She's a Great Kisser

“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Chase with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”

Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.

His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.

“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”

“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.

The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.

The man had a blow torch.

“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”

Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.

“Tell me!”

Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.

A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.

“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”

“No.”

The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”

Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”

(462 words)