Hunted (3 page)

“Wash up, and you get a treat.” The pouch opened and Dusk saw the vial, the syringe inside, the bag of white pills. Dame looked at her and asked around the cigarette, “What?”

“Do you have to? The last . . . I don’t want . . . I’ll mess up. It’ll make him mad.” She hated the tremor and catch in her voice, the thick coat of fear as she remembered the hellish images of torture the last drugs induced.

Dame shook her head. “It’s not a hit of K, for God’s sake.” She mumbled something in Czech, or maybe German. “You think I want Mikhail down both our necks? Well, I don’t. I just don’t want to see you screw up again. I help you, give you a treat to make you more . . . agreeable tonight. Though you shouldn’t have anything.” She
tsked
. “At least you’re lucky. You have any idea how many girls we lose thanks to these little punishments of his? He never should have started. Cost too much. Girls get hooked, must keep them supplied or they get sick and stupid, or you lose money.”

 . . . more agreeable tonight . . .

She should tell Dame she didn’t want them. But a fog, not knowing what was going on . . .

You don’t need them . . .

Yesss . . . It would be easier . . .

A hit of X would make her enjoy the night, make her make the client happy . . .

That voice was dangerous, it could give her hope.

Dusk quickly washed, using the smelling oils they were forced to use. Hopping from one customer to the next with only a pitcher of water, you did what you could. Her long black hair was beyond fixing. Besides, the girls weren’t allowed mirrors.

“Who is the next client?” she asked, trying to control the tremors.

She sat on the bed and fumbled with the shoes. The buckles and straps wouldn’t work. Anger started to burn, but she tamped it down.

Anger was dangerous. It led to hope, to ideas best left forgotten.

Would he help her? Could she get away? Sparkle had escaped. Could she? Get to the embassy? She blinked, squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them again.

Home,
the girl inside her whispered. And like the memory of summer lemonade at twilight, hope flickered, rushing the blood through her heart.

She shoved away from that idea. Escaping was a death sentence. She’d think of what was ahead instead. The client. The job.

The job.

Escape . . .

If she ran, she died. Plain and simple.

 . . . escape . . . home . . .

Home? If she ever managed to get home, she knew they’d not only kill her, but those she loved.

“Some big dealer,” Dame said, “Mikhail wants to impress him.” She walked over and started to pull the strands of Dusk’s hair up. “This hair needs coifing, yes?” She checked her watch. “Best hurry, Mikhail wants you in Prague before his meeting so he can check you over himself. Already has the car downstairs waiting for you.”

With guards.

Dusk sat still while Dame twisted her hair up and stabbed some pins in the mass.

The job. Plain and simple. One foot in front of the other.

“Dealer?” she asked. “Drugs?”

One penciled brow arched again as Dame stepped around and in front of Dusk, studying her work. She nodded, ran her hands along the sides of Dusk’s hair, smoothing fly-aways. The simple gesture twisted a longing inside of Dusk. She shut her eyes, then opened them as Dame blew smoke out of the side of her mouth, holding the cigarette between her lips while reaching for the bag of pills. Dame pulled two small pale blue pills out stamped with the devil’s head.

“Please, no. I—I don’t need it. I promise I’ll be good.”

“It would matter to you? If this man dealt drugs?” Her red-painted lips curved in a smile before a rusted laugh danced out. “Like you should care. No, and client said he likes coherent partners. So no real floats for you. Just enough to take the edge off. It’s just a hit of X. He might give you more tonight, yes? What’s with the questions?”

Her hands shook and she fisted them. “Please, I promise, I won’t fuck it up, like you think. I’ll do whatever the client wants.”
Please.
“Please, Dame, I swear.”

Dame studied her and then shrugged. “I don’t care.” She leaned down, her sharp eyes pinpricks along Dusk’s skin. “You screw up tonight and I won’t cover your ass this time.”

Dusk swallowed and nodded. Dame straightened and dumped the pills back into the bag and shoved it back into its slot in her feel-good trove. Dusk sighed.

Good, the client wanted coherent and lucid. Maybe she could get his help. But would she dare?

