Grievances (Book Three Of Hale Wolves For Teen Wolf :))

Ch. 14: More Bad Than Good

Well, our captor sure did love torture. And electricity.

Peter and Derek were still shirtless, and I had my shirt torn and shredded to where it could barely be called a shirt anymore.

Knives, saws, blades, anything you could think of, they had, and they used on us, and now, with current running through all of us, I could barely think straight.

"You see this equipment?" one if the torturers asked, the man facing away from us. "Very old. The settings are not quite accurate anymore. So it's hard to tell just how far to turn the dial."

"I think it's a little high," Peter said.

He turned the dial higher, and I clenched my teeth as we shook harder.

"I've seen some crack their teeth. Others, they just shake and shake even after their heart stops. Sometimes we don't even know they're dead." All of us groaned, and he laughed, turning it off, walking closer. "But nobody wants to play a guessing game. So, why don't you just tell us? Where is la loba?"

"We don't know where la loba is," Derek said.

"No? Maybe you need a different method of persuasion? Maybe we cut one of you in half, the others talk?"

"I would love to be there for volunteer, but we really don't know what you're talking about," Peter said. "And honestly, isn't bisecting people with a broad sword a little medieval?"

The man chuckled. "Broad sword? We're not savages."

He looked over to the other men, one of them having a chainsaw, turning it on, the wheel whirring, and I tilted my head back against the chain link fence behind us used as a wall, Derek glaring at Peter.

"We all wonder how far your little healing trick goes. What do you think? Can you grow back an arm?" The chainsaw guy held it up to my arm. "We're pretty sure you can't grow back your head." He held it up to my neck.

The door at the back of the room opened, and a woman walked in. "Boys." The chainsaw was turned off as she spoke the next words in Spanish.

I knew exactly what she said, but I shook my head. "No hablo espanol."

"Tu hablas muchos idiomas, Tara Hale," she said. "You know exactly what I'm saying. And you know who we want. Where is the She-Wolf?"

"We don't know any She-Wolf," I said.

"I know you won't talk, lobita, neither will your hermano." She walked past Derek, standing in front of Peter. "This one will talk. This one loves the sound of his own voice."

"You should hear me sing," Peter said.

"We want to hear you scream," the man said.

Peter looked at Derek and me. "No one ever wants to hear me sing."

Both Derek and I looked away, shaking our heads.

"What could we do to persuade you, hmm?" the woman asked, sliding a blade across his jaw. "Where is the She-Wolf?"

Peter didn't answer, and she moved her knife so fast I didn't know what happened until Peter screamed, and she started to walk away with his clawed finger in her hand.

"Think about it. I'm only going to ask you . . . nine more times."

She stabbed the claw into the wooden table, the finger standing as blood trailed down to the wooden surface.

I sure loved being in South America.

*

"I don't want to make it sound like we don't appreciate your hospitality, but do you think it would be possible to put that on ice?" Peter asked one of the captors. "Maybe something for my hand? Extra-large Band-Aid. Perhaps some antibiotic ointment?"

He didn't answer, footsteps passing over us as I sighed.

Then we heard the gun firing, bullets upon bullets and dust falling through the floor crevices and over Derek, Peter and me as we tried not to get hit.

The doors thudded open, and someone pushed the guy with the gun out, taking his gun and spinning it, the end hitting his head and making him unconscious, the girl looking toward us with heavy breathing, smirking.

She walked closer to us, her eyes trailing over shirtless Peter and Derek.

I knew there was a reason I recognized her as Derek said, "You're the one who saved Isaac."

"I'm the one who was hired to save Isaac," she answered.

"Someone hired you to get us out of here?" Peter asked.

"Someone hired me to get Derek and Tara out of here. You, I'm totally fine leaving for dead."

"When did I get this reputation?" Peter asked as she stepped forward, starting to unlock Derek's chains.

"Who hired you?" I asked.

"Deucalion," she answered.

"Deucalion?" I repeated as she turned to me, unlocking one of the chains as I looked at her scarred throat from when he'd almost killed her. "The guy who did that to you?"

"Girl's gotta eat," she replied as Derek got Peter out. "You should know that feeling."

I nodded absentmindedly. "Hmm."

She turned around, heading for the door. "All right, let's get the hell out of here."

"We're not leaving without it," Derek said.

She stopped, turning her head. "Without what?"

Derek looked at me as Peter got his finger out of the table, holding it to his hear.

None of us answered right away.

*

In the dark room, Braden, Peter, Derek and I walked toward the wooden, locked trunk.

I reached out to touch the wood, then yanking back because of the sting.

"It's made from a Rowan tree," Peter said. "It's Mountain ash wood."

Braden broke the lock with her boot, opening the trunk to reveal the black powder we knew as Mountain ash.

"And that would be just Mountain ash," Peter said. "Somebody really doesn't want our hands in there."

Peter, Derek and I looked at Braden.

She sighed, tilting her head at us, but she reached into the ash anyway, bringing out the long, wooden canister we need.

It had a triskele at the bottom of it, on the lid, facing away from us.

Now we could leave.