I Told You To Run But You Didn't (Georgia) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Georgia’s POV

St. Jude’s Folly

84%

Finished

That’s what he called the place. A derelict sanatorium deep in the forest, a place no one would ever dare to visit. We descended a set of stone steps into a cold, damp basement that smelled of iron and fear.

And there he was. The sniper, strapped to a steel chair under a single, bare bulb. His face was a swollen, bloody mess, but his eyes were wide with a defiant, cornered-animal terror. This was it. This was the place Estevan Salvatore brought his enemies to break them.

I felt a wave of nausea. The charming, sophisticated man from the office, the gentle man who had spoken of my parents’ ashes, was a phantom. This-the cold, ruthless predator circling his prey-was the real Estevan.

“Last chance,” Estevan said, his voice deceptively calm as he picked up a pair of pliers from a steel tray. “Who hired you?”

The sniper just spat a wad of blood onto the concrete floor near Estevan’s expensive shoes. “Go to hell.”

Estevan sighed, a sound of pure, dramatic disappointment, and was about to move forward when I found my voice.

“Wait!”

He turned, his eyes cold and annoyed. “Stay out of this, Georgia. This is how business is handled.”

“Killing him is a waste!” I argued, “He’s useless to us dead, and you know he’s not going to talk.”

“He will serve as an example,” Estevan countered, his voice flat.

“There’s a better way to make an example of him,” I said the words tasting like poison even as I said them. I looked him straight in the eye, my voice dropping. “Your project. The Neuro-Dominion System.”

The sniper’s defiant expression flickered with confusion then sheer horror as he realized what I was suggesting.

“You said it could ‘ensure loyalty’ and ‘compel honesty, I continued, my voice steady despite the revulsion I felt. “Here’s your first human trial. Don’t just kill him. Break his mind. Insert the chip, and make him your loyal servant. Make him tell you exactly who hired him.” I paused, my own desperate motive surfacing. “And then ask him if they know where to find Zane Sinclair.”

The sniper started to thrash in his chair, a panicked, throaty scream muffled by his swollen lips.

Estevan slowly lowered the pliers, his gaze shifting from the terrified man to me. The coldness in his eyes was replaced by a look of profound, chilling admiration

“Harvey!” he barked towards the stairs, his eyes never leaving mine. “Get Dr. Aris on the phone. Tell her we have a volunteer for the NDS program.”

He then gave me a look that was equal parts a promise and a threat. “You adapt quickly, Ms. Sinclair. Very quickly indeed”

The sniper’s terrified eyes snapped to me, the fear instantly replaced by a hot, avenging rage.

1/3

1:43 Sat, Mar

Chapter 32

84%

Finished

“You!” he spat, a spray of blood and saliva hitting the floor. “You’d suggest that? A fate worse than death? You goddamn whore!”

Before the last word had even finished echoing, Estevan was a blur of motion. He grabbed a metal baseball bat that was leaning against a nearby pillar.

The crack of the bat against the sniper’s thigh was a sickening, wet crunch, followed by a raw, agonized

scream.

Estevan leaned over the man, his voice a low, vicious snarl. “Do you have any idea that this woman just saved your pathetic life? You think a quick death is the worst thing that can happen to you in this room? You really want to die that badly?”

The sniper dissolved into a fit of broken, pained laughter that was more terrifying than his scream. “I would rather die a thousand times than serve you, you asshole he choked out. “Your whole rotten mafia empire is coming down, and I’ll gladly drag it to hell with me!”

Estevan straightened up, genuinely perplexed by the more force of the man’s hatred. “I don’t understand this. This is more than a job for you. I don’t even know who you are!”

The sniper looked up, his face a mask of grief and fury. You don’t know me? My name is Frank Miller. Does the name Daniel Miller mean anything to you? My little brother. A war hero.” He coughed, a wracking, bloody sound. “He came home with a medal on his chest and shrapnel in his head. But your company, Salvatore Pharmaceuticals, had a miracle cure for his PSD, didn’t it? Pax-7.”

His voice broke. “It was a miracle, alright. A miracle at getting soldiers hooked. When he overdosed, your company buried the clinical trials, called him an unstable addict, and destroyed my family when we tried to sue. You didn’t just kill my brother with your poison, Salvatore. You erased him.”

Estevan was silent for a long moment, a trace of cold, corporate recognition dawning in his eyes. He dismissed the man’s life’s tragedy with a single, casual shrug. “The Miller lawsuit. A nuisance settlement, as I recall.”

“The product had a recommended dosage. Your brothers inability to control his impulses was a personal failing, not a corporate liability. You and your family weren’t looking for justice; you were looking for a scapegoat with deep pockets. Now, tell me, who is your fucking boss?”

The sniper, Frank, stared at Estevan’s emotionless face, nd something inside him seemed to sha strange, serene smile touched his bloody lips. His eyes, which had been blazing with hatred, went and unfocused.

He started to hum a quiet, off-key tune, a simple melody a child would know.

Estevan’s brow furrowed. “I am speaking to you.”

Frank ignored him, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over Estevan’s shoulder. He whispered, his voice a raspy, broken thing, “Row, row, row your boat… gently down the stream…”

“What did you say?” Estevan demanded, his voice dangerously low. He thrives on control, on breaking his opponents with logic and fear. This… this was not part of the script. This was defiance of a different kind.

Frank’s broken smile widened. “…merrily, merrily, merry, merrily…” he giggled, a sound bubbling with blood and madness. “…life is but a dream.”.

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