Terms of Surrender (37 page)

The idea of Slany suffering the same torture under this crazy bastard's hands spurred Nick into action, and he struggled to his knees again right before Closet Guy turned and clocked him in the head with his boot once more.

"Do you know how long I hid in that closet waiting for you guys, stressing each time one of you came near it or opened the door, and hoping you wouldn't see me? Do you know what it took to get into this building with that rug and pull this off?"

Nick didn't answer, couldn't. His brains were scrambled, head pounding so badly, he wondered if his skull had been broken, wondered if he'd ever be right in the head again.

"I've got to hand it to you. You've got great security in this condo. But then, I guess you pay enough out of that big-time creative director's salary, huh. But you know what? Nothing, and I mean nothing, was going to keep me out of here. You hear me, Vega? Nothing!"

"Why…why are you doing this?" Nick rasped.

"I told you before. Slany belongs to me." He glanced over his shoulder at the rolled-up rug on the bed, face softening. "I forgive her for taking up with you, though. I know she didn't know any better, that you probably talked a good game."

Nick fought to hold onto consciousness, fought for one last burst of strength, and Closet Guy turned back to him, chambered a round in his gun, aimed it point-blank at Nick's head, then burst out laughing.

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"On second thought…" He raised the gun high before slamming the butt down against Nick's temple one last time.

* * * *

"I have an idea where he took her, but first, I need to know if you're okay."

Nick shook off the hand, got to a sitting position, and whirled on its owner, fist cocked.

"Whoa, whoa, easy. I'm one of the good guys."

"Who says?" Nick clutched one of the foot posts of his bed and pulled himself to his feet.

"Who are you anyway?"

"Matt Wilcox. I'm the private detective Jeff Lennox hired."

Nick grabbed him by the jacket front. "
You
sent him after me?"

"I had nothing to do with that. Jeff took it upon himself to track you down. I figured it out after his ex-wife called me, worried he was going to try something crazy after he called her."

Crazy? Yeah, Nick would say holding him at gunpoint and threatening his life was crazy.

He abruptly looked at the LCD readout on his bedside clock, stalked to the table, snatched up his cell phone from beside the clock, and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. If he'd had the time to spare, he might have mourned the man, felt the father's pain, but he didn't have the time. "He took Slany."

"Jake Parish?"

"You knew who the fuck was doing this, and you let—?"

"I had the suspects narrowed down to two men. You and—"

"I don't have time for this. Where the hell did he take her? Do you know?"

Matt rattled off an address in Connecticut, giving Nick quick directions and cross streets.

"You might have a problem finding it. It's off the beaten path, pretty isolated."

"I'll find it." Nick scooped up Lennox's gun from the floor and checked the magazine before shoving the gun in the back of his waistband. He headed for the hallway.

"You can't just leave. I called the police. They'll be here soon."

"You deal with them, then."

"Hey, Vega!"

Nick froze on the threshold of the bedroom and turned, ready to take Wilcox down if he had to, certain he was ready to kill if it meant getting to Slany before that sick bastard hurt her.

"He's got some serious issues. Watch yourself."

Nick nodded, buttoning his shirt as he sprinted from the apartment, and headed down the carpeted corridor for the stairwell, only realizing he didn't have on any shoes when his feet 204

Terms of Surrender

slapped against the cold, hard concrete stairs. He didn't have time to go back for any, took the steps three at a time, and made it down to the garage level—breathless, but in record time.

He ran for his Lexus parked about ten yards from the elevator, then saw two flat tires before he reached the car and slowed down. "Son of a bitch!" He raked both hands through his hair and kicked the front bumper with the sole of a foot. He didn't even feel the impact, too full of dread and adrenaline.

He had to get to Slany!

Nick dashed to the elevator just as it opened and disgorged several passengers, who gave him more-than-passing, raised-brow glances.

He could imagine the sight he made—hair wild and tousled, shirt half-buttoned, barefoot, bruised and bloodied—and he didn't care.

Nick made it to the building lobby, reaching for his cell just as it started to ring. He jerked it out of his pocket and didn't even check the Caller ID, just pressed "Talk."

"Nick, I'm on my way to your place."

"EJ?"

"Yeah. And I know who's after Slany. Jake Parish. Do you know him?"

"How do
you
know? I just found ou—" Nick cut himself off when he realized who he was talking to. "How far away are you?"

"A couple of blocks. I'll be there in a minute."

"I'll meet you out front."

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Slany woke to darkness, still blindfolded, her mouth still covered with tape. Her throat was so dry, and her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth so firm, she didn't think she'd be able to use either, even if someone removed the tape.

Someone…some strange man had come into the apartment, attacked Nick, and—wait, Slany distinctly remembered two men now. One scuffling with Nick for a gun, and another bursting from the closet.

She didn't know how she knew this, except that Nick's theory proved correct: her senses while blindfolded were heightened. She'd heard every crash and bang once the men came into the room, every punch and kick.

Nick…was he okay? Had those men killed him?

Slany whimpered behind the tape when she remembered the sound of gunfire. One loud bang, then a few minutes later, the muffled sound of another shot.

She'd had the tape over her mouth by then, could barely scream. At least, not enough to be heard. She remembered Nick cursing—her heart fluttered with relief at that—before Jake Parish poked a needle into her arm and made her world well and truly black.

The name came to her a second before her kidnapper came into the room, as if his arrival ignited the memory of when she'd first recognized his voice. When she first realized who was behind Kate's disappearance.

As much as she would have liked to believe she was still at Nick's and that the person coming into the room was him, she knew neither was so, even though she was in the same position, spread-eagle and cuffed to a bed. The person's smell was different. Musky, not like Nick's spicy clean scent. The room where she was being held was dank and cold, unlike Nick's cozy, warm condo.

