Indentured (Book 2 of the Dana Halliday series)

FORCES OF NATURE. DIRTY HANDS. SANER DANA.

Frank looked almost nauseated. "Boss—"

"Now!"

Impossibly, things began moving even faster. A row of guns was bristling at us through the bars. Frank unlocked the door and banged it open. I lunged at Hanover, unable to hold myself back.

All I could think of was the sickening crunch of Tem's neck as Dross twisted it. All I could taste was sick, metallic frustration in my throat. My soundtrack was all deafening rage and profanity. All I could feel was an overwhelming urge to cause pain, worse even than when I'd tried to attack Kez and gotten Wys's elbow in my face.

Redmond Hanover didn't move. His expression mirrored my emotions.

More of the men stepped back, but Frank caught my arm before I could do anything. He twisted it up behind my back and propelled me through the crowd, grimacing at the curses fountaining from my mouth.

"Get that sack of dead meat out of there," I heard Hanover say, "and make sure you get that scalpel."

Noah paced alongside me, ignoring Frank's stern reproaches. "Oh, you're in for it now," the kid muttered at me. "I told you, there's a reason he doesn't allow women up here."

Frank marched me into the main cavern, which turned out to be around fifty feet farther down the tunnel. Hanover caught up as we were approaching the steps to the doublewide.

"Noah," he said, "go help them, son, and God help you if you disobey me."

The kid scuttled away, not without giving me a knowing leer. In my angry haze, I saw a few of the men staring, openmouthed, back by the tunnel entrance.

Frank turned the doorknob and shoved me through. He flung me into the doublewide's living room, maybe intending me to hit a piece of furniture or stumble to the floor.

Instead, I stayed on my feet, pivoted, and lunged back at him with a cry of wrath. My freak out that led to my finger being amputated had been mere practice. I was beyond rage. I was thunder and lava and falling meteors. I drew back my good right fist and landed it squarely in his pretty face. Adrian would have been proud.

Frank tottered back, nearly running into his boss. He tried to grab me and had to contort as my knee came up at his groin.

"Oh, come on, Frank," Hanover said, not without a hint of amusement.

The artist formerly known as Dee Fense gave him a disbelieving look, grunting as he caught the blow from my knee on his upper thigh. He slapped away my hand in time to avoid a thumb in the eye, and then he punched me solidly in the solar plexus.

So much for forces of nature. I dropped like a rock as everything in my core seized up. I wanted to keep on fighting—I'd never wanted anything more in my life, it seemed—but you can't fight when you can't breathe.

"Thank you. Now, go."

"Boss," Frank protested, anxiously wiping at his bloodied nose. "Are you—"

"Go."

Frank went. I had the satisfaction of his dumbfounded stare as he left, even as I crouched, gasping like a fish.

Hanover strolled around behind me, and I twisted on the floor, trying to keep him in sight and get my damn breath back.

"Why don't you hit me yourself?" I wheezed.

"I don't like to get my hands dirty," he said, and stepped on my left hand.

The pain from my missing finger sent me into a black fog just north of fainting. At the same time, he wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled me halfway up, grinding his heel into my hand. I felt something break, adding a fresh surge of agony to my tortured limb.