Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) by Paul Heatley (book recommendations based on other books .txt) 📗

throat and your nostrils. It feels like drowning. And it feels like it ain’t ever gonna end.”

Ronald looks scared. He tugs at the cords that bind him to the table.

“Oh yeah,” Tom says, “you’re gonna want to struggle. You’re gonna kick and scream and thrash around, try to break free, but you’re tied down real tight, believe me. I know a thing or two about knots. You’d think I was a Boy Scout or somethin’.”

“Who are you?” Ronald says. “What do you want?”

Tom ignores him. “Ideally, the table should be inclined about ten or twenty degrees, just to really get the water in there, but we can make do, right? I don’t have the time to be sawing and sanding down table legs, getting them just right. And trust me, it’ll work just fine on a flat surface. You understand why I’m telling you all this, right?”

“You’re trying to scare me,” Ronald says.

Tom laughs. “I’m gonna do a lot more than just scare you.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m gonna waterboard you, Ronald. And it’s gonna hurt like hell. So much so you’re gonna wish you were dead.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you’re acting tough now, but believe me, when it comes down to it, you’re gonna cry like a baby. Unless, y’know, you just tell me everything I wanna know right now.”

“I’m not telling you anything. I ain’t telling you shit.”

“You don’t even know what I’m curious about yet, Ronald.” Tom grins.

“It don’t matter – you ain’t gonna get a damn thing outta me!”

Tom sucks his teeth. “Well, we’ll see.” He puts the towel over his face. It covers his head. Ronald tries to shake it off. It’s damp already and it clings to him. Tom pours the water over his mouth and nose, his other hand holding him tight by the jaw, keeping him still. Ronald’s body spasms. He tries to cough and splutter through the towel, but nothing gets through. Tom counts to ten in his head. He stops. Takes the towel away, drops it onto his chest.

Ronald gasps, wheezes. He throws up on himself. The bile is watery. “Told you, didn’t I?” Tom says. “Feels just like drowning.”

“Who the fuck are you!” Ronald says. “I got nothin’ for you!”

“My name is Tom Rollins,” Tom says. “My brother is Anthony Rollins. I believe you know him already.”

Ronald’s eyes go wide. They fill with realisation, with understanding, with fear. Quickly, he tries to hide it. To be tough. Belligerent. He juts his jaw. “You killed Peter,” he says.

“Guilty,” Tom says.

“Who’s with you?” Ronald says. “How many guys you got? We’re gonna waste ’em all, then we’re gonna find your brother! We’re gonna finish what we started!”

“Guys?” Tom says.

“Who’s helping you?”

“I’ve always worked better alone, Ronnie.” Tom winks.

“Bullshit.”

Tom shrugs. “Who told you about my brother, Ronald?”

Ronald closes his mouth tight, breathes through his nose.

Tom leans down close to him, rests his elbows on the table. “A mutual acquaintance of my brother thinks it came from within the FBI. That true? They got a mole?”

“Fuck you.” Ronald spits the words through gritted teeth.

“Have it your way.” Tom puts the towel back in place. He pours the water. Pours it intermittently, gives him a chance to catch his breath. By the time the can is empty, Ronald is screaming.

Tom removes the towel so Ronald can see what he does next. He takes the empty can to the sink, fills it back up from the tap. Fills it all the way to the top. Makes sure Ronald is watching him while he does so.

“All you gotta do is talk, Ronnie,” Tom says. “Just tell me what I want to know. It ain’t a big ask.”

Ronald’s eyes dart left and right as Tom approaches with the freshly filled can. There is no way out. There’s no one to help him. No one has heard his screams, come running. There’s no way out. No help.

Only one thing he can do to make this all stop.

Tom can see he’s close to breaking. He doesn’t say anything as he picks the sodden towel back up from his chest, prepares to put it back in place.

“Wait!”

Tom looks at him, raises an eyebrow.

Ronald breathes hard, panting. When he doesn’t say anything, Tom moves the towel again. “I’ll talk!”

“I’m listening.”

Ronald grits his teeth. He looks ashamed of himself. “We don’t know who she was,” he says.

“She?”

“Yeah. She called Michael, direct, but she wouldn’t say how she got his number. She told him about Anthony, how he was undercover.”

“You were there?”

“Yeah. Me and Harry. We were at Michael’s just hanging out, having some beers, watching a game.”

“I don’t need your life story, Ronnie. Stick to the details that interest me.”

Ronald swallows. “Michael asked why he should believe her. He had got her on speakerphone, so we could all hear. All she said was, Do whatever the hell you want, but there are twelve other cells in four other states taking out their trash tonight. Do y’all wanna be the ones who don’t?”

“And you believed her? Just like that?”

“Harry got on the computer, started checking the news. He saw a report about two other undercovers getting wasted right here in Texas, just minutes before.”

“How’d he know they were undercovers?”

“They fit the bill she was telling us. How else would she know about them? It was breaking news.”

“You didn’t ask who she was?”

“Sure, Michael asked her exactly that. And she says, You’ve got friends in places you don’t know about.”

“You heard from her since?”

“No.”

“Michael try calling her back?”

“It was an unlisted number. He almost didn’t answer it. He’s destroyed that phone since, got himself a new one.”

Tom grunts. “He really think that’s gonna make a difference?”

“Better than doin’ nothing.”

“That’s true. I agree, it’s always better to be proactive, in any kind of situation. Now, on that note, tell me about the attack you’ve all got planned, Ronnie.”

Ronald’s eyes narrow. “Attack? The fuck you talking about?”

Tom brings up the towel.

“I swear, I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Hell, I barely know what I’m talking about here, Ronnie. I