Torture (Siren Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

should see our prize first. Want me to haul 'er out, or have you got a hand free?”
    Allen waves his hand noncommittally, and Calder hides his nervousness to lean into the cage, and tug the cooler toward the door.
    Once it's on the floor in front of us, I let the others crowd around. My heart's racing, my blood pumping as though it's trying to clear the burned smell from my lungs through sheer force of effort. At least I don't think I'm gonna keep them in here too much longer. I couldn't take this smell.
    “Thanks for smoothing that over,” Denise whispers to me, as the men unpack their picnic, and the paper I included. I nod, quietly. The paper catches the light when it falls out as Allen hefts a plastic bag. He reaches for it.
    “What's that?” She pushes forward to take the note from Allen's hand, and reads the names, one after one.
    “Why—” Allen asks, before rethinking his question. “Why was that in there?”
    “Something he wants us to know? People we should know?” Denise asks, knitting her brows together, and turning the paper over. “There's nothing else on it. Just names.”
    Calder stares at the page a little too long. Maybe I'm getting through to him.
    “You okay?” Allen asks, though he seems far more preoccupied in the salami sandwich at the top of the pile.
    “A few of these—I've seen them on other paperwork. Who are they?”
    I lean over his shoulder, pretending to read, as the discussion starts.
    “Well, Wilkinson is vaguely familiar. Think he broke his leg or something?”
    “Darnell had an open complaint, I think. Don't remember the specifics.”
    It disgusts me. That's all they can come up with? Either they're keeping quiet to avoid passing judgment on each other, or they truly don't give a shit.
    They nudge something loose in Calder, though. “Oh yeah. We cut Wilkinson a hefty check for that.”
    “ What? ” It sneaks out, before I can tell my damn fool mouth to keep quiet.
    “What's wrong, Mil?”
    “You cut Wilkinson a check? Jim Wilkinson? ”
    “Yeah. Fifty k or so?”
    No. No he sure as hell did not . Wilkinson ended up homeless, unable to afford the physical therapy that could have gotten him back to work. He lost a good big of mobility, and gained a pronounced limp.
    Since I've let too much slip already, I have to play this carefully. “I worked with Wilkinson. He lived in the neighborhood. He might still be living there under cardboard. No one gave him a goddamn thing .”
    Calder's voice shakes when he replies. “Well that's one person we know, then. Any other takers?”
    The others keep quiet.
    “Are you sure?”
    I guess I'm going to have to give them another nudge then. “That one—Robin Velasquez. I worked with him. He died. Workplace accident.”
    Denise won't meet my eye at that.
    “Yeah—yeah. I signed a check for his widow, Sara.” Calder's already scanning the rest of the list, considering it open and shut.
    Why the fuck is he lying like this ? “He wasn't married, Calder. Are you thinking of the right person?”
    “I—I don't know. Maybe not.” Calder's not even looking at me. Fuck , I hate social climbers. But I'm obviously the one here whose loyalty he least cares for, now that he has the chance to learn a good clip more about our companions' work. Obviously, keeping the peace with them is more important. “It's probably just a mind-game.”
    I shrug, ignoring how much that hurts. I know what he is. Why do I expect him to have a heart, over and over again? Experience proved the opposite long ago.
    I meander away from them, and sit in my favorite spot, well out of the way. Their voices echo around me, as they bicker over which sandwich is most appetizing to who, and how long they should try to make them last. Eat a few bites as needed, through the day? Wolf it all down now, and be full for an hour?
    It doesn't matter. I can't involve myself fighting for scraps with those hyenas, even for appearances. If I have to open my mouth, my shell's gonna