Angel's Pain (27 page)

And then, suddenly, Crisa's body began to tremble and shake on the table. Frowning, Eric set the clippers down and reached for her, even as the shaking became a full body convulsion.

“Hold her down!” he shouted. “Now!”

He didn't need to tell them. Roxy and Ilyana were already there, grasping Crisa's legs, shoulders and waist to keep her from shaking herself right off the table.

As the spasm eased, Roxy pushed her hair out of her eyes. “What the hell was that?” she whispered.

“Death throes, I imagine,” Eric said softly. “We have to do this now.” He reached for the clippers again, as Matthias crowded his way up beside the table and closed his hand around Crisa's.

“Be okay,” he told her. “Crisa, you have to be okay.”

T
he drones dragged Briar right up to the front door of the mansion. They hadn't needed to rough her up as much as they had, she thought angrily. The bastards. She hadn't even fought them all that hard. Just enough to make it convincing. They'd pummeled her anyway, and she was pretty sure it wasn't based on their own love of inflicting pain. She was pretty sure they didn't do
anything
based on their own preferences. Hell, she wasn't even sure they
had
preferences. Their treatment of her was far more likely based on orders from their commander. Gregor.

The door of the impressive Marquand mansion opened even before the drones had dragged her all the way up to it. One drone held each of her arms, and she thought her shoulders had been damn near torn from their sockets. But she managed to lift her head and saw Gregor standing there, smiling.

“This has been a long time coming,” he told her.

“Too long,” she replied. “I'd say it's nice to see you, Gregor, but it would be a lie.”

“Bring her inside,” Gregor snapped. “You can deposit her over there, by the fireplace.”

The two drones dragged her inside, while the others who'd trooped along behind them as if Briar were a bigger threat than, oh, say, Attila the Hun, stayed behind.

“The rest of you, patrol the property,” Gregor commanded. “Their friends will make an attempt to rescue them soon. Don't let anyone past you. Kill anyone who tries.” He slammed the door as the drones lumbered away, then turned slowly to face Briar.

The two big lugs stood on either side of the chair into which they'd thrown her, quietly awaiting further instructions. She wondered a little evilly what would happen if Gregor told them to go fuck themselves. As mindlessly obedient as they were, it would almost certainly be good for a laugh.

“She belongs on the floor, not in a chair,” Gregor said.

One drone grunted and reached down, grabbing her by the neck, lifting her bodily and then shoving her hard to the floor, where she lay facedown.

“That's better. Now get out. Guard the entrances. No one gets in or out. Understood?”

They muttered their acquiescence and lumbered away. When the door swung closed, Gregor locked it and turned once again to face her.

Briar pushed herself up on her hands, lifting her head to look at him. “You're not what I thought you were,” she said.

“That's a lie, Briar. You came to me thinking all men would do nothing but use you for their own gain, be it sexual gratification, as an ego boost or as a punching bag to relieve their stress. You never really thought I would turn out differently. Not deep down. You've never believed in any man. At least not since your birth father walked out on you.”

He was right, she realized. She hadn't. At least, not until now. Until Reaper.

“He's no different, you know. Your heroic Reaper. Oh, you think he is. I can see you do, or you wouldn't be here now. He
is
why you came back, isn't he?”

She lowered her eyes. She would
not
talk about Reaper with this animal.

Gregor crossed the room and sank into the chair she'd been seated in only moments before. “You got away with my son, Matthias. With your friend, the mental invalid. You got away. But you came back. I can't think of any other reason. Or are you going to try to tell me you came back for me?”

“Where is Reaper?” she asked.

“Oh, he's nearby. Alive, though I'm sure he's blocking to prevent you from realizing it. He wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself for him. I can understand that. He's suffering under the same misguided notions about you that I once harbored myself, after all.”

“What notions would those be, Gregor? That I would be your willing slave forever?”

He shrugged. “I saved your life. I took you in. I gave you immortality. I expected gratitude. I expected loyalty.”

“You
expected
sex.”

“Well, yes, that, too.” He smiled slowly. “Are you in love with him?”

She turned away, closed her eyes.

“What would you do to save him, I wonder?”

Tears burned in her eyes, because she knew what was coming. She knew what he would ask. But she swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to meet his straight on. “I'd do anything,” she whispered. “So stop beating around the bush and let's just get on with this, shall we? Tell me what you want, as if I don't already know.”

Gregor smiled slowly. “I'm glad you're being so reasonable. Because you owe me, after all.” He rose slowly from his chair and stood over her. “Get up, Briar.”

She did, though she had to cling to the arm of the chair to pull herself up onto her feet. But she tried to hide her weakness. She would do this with her head up and her dignity intact. She'd sold her body for far less worthwhile payment, after all. She could do this. For Reaper.

“Go upstairs,” Gregor said. His tone was flat, but there was a new, excited gleam beginning to show in his eyes. “There's a bathroom down the hall on the right. In it, you'll find clean clothes, toiletries, hairbrushes. I want you to take a shower. Brush your hair. Put on the pretty little things I bought for you. And some of the perfume, too. And the shoes. Be fast. And don't even
think
of trying to escape. If you do, he dies.”

Don't do it, Briar.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening, as she heard Reaper's voice in her mind and realized he was alive and nearby, and that he'd been privy to the entire conversation.

For God's sake, don't do it. I'd rather die.

