Demon's Kiss (17 page)

She spat in his face, and Jack closed his eyes and turned his head away so he couldn't see the back of Gregor's hand when it slammed into her already bruised cheekbone. But he heard it, and dammit, he felt it. He felt her pain like his own.

“Downstairs into the cell—
now.
”

The goons towed her off. Her feet were no longer moving, just dragging behind her, and Jack was pretty sure Gregor's blow had left her unconscious. Dammit, now what the hell was he supposed to do?

 

Briar passed out on the bed when Roxy managed to inject her for a second time with the tranquilizer, as Seth helped Reaper hold her down. Roxy'd had a hard time convincing Reaper that the hell-cat could handle another dose, but in the end, they'd had no choice. She was tearing up the place, and her anguish was bound to give away their position, given time.

And that wasn't the only problem with her being there. Vixen was petrified, absolutely traumatized by Briar's presence, and Seth was madder than hell about it.

“We can't just keep injecting her,” Reaper muttered. He looked at Roxy as he said it. “We don't know how much of this stuff a vampire can handle all at once.”

“Good call, Einstein,” she snapped. “Maybe you should've thought of that before you brought her here.” She turned away and muttered under her breath, “Dumb-ass.”

Reaper looked at her quickly.

“She's right,” Seth put in. “Not only that, but you didn't even bother to consult us.”

“
Consult
you?”

“Yes, consult us. We're a team, aren't we?”

“No,” Reaper said. “I wouldn't call us a team. Look, you've joined me one by one, against my will, not to mention my better judgment. But this is
my
mission. It's
my
job. It's what
I
do, and I don't intend to
consult
any of you about how I choose to do it.”

Seth felt the sting. “Fine. Don't consult. Care to explain, then?”

“No.”

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do with her, Reap?”

“I'll let you know when I've decided.”

Seth rolled his eyes, pushed his hands through his hair and wound up facing Vixen, who was standing on the far side of the room, near the open door, staring at Briar and, he thought, trembling a little.

He swung his head around to look at Reaper again. “Do you see what this is doing to her? She's on your side, man. Yet you traumatize her by bringing home the woman who tortured her, without even a word of warning or so much as an explanation. Dammit, Reaper, what are you thinking?”

“For the last time, I'm not going to explain myself to you!” Reaper seemed to grab hold of himself before he lost it entirely. He glanced at the wild thing on the bed, sleeping now, and then turned to face Vixen. “I'm sorry this upsets you, Vixen. Believe me when I tell you, I will keep her from hurting you in any way. I promise you that. And she'll have a hell of a time trying to contact Gregor mentally until the drugs metabolize out of her system. At this dosage, they should keep her from giving him our location even when she comes around.”

She held his gaze and whispered, “I believe you mean what you say. I just don't think it's a promise you can keep. She's strong.”

“I'm stronger.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Vixen whispered. She lowered her head, hurt showing in her eyes, and turned to leave the room.

But then she stopped—they all stopped—when they heard Gregor's mental shout ringing loudly, almost deafeningly, in their heads. Only Roxy couldn't hear it, but she went still, watching them.

You have taken two of mine. But now I have one of yours. And believe me, her stay here will not be pleasant.

“Topaz,” Vixen whispered. Her voice was choked with fear, and Seth went to her automatically, put his arms around her and drew her close to his side.

Return Briar and Vixen, or this one will die.

Don't hurt her!
Reaper replied, speaking without making a sound.

Oh, it's too late for that. I've already hurt her, and I will continue to do so. It's killing her that I'll hold off on. But not for long, Reaper. Not for long. I want you to bring my women back to me personally. And alone. Or she dies. You have until one hour past sunset tomorrow. I'll let you know when and where.

Reaper closed his eyes.

Vixen drew herself out of Seth's embrace. “I'll go back. I'll go right now. And I'll take Briar with me.”

“No.” Seth gripped her shoulders, turning her to face him and staring hard into her eyes. “No way in hell.”

“Yes, Seth. It has to be done, and it has to be done now. He's hurting her. You don't know what it's like—”

“We have time to make a better plan,” Reaper said.

“He's hurt her already! He's hurting her now!” Vixen cried.

“It's nearly dawn. He can't hurt her while he rests,” Reaper promised. “Topaz is tougher than she looks. Have a little faith. We'll get her back, safe and sound. I promise.”

Vixen seemed to want to accept that, although she clearly had her doubts. As for Seth, he didn't see any possible solution, and he was sick at the thought of Topaz being tortured. He wished to God he could sense her, send her a message of encouragement or let her know they would get her out of there somehow. But he couldn't feel anything from her. Once inside that mausoleum, it was like a vampire had fallen into a black hole. There was no way to know what was happening to her, and his imagination was supplying dreadful possibilities.

Thank God it was almost dawn, because he couldn't bear to think about it for much longer.

 

Topaz hit the far wall face-first, scraping her palms, elbows and, she was pretty sure, her chin, when the burly thugs shoved her into the cell. The door closed, a jarring clang of iron on iron, and locks turned, squealing in rusty protest, but clicking into place all the same.

She pushed her face away from the damp stone wall, refused to press a hand to her chin, because that would be admitting they'd hurt her. She didn't like admitting to pain. She didn't like anyone to have that kind of power over her—the power to hurt her—much less admit it on those rare occasions when someone did.

