THE JOKE HE COULDN’T LAUGH OFF

“Everyone’s just having fun,” I repeated.

The words came out in Grant’s old, dismissive tone. I watched recognition move through his expression, followed by a flash of rage he was too exhausted to use.

He was still bound to the tire when the first gray light entered the repair shop. His body was covered with red marks and bruises. His underwear was gone, but a blanket lay across his lap. I had told the men to leave him that much dignity after the ordeal was over. It did not undo what he had felt.

“Don’t,” he rasped.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why? You thought it was funny when you said it to me.”

He swallowed. “My parents will—”

“Your parents won’t know what happened unless someone tells them.”

I looked down at my brace. My wrist pulsed under the wrap. Grant followed my gaze, and for the first time that morning, he looked ashamed. It lasted only a second.

“You hired them to do this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You could have killed me.”

“I told them not to.”

“That’s supposed to make me grateful?”

“No. It’s supposed to remind you that I made a choice. You made yours at the paintball field.”

I left him with the guards and went outside for air. The morning was cold and damp. Dante stood near the open bay door, speaking quietly with one of his men. He handed me a clean cloth.

“Your hand’s bleeding through the bandage.”

I glanced down. A thin line of red had seeped through near my thumb. I wiped it clean.

“Did anyone cross the line?”

“No,” he said. “They followed your instructions.”

“Good.”

The hours had not passed in a single blur. Every time Grant begged, he seemed to remember the exact words he had used against me. Every time he tried to threaten the men around him, his voice sounded smaller. At one point, he called for his driver. At another, he promised to pay everyone in the room if they would untie him.

No one accepted.

I stayed until the men stepped back. I made sure they had followed Dante’s instructions and had not gone beyond what I had ordered. Grant had endured fear and humiliation. I would not pretend that his terror made what happened harmless. It made it understandable to me, not clean.

When the room finally quieted, Dante brought me a blanket and asked if I wanted to leave. I said I would stay until Grant was awake enough to understand who had done this and why. I didn’t want him later claiming he had no idea what he was answering for.

That was when the door shook.

Grant’s hands were still tied, but I had ordered the men to ease the rope around his right wrist. I wanted no more damage than the night had already caused. He kept turning his face away from me, and each time I moved, he flinched. I did not touch him.

By the time the men withdrew, Grant had stopped trying to bargain. He sat with his head bowed, breathing hard, and refused to look at me. I asked Dante to keep everyone back until the room was clear. I wanted no one crowding him again before I had said what I came to say.

A loud bang shook the shop’s outer door.

Everyone looked toward it.

Another bang followed, then the scrape of metal. Someone had driven an SUV into the old entrance. I stepped back as the damaged door lurched inward and sunlight spilled across the floor.

Riley came through first, wearing a black leather jacket. Six of Grant’s friends followed, carrying baseball bats and wearing the furious expressions of men who expected everyone to move aside for them.

“Grant!” Riley shouted.

Her voice died when she saw him.

He lay tied to the tire, pale and bruised, covered only by a blanket. The fifteen men stood nearby. One was pulling on his coat. Riley looked from them to Grant, and the scream that came from her cut through the building.

She ran forward with her jacket in her hands.

“Don’t come any closer,” Dante warned.

Riley ignored him and reached the tire. She tried to cover Grant. He flinched from her touch.

“Get off me!” he rasped.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s Riley. I’m here.”

He turned his face away.

One of the men who had come with her stared at the scene and swore. Another, Connor Hayes, raised his bat toward me.

“You did this?”

I didn’t answer. He took a step.

Dante made a small motion with his fingers. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind them. Chains rattled into place. From the second-floor catwalk and the dark corners of the shop, more than twenty Sterling security men emerged, each holding a baton or a length of steel pipe.

The seven newcomers stopped.

Connor’s bat hung in the air. His face drained of color.

“Put it down,” Dante said.

Nobody moved.

I walked past him and stopped several feet from Grant. “You were all laughing yesterday.”

Riley clutched the jacket against Grant’s shoulders. “You’re sick.”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve ruined him.”

“Yesterday, he thought it was harmless when I was the one on the ground.”

“This isn’t the same.”

I met her eyes. “You keep saying that.”

Grant stared up at me. Even through his fear, I could see the anger gathering again. He was used to people protecting him from consequences. The day had not changed that.

Not yet.

Outside, the damaged door groaned under the pressure of the men who had tried to force their way in. Riley still had one hand on the jacket. Grant turned his face toward the wall again. “You came for me,” he said, as if he were accusing her. “I did.” “Then why are you standing there?” She looked at the men who had laughed with her, then at the guards who controlled the room. “Because you don’t want me near you.” He said nothing. For once, she had no joke ready to fill the silence.

Inside, no one dared to move.