Gregor snapped his fingers, drawing her attention. “Trying to contact him? It's no use, you know. He's at my mercy now, and so are you. If you want him to live through this night, you'll do exactly as I say.” He turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “You have fifteen minutes, Briar. I need to finish up with you before your little army of do-gooders shows up in a futile attempt to rescue you, which we both know is inevitable. Upstairs.
Now.

Briar!

She closed her mind against Reaper's voice and went up the stairs. And yet he broke through her resistance. She should have known he would. The bond between them was more powerful than she had ever admitted.

He'll kill you anyway. And me, too, you know that. Just get out while you have the chance. I'm dead either way, and dammit, I can't stand to have another woman's blood on my hands. Not yours, Briar. Especially not yours.

She found the bathroom, opened the door and stared in at the black bustier and matching thong panties that hung from a peg on the wall. Thigh-high stockings were draped over the peg, as well. A pair of open-toed stilettos stood on the floor below them.

Shit,
she thought.
I hate stilettos.

She'd sworn that no man would ever take her against her will again. But this wasn't exactly against her will. This was her choice.

There's a chance you can escape while he's distracted with me, Reaper.
She sent the thought to him, praying he would listen to her.
You need to take it. And there's something you need to know before you do. You didn't kill your wife.

She reached into the shower and cranked on the taps, then began stripping off her clothes. In a moment she stepped into the spray.

What are you talking about? I was there. I know I—

You didn't kill your wife. I know it for a fact. Trust me enough to believe it, Reaper. If I don't make it through this, I need to know you believe me.

But…if I didn't kill her, then who did?

Briar closed her eyes, standing beneath the pounding water, soaping her body from head to toe, pain bursting inside her chest.

No one did.

What?

Rebecca is still alive. She never died. It was all a setup, both to establish her cover for the agency and to control you through your guilt. But she's alive. It's a fact. Hold on to that knowledge. Use it to keep you alive, to get the hell out of here, so you can go find her and be happy again.

 

Reaper collapsed to the floor of his cell, holding his head in his hands, eyes closed. It couldn't be true. God, it couldn't be true. Rebecca wouldn't have deceived him that way. Not that way, not to take part in something that had ripped his soul from him and left a bloody, gaping wound that would never heal.

She couldn't have.

He remembered the night when he'd awakened to find her battered, broken body on the floor of their apartment. He remembered rushing to check on her, only to be interrupted by the door banging open, revealing Dwyer, with a crew of men. Dwyer had gripped him in a crushing embrace, told him it would be all right.

“But…but Rebecca—”

One of the men was already bending over her. “She's dead,” he said as he straightened.

And Reaper had known exactly what had happened. He remembered her speaking—they'd been arguing. And she'd said the word, though he didn't remember what it was. He never did.

He only knew that his world had dissolved into a red haze, and he'd shouted at her to run before it had taken over completely. He'd told her to get away.

They'd been alone in the apartment. They still were when he'd worn himself out and collapsed, unconscious, which was the only way the rages ever ended, without someone using the second trigger word. And they were still alone when he'd awakened to see the destruction of what had been his home. His life. His love. All at his own cursed hands.

Dwyer had led him away, promising to take care of everything. The agency had concocted a masterful cover story. A car accident that had never happened. A quick cremation. A funeral where he'd been forced to play the grieving spouse—and he hadn't been acting. He
had
been grieving. And yet, he had also been guilty of murdering the woman he loved.

And now Briar wanted him to believe it had never happened?

I never got that close to her body.

But he would have known, he told himself. He would have known if it had been a scam. He would have sensed her, or sensed the lie in Dwyer.

The man's good. He can block. He can lie. And I wasn't a vampire yet, not then.

Dwyer wasn't that good, he told himself. Even as a mortal, Reaper had possessed excellent instincts and an uncanny ability to spot a liar.

How did he know to come? How is it he showed up just as I came to and found her?

It was a question he'd asked himself before. He'd even asked Dwyer. Derrick had told him that he'd phoned the apartment to speak to Reaper, and that Rebecca had managed to pick up the phone and cry out for help in the midst of her husband's attack.

But that didn't make a lot of sense. If she could get to the phone, she could get to the door. She could get out. She could get away from him. Couldn't she?

What were the odds of her saying his trigger word? Briar had asked him the same question. She'd said it wasn't the sort of word that would come up in casual conversation, particularly not in an argument. What would have possessed her to say it? Unless it was all part of the bigger plan?

Alive. Rebecca is alive.

The knowledge was overwhelming. And it
was
knowledge now. He believed Briar, because he knew better than to think that she would lie to him about something like this. Given what she was about to do, in a last-ditch effort to save his life, he couldn't doubt her.

Not anymore.

Maybe not ever again.

He had to get the hell out of this hole. He had to save her.

Bending his legs, standing right beneath the open chute above him, he pushed off, leaping with all his might. And yet he didn't have enough power to reach the top. He landed hard, took a moment to recuperate and then tried again, and again fell short of his goal.

The third time, he mustered a strength he hadn't known he possessed. This time he reached the top—and his head smashed into the impenetrable clear barrier that sealed the top of his prison. Light flashed before his eyes, and pain exploded behind them. When he hit the floor this time, he was hurting, bleeding from a cut in his skull, and dizzy to boot.

As he opened his eyes, he saw, far in the distance, Gregor's leering face far above him. The man was peering down through the clear barrier, smiling at him.

“I'm going to take her in every imaginable way, Reaper. And I'm going to make you watch.”

“You'll have to let me out of here to do that.”