Tormented
““Sonofabitch,” I whispered.
“So, that’s a no, then?” Brant asked, watching me nervously.
I still had the remnants of the Romanian sweetbread mingled with coffee on my tongue, and the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears was heavy and pounding. I cleared my throat, mostly out of annoyance, as I answered. “It’s a no.”
“That because of that drug you took or—”
“The telepath might be restraining my power,” I said, trying to think this through. I was stuck on this island while this bastard messed with my mind, but I didn’t have to like it and I certainly didn’t have to take it lying down. I fumbled in my waistband for the familiar lump of my Sig Sauer P227 and exhaled when I found it right where it was supposed to be. I pulled it out as Brant’s eyes widened in front of me, and while pointing it in a safe direction ejected the magazine and confirmed there was a bullet in the chamber.
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