Eighteen
He stared at her tear-stained face and wondered if any of it was real. He doubted it. She was as manipulative as her w***e of a mother and as capable an actress. When she met his gaze, he glimpsed raw fear in her eyes. That, at least, was authentic and a very appropriate emotion. He had thought twenty-four hours tied onto that chair with no food, very little to drink, and only two bathroom breaks would cure her stubbornness, but when he reached to take the tape off her mouth, anger flashed in her gaze. He backhanded her, knocking the resentment right out of her. Her eyes filled again, and he sat in the chair across from her.
“This is your last chance, Carol. I’m going to take that tape off, and you are going to tell me what you told him.”
He yanked the tape off. She choked out