Instead, she turned her head slowly, and sent a look over her shoulder that should have had the goons shaking in their jackboots.

But, of course, they'd already turned and lumbered away by then.

Cussing under her breath, Topaz touched two fingertips to her chin, sucked air through her teeth and jerked them away again. Okay, the skin was intact. But she bet she would have a hell of a bruise marring her complexion before daylight. Thank God for the day sleep's regenerative powers, she thought. She examined her elbows, and saw that they were skinned and speckled with droplets of blood. “Bastards are gonna pay for that.” Turning her palms toward her, she saw that they, too, were skinned up, mostly on the heels of her hands. She was glad her reflexes were practically instantaneous, or her face would have taken a considerably more serious beating.

She crossed the cell, gripped the bars and peered between them to get a look at her surroundings. It was a lightless tomb of a place, but she could see better by darkness than any mortal could in full light. It was a cellar, maybe had been a wine cellar once. The gut-level perception of it as a dungeon was ridiculous; there were no dungeons in the old South when this place had been built. Slave quarters, yeah, whipping posts, more than likely. Or maybe not. They wouldn't have needed to resort to a shock collar for Vixen if they'd thought to whip her raw and bloody.

Then again, they might just be lazy.

For a moment the thought of Vixen in this place for God knew how long, being tortured by these assholes, made her feel sick to her stomach. She could handle anything they could dish out. But Vixen—she was such a little thing, so odd and fragile-seeming. Yeah, okay, she was freaking weird, but that didn't negate the disgust Topaz felt at the thought of those burly animals hurting her.

The cellar was built of hand-hewn stone blocks, its floor packed earth. And beyond the cell, she couldn't see much of use. A bench on one wall, some pipes running up the sides here and there, and criss-crossing the ceiling—recent additions, relatively speaking. A pail and washboard dangled from a nail where they'd probably been hanging for a century. Cobwebs were plentiful. Ahead and to the left there were two stone steps that led upward and a tall door, beyond which she knew were more steps and the outside world.

There must be another door somewhere, with stairs that led up into the main part of the mansion, but it was out of sight. The thugs hadn't gone out the way they'd brought her in. She craned her neck to see around the corner to the left of her cell, where the goons had gone, but it was useless. Even vampires couldn't see around corners or through walls. None that she knew of, at least.

She gave the cell door an experimental shake, but she knew damn well it wasn't going to give. They wouldn't have put her in here if they thought she could get out. And she doubted a faulty cell would have held Vixen for very long. The little thing might be strange, but she wasn't stupid. She struck Topaz as kind of cunning, in a naive sort of way.

The lock looked new. As if it had been recently replaced.

Sighing, she turned to examine the inside of her cell, but it only made her angrier. Stone walls, concrete floor—probably so prisoners couldn't tunnel out with their bare hands.
As if,
she thought with a look at her nails. Screw that. She would use one of their fat heads to bash the hinges off the door instead. It beat messing up a ninety-dollar manicure.

There was a cot—a slab of wood, really—bolted to the wall, further supported by chains at the head and foot. A small blanket was wadded up on the cot, and she remembered Vixen saying Jack had brought her a blanket. Was that the one?

Hell.

“I know it's not what you're used to.”

She spun around and hated the way her heart skipped at the sight of that bastard Jack coming across the cellar toward her. He stopped at the cell door, not close enough to reach. He didn't trust her.

He was smart.

“It's a shit hole.”

“I'm sorry, Topaz. Believe me—”

“If you were sorry, you would have stopped them.”

“If I'd tried, they would have killed me without batting an eye. I was outnumbered, in case you failed to notice.”

She narrowed her eyes to mere slits, glaring at him.

“What?”

“Seth was outnumbered, too.”

“Seth who?”

“Seth, the young fledgling barely out of braces, who charged in here and took on six or eight of those Neanderthals you have lumbering around just to get that odd little Vixen out.”

“Oh.” He pursed his lips. “I, uh…oh.”

“Don't worry. I know you could have done the same. I'm not questioning your manhood here, Jack. Just pointing out that you're a self-centered snake.”

“How so?”

“You let them throw me in this cell because doing otherwise would have ruined your position here. And if I know you, you're hoping to cash in, in some manner or other, before you check out. Correct me if I'm wrong.”

“I wouldn't risk your life for money.”

“Why not? You don't give a damn about me.”

He shrugged. “True, but I don't like hurting women.”

She released an involuntary snort that spoke volumes.

“Physically,” he clarified.

“Right.”

He shrugged. “Believe what you want. I think I can get you out of this without the need for violence.”

“You going to con me right out from behind iron bars, Jack? Come on, even you're not that good.”

He sighed, lowered his head, shaking it, then raising it again and stabbing her eyes with his. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“To get my money back.”

“Come on, Topaz, what's the point in lying now?”

She averted her eyes. “I want my money, Jack.”

“Fine. I'll get it for you. Not that a quarter mil is going to do you much good in that cell, now, is it?”

“Half a million,” she corrected.

“Uh, well, yes, but I had to hand half over to Gregor, love. I can't return what I don't have.”

“What?” She looked up swiftly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Why the hell would you give half to that maniac?”

He shrugged. “Secure my position here, win his trust, that sort of thing. It's confidence-man stuff. You wouldn't understand.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

“All in good time, babe.” He shrugged. “Do you want me to get you out of here or not?”