Did he have guards? Was he a decent man? Did this man have her for the entire night or just a couple of hours? Maybe the client wanted lucid and coherent because like Mikhail he loved to know the women felt whatever pain he inflicted to its fullest extent. Was tonight’s client as sadistic as her jailer?

Questions danced evilly in her mind, taunting as if they could call her hopes then laughingly shatter them with a vicious swipe of fear.

“He deals, that’s all I know. Diamonds, I think. Maybe you get a pretty bauble out of tonight, yes?” Dame’s eyes, some color between gold and green, shone with greed.

No girl was allowed to keep anything. Any bauble would go to Dame or Mikhail. Dusk took a breath, glad she didn’t have to watch Dame slide the needle into her vein. Tonight was just another job. She wouldn’t think, she’d just do it. Then it’d be over and . . .

And what?

Hope was for fools and idiots; she was afraid she was both.

Chapter 2

Prague, Czech Republic; 10:28 p.m.

Mikhail Jezek took a deep drag from his cigar, the expensive smoke filling his mouth and mixing with the fruity taste of Charbay vodka he and Reyer were sharing. The heavy oak flavor complementing the
skopová kýta na smetane.
He’d always liked the mutton with sour cream sauce. The dishes of vegetables, and finally the dessert had been cleared. Now the table only sported the frosted bottle of vodka, their glasses and the gems.

He and his companion smoked in relative silence. The club, seen through the two-way-mirrored, soundproof wall, raved tonight. Bodies clothed in spandex, skin-tight leather, whimsical flowing skirts, all strobed a rainbow to the occupants sober enough to watch.

Mikhail watched. He watched and smiled. Tonight should see a good take, not only of those inside there to party, but off those wanting a shot of more than the booze, and again off those who sought a bit more skin for entertainment. The boss would be happy.

Mikhail’s dinner companion cleared his throat. The man, a South African Dutchman, leaned back gracefully in his chair as if not a care in the world. He didn’t really care for the prick. Excitement trickled through him as he looked again at the glittering tray between them. Diamonds. Five million dollars’ worth of sparkling gems lay cold and brilliant on the black velvet.

Mikhail turned his attention back to the dealer.

One blond brow arched in silent question.

There was something about this man that did not sit right with Mikhail, but the man had his uses. Something about the dealer warned Mikhail the man was not to be taken lightly. Perhaps it was the eyes. Those eyes were black, not dark brown, or blue. Just black.

Mikhail took a deep breath and reached for one of the diamonds. “Sierra Leone, you say? Out of which mine? The diamond mines are regulated.” He rolled the sparkling gemstone between his thumb and forefinger. He snapped his fingers and one of his men handed him his loupe. This one was almost clear, with just a slight blue tint. The clarity was wonderful. He wished he could have seen them in the raw, but this would work. There was an allure to cut gems, shooting off prisms as light hit them this way and that. Mikhail wanted these. All of them. Even at this price. Setting the loupe aside, he studied the dealer.

John Reyer smiled, his black eyes narrowing. The smile could not be termed amused. The man’s features were as carved as marble statues in the old town’s architecture. His deep voice held a warning, like the sound of a bullet sliding into the chamber. “There are ways to obtain anything if one can meet the proper price.”

Mikhail again studied this man. They’d done business previously, though before it had been tanzanite from Tanzania and sapphires straight out of Sri Lanka.

“I will need to think about it,” Mikhail said.

Reyer shifted, leaning onto his elbow and motioning with his index finger to his own guard. The muscular man, skin the color of midnight, strode forward without a word and waited, holding the case. The dim lights in the black and red modern room did nothing to soften the guard’s bald features.

Mikhail sighed, disappointed, and released the gem, watching as it fell back onto jet velvet before the guard snapped the case shut.

“How much time will you give me?” Mikhail wanted those diamonds, but he’d not be seen as easy. Mikhail Jezek was never, ever easy. Everyone knew that. The gems were beautiful and several would be worth millions themselves once set in rings or necklaces. He liked to have jewelry made, special jewelry. It was a . . . hobby of his.

Reyer’s dark eyes didn’t blink. The man didn’t move. That was what was wrong with him. Most fidgeted in Mikhail’s presence.

