The Buried

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A stinging slap ripped Dani from unconsciousness.

“Wake up.” The words were calm but demanding.

She lolled her head back, groaning softly.

“I said wake up.”

A second slap sent her face flying in the other direction. She squinted, straining against the bright light. She was in a chair, nude but for the straps restraining her arms and legs. A short, balding man stood in front of her, and behind him a much larger, hairier one. Laurel and Hardy, she thought, if Hardy had spent more time in a gym.

“What’s so funny?” the short one asked.

She must have grinned without realizing it. She opened her eyes the rest of the way but left his question unanswered.

The talker leaned forward and examined her. “I believe you have some information my client is interested in. If you’re smart, you’ll give it to me now so I can pass it along.”

She gave him nothing.

The man chuckled through a toothy sneer as he stood up. “You will call me Mr. Black. My friend here”—he motioned to his partner—“is Mr. Red. You’ll do everything we ask of you. Do you understand?”

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