserve it."
Conner raved with each kick,
"He didn't deserve all that pain… You tortured him so mercilessly…"
He wanted to deny that… He wasn't the one that had killed the wolf… Sometimes he wished he hadn't kidnapped him in the first place… But he'd needed to ensure that Evans bent to his will… He was willing to go to any heights to see that. He was a businessman. It was what he did.
"He didn't deserve it..."
Conner sounded more like a grieving lover than James,
"They were happy…"
His kicks faltered, as did his tone,
"He was so happy with him… You broke them apart… You took everything from him…"
He stumbled backward, and Tom lifted his head as understanding finally dawned on him.
Conner had staggered a couple feet away, and was watching him with a dark expression, a mix of heartbreak, bloodlust, and actual sorrow
Well. Tom wiped at whatever was sliding down his cheek…blood or grease from the food, he didn't know and smirked,
"The handsome James Evans. You are in love with him."
Did James Evans know?
"How would your boss react if he ever found out, I wonder?"
He licked at his finger without bothering to see what was on it as he winked.
"Should we tell him and find out?"
The menace in Conner's gaze shifted as his body did, moving closer to Tom,
"I changed my mind."
His hand dropped, went behind his back.
"Oh?"
Tom lifted a brow.
"You don't need to scream,"
Conner said. He pointed a gun at Tom. A Glock, if he wasn't mistaken,
"You just need to die."
Well… Damn…
The second bullet hurt more than the first, and that was saying something, because that first shot felt as though someone had punched him in the chest with a steel fist wrapped in fire. By the time the second bullet blasted into his left shoulder, Tom was face up on the floor, sprawled out.
Staring at the ceiling.
Death, and he didn't even get to taste James Evans again.
That was such a shame
Awareness faded slowly. He had enough time to lie on that cold floor, immobile and shivering, staring at nothing, and appreciate the unfairness of it.
He got killed by a bloody henchman
If he wasn't frozen in the pain of his impending death, he might laugh. As it was, he couldn't move. Even his eyes refused to blink. Yet he faded. As he sank into the waiting shadows pulling at him, Conner crouched over him, almost sitting on Tom's midsection as he pushed the glock into his mouth
He swore he heard James Nieto's calm, unflappable voice.
He swore he saw James's face.
Which meant that even in death, Tom couldn't help but have James kneel for him. He would've smiled at that.
Except, he was dead.