Mikhail wasn’t known as Devil’s Advocate for kicks. Everyone knew he held the power. The bosses looked to him to keep things tight. The girls in the clubs cowered. Even his guards were on edge around him, but then they’d learned to be when he killed one of them for trying to help that Italian bitch escape.

This man, Reyer, didn’t move, didn’t twitch. Hell, he acted as if he were doing Mikhail a favor. Arrogant prick. Mikhail poured another shot of vodka and downed it in one gulp. He motioned to the bottle and Reyer ignored him.

Reyer tilted his head to the side, the rotating lights from the club slashing across his unforgiving features.

“Tomorrow. I’ll return with the girl and the diamonds and you decide,” Reyer said, watching him.

Irritation rippled under his skin.

“You did obtain the girl I requested?” Reyer asked, dropping the end of his cigar in the ashtray between them.

Mikhail nodded, the irritation bubbling into something more.

At that moment, the other door to the room opened. Two guards entered, their black jackets doing little to hide their submachine guns—Czech Scorpions with laser mounts—in the shoulder holsters. Not that anyone would mistake them for anything but guards. One man held a gold chain. The other end was attached to a jeweled dog collar. The collar was around the neck of a woman.

There she was.

Dusk. His Dusk.

Mikhail felt the same instant awareness he always did when he saw her. And the anger that she’d had the courage to refuse him and all he had to offer her rushed through him anew. Just as it had half an hour before when he’d seen her arrive and checked her appearance. He was in the position to have any woman he wanted and the one he wanted looked at him with disdain.

Still.

Dusk should have already come round. Proud little American bitch. He’d give her tonight. If she behaved herself, he might take her back to his place tomorrow, or the next day. For now, he’d simply remind her of her place. She was almost broken. He could see it, sense it, practically smell her tension and shattered pride. Nothing was sweeter than shattered pride, and he loved wielding the weapon that destroyed it. Yet even defeated as she was, the class was still there, a slow elegant grace not often found in women he knew. He wanted that. He wanted her, wanted to master her and all she was.

She wore her dark hair coiffed. The cheap silver dress caressed her curves like liquid mercury.

Reyer chuckled. “You certainly live up to expectations, Jezek.” He stood and straightened his jacket, waiting on the woman to be brought to him.

Mikhail motioned toward Reyer with his head. “She is yours for the night, my friend. I must, however, insist one of my men accompany you.”

Reyer speared him again with those damn eyes. “I like to watch as much as the next man, but I find I like privacy for my own fucks, thank you.”

Mikhail held his hand up to the guards. “I never let any of my girls leave.” He crossed his arms and smiled. “The streets are much too dangerous for them.”

Reyer looked as if he might argue, but then shrugged. “I will allow one man, and only one, but he will not be allowed to
guard
the girl all night. I have my own plans.” Reyer motioned to the guard holding the chain, who looked to Mikhail before gaining permission to proceed. Mikhail’s guard, Peter, jerked the chain and Dusk toward Reyer.

She didn’t speak, but then she knew better. They only spoke if asked to, and then only very, very little.

Misgivings stirred in him, but he shrugged it off. He would be ruled by no damn woman, no matter how beautiful she was. If it was the last thing he did—he’d break her. Her eyes shifted from Reyer to him and he thought he might have seen a flicker in those icy eyes. He studied her harder, but her eyes were blank.

Dusk.

The name, the sight of her, though clearly thinner, had memories whispering through him.

“Dawn.” Mikhail cleared his throat. “You have her back by dawn,” he said, thumping the tabletop.

Reyer looked Dusk up and down. His fingers grazed her arm, her cheek, the collar. Mikhail watched as Reyer tilted his head, watched as Reyer’s eyes narrowed in appreciation of Dusk’s beauty in those high cheekbones, the perfect, flawless features. Her icy blue eyes, a contrast to the rest of her with her Latin skin tone and jet hair. Those plump, lush lips—God, what she could do with those lips made the blood pound straight to his groin.

Mikhail had left her in the club in Cheb for almost two months now, to teach her, knowing all the while what she would be forced to do. By the time he asked her back, she’d be thankful to him. Wanting to go with him, which is the way it should be.

Maybe he’d make her beg him first.

But right now, for the first time, he found he didn’t like watching another man appreciate what he considered his. To make a profit was one thing, to watch admiration was another.