Jake took off her blindfold and smiled down at her. "I'm sorry about the cold, Slany, but it's necessary to keep you naked. I need you available to me at all times."

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Available for what?

Slany shivered at the possibilities, had a sudden and desperate need to pee.
Oh, God
. She choked off a sob, determined not show him any weakness, determined not to beg or cry.

He wasn't her Master, could never be her Master . She wouldn't let him be.

"I'm sure you're thirsty and probably have to go to the bathroom."

She frowned and wondered how he knew. She thought maybe it was a Dominant thing, then realized she was squirming on the bed without knowing it. She immediately stopped moving, didn't want to give him any ideas.

If he would just take off the tape, maybe she could talk to him, appeal to his humanity and his sanity. That is, if he had any of either left.

The agitated look in his eyes gave Slany some doubts.

He sat on the bed beside her, a bottle of spring water in one hand as he removed the tape with his other before tenderly stroking her cheek. "My sweet Slany."

"Jake…" Slany cleared her throat and licked her lips before trying again. It's not like she knew what to say to calm down a psycho killer.

Better think of something fast, Breeze. Think! What do you need to say to get out of this?

She knew how to comfort and console the fears and qualms of a little brother and sister after a mother's death, and knew how to mollify and take care of a depressed father. Maybe some of that knowledge would be good enough to get her out of this.

"I know what you're going to say, honey. I've heard it all before, so rest your voice now.

You're going to need it." He screwed the top off of the bottle and tipped the mouth to her lips.

Slany greedily guzzled, the cool water a soothing balm to her parched throat, before she remembered how urgently she needed to go to the bathroom.

Jake took the bottle away just then, as if he knew what she was thinking.

"Jake, you know what you're doing is wrong, don't you?" She tried for a conciliatory tone and hoped she'd succeeded, because the last thing she wanted to do was rile him unnecessarily.

"Nothing's ever been so right. For you and me, there is no wrong." He smiled and caressed her face before screwing the top back on the bottle and placing the bottle on the bedside table. "I was made to Master you, and you were made to submit to me."

Slany tried not to flinch at his touch. She kept her expression as neutral as possible as she silently nodded, though the picture he drew sickened her.

She took a moment to survey her surroundings, gaze landing on the neat furnishings, the lived-in feeling of the space, despite its coldness.

He spent a lot of time down here, and that unnerved her as much as lying naked and exposed to his touch and eyes, without being able to do anything about it.

A lot of time doing what? Was this where he had brought Lorraine, Kate, and Ron? Was this where he tortured them all before he'd killed and disposed of them?

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This was Jake Parish! Sweet, diligent, efficient, unobtrusive graphic and web designing Jake Parish. How could he be some crazed stalker, a serial killer?

"Nick...What did you do to him?"

He sprang to his feet at this and paced in front of the foot of the bed, grasping his head between both hands, periodically glaring at her as he tugged on his blond hair.

Uh-oh, she'd hit a nerve. Bad move.

Calm, Slany, be calm. Don't show him how scared you are.
Don't
set him off again.

After several moments, he came back to the bed, sat down beside her, and caressed her face in that simultaneously loving and detached manner that made her blood run cold. "I should be angry that you would defile this space by saying that wannabe's name in my presence, but under the circumstances, it's understandable for you to be curious. You did bond with him, after all, an unfortunate fact of life I'll have to nullify as soon as possible."

Slany stared at him, heart frozen in her chest at his rambling statement. Especially at that last word—nullify. As in, cancel out and kill?

"Never fear, Slany Breeze. If I've learned nothing over the last decade plus of knowing him, it’s that Nick Vega is a resourceful man. If there's a way, he'll figure out where I've brought you and be here eventually to rescue what he thinks belongs to him. But in the interim, we have plenty of time to get to know each other before the end." He leaned in, hot breath making her want to retch as much as his allusions to death. "I do look forward to when Nick does finally make an appearance, however, because I have a little surprise for him when he gets here. It's highly doubtful, but we'll see if he can survive it. If so, maybe he can truly say he's the last man standing and that he earned you." He closed by licking her face.

Slany shuddered, her eyes automatically roaming the room again, looking for this

"surprise." Her sight touched on the innocuous enough furnishings—the big-screen television and media collection at one end of the room, the refrigerator and worktable at another—before lingering on the long row of nitrous oxide tanks lining one wall of the room.

She wondered vaguely if this was what he was talking about—who needed that much nitrous oxide in their house, except a dentist, doctor, or a race car driver? Because tanks of compressed gas like what Jake had in his basement meant explosion under the wrong conditions, like bullets flying nearby, for instance. But that would mean…

The man was truly psycho…homicidal
and
suicidal!

She'd known it the moment he'd taken off her blindfold, and she'd caught the expression in his eyes that plainly screamed God Complex and megalomaniac. But listening to him spout his plans to defeat Nick for the right to dominate
her,
as if she literally were the spoils of some little war between them, made her stomach turn with certainty and fear.

She had to get out of here. But how?

"Jake, I have to go to the bathroom," she blurted.

Oh, that's original.

"Slany, you're going to have to do better than that."

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"Please. I'm serious. I really have to go. Badly." She gave him her best beseeching look, hoped she wasn't spreading it on too thick.

Something in her voice must have gotten through to him, because his face melted.

Wordlessly, he reached for one of the padded leather cuffs around her wrist with his key, and Slany held her breath as he unlocked it.

I most definitely will do better than that. I'm not going to die in this place with you!

* * * *

"Just drive."

EJ started the car and pulled away from the curb without saying a word, but Nick's gruff command didn't stop him from shooting intermittent glances his way as he drove.

They were on the road for close to an hour before he finally asked, "Are you okay?"