Read Revenant (The Midnight Society #3) for Free Online Page A

to you?” I asked.
    “Not in the slightest. As you mentioned, there’s a good chance by the end of the day, we’ll be looking down the barrel of a shotgun. And believe me, Braydon isn’t one who’s afraid to pull the trigger.”
     
    #
     

Chapter Five
    Lincoln
     
     
     
    The hard knuckles smashing into the side of my face told me this wasn’t a dream. The cell door to my prison was open and that cocksucker Buchanan was pummeling me.
    It hurt like a bitch.
    “It’s been a while,” Buchanan said as he drove a steel-toed boot into the side of my ribs. “That’s the beauty of being away from a person for a while, you begin to miss them. Some people miss conversations, others miss looking at a person pretty face. You know what I missed most about you?”
    “I assume it’s not my pretty face,” I said as I struggled to my feet.
    “I miss the physical interaction.” Buchanan clobbered me again with his bony fist.
    I shrugged off the blow and got back on my feet. I refused to look weak in front of this cockroach. “You know, I was never a fan of one-sided interaction. Perhaps you can release me from these chains and the two of us can dance? Hell, I’ll even let you pick the song.”
    Buchanan shook his head and laughed. “You’re a dead man walking, you know that boy? A fucking dead man walking.”
    “Eat shit and die.”
    The next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back, the side of my temple aching from the impact of another bullish strike.
    Everything was fading to black again.
    Exit stage right, consciousness.
     
     
    #
     
    When I awoke, I was no longer in a prison cell but in a rather well decorated bedroom.
    If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was in a hotel room from just glancing at the furniture and its arrangement. But where were the windows? They seemed to be missing.
    On a coffee table there was a spread of food laid out. The scent of the roasted meat and fresh baked bread made my stomach rumble. It was probably drugged but fuck it. After eating inadequate portions of bland porridge over the course of lord-knows-how-long, I was dying to taste meat again.
    At least I’d go out with a full belly.
    I took my chances and devoured the food. Oh, how good it all tasted—the grilled meat, the hot bread and the glass of wine that accompanied it. Hell, even the roasted asparagus tasted amazing and typically I wasn’t one for vegetables.
    When the meal was finished, I went into the bathroom and took a long hard look at myself in the mirror. I looked thinner, my facial hair was thicker, and I had a few bruises and swelling on my face courtesy of that bunghole Buchanan.
    Otherwise, I looked just fine, though not ‘Lincoln Richards’ fine. I looked ‘worn down prisoner’ fine.
    Lincoln Richards wasn’t truly me either. I had a different name, as a boy, and a different life altogether. That name was one I’d keep secret until the day I died.
    “Did you enjoy the food?” a voice sliced through the silence.
    Instinctively I spun around, searching for the origins of the speaker. I returned to the main room where I discovered the LED television, mounted against the wall, was now on.
    I glared at the image of Calisto’s head—or Sinister rather. She was wearing the ominous executioner’s outfit, the same one she had worn that night at the Inferno hotel. So many people had died that night, some of them unwillingly by my hand.
    “Crazy bitch,” I said, acknowledging her presence.
    “Hi Lincoln. It’s been a while,” she replied, her voice filtered through a voice scrambler, creating a deep, baritone sound. There was something about the live-feed that seemed off. Her movements seemed almost mechanical.
    “You know what I was thinking the other day?” she continued. “When was the last time we fucked? I can’t seem to remember the date exactly, which is surprising. I’m usually good at keeping track of every one of my conquests.”
    I laughed. “I’m your