by Lola Gabriel
There was no doubt in her mind that they intended to kill her; they had said as much, but Poet reasoned that they would wait until after the drop. From what she had gathered, the following day was delivery day.
Don’t pay it, Papa! They are going to kill me anyway! Don’t let them get away with the money, too! Poet thought to herself.
A rat scurried by, pausing a few feet away from her to stare at her, as if questioning her presence.
“Make yourself useful,” Poet muttered to the critter. “Come and gnaw away my binds.”
The rat blinked once and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Poet alone again with her thoughts. She had never felt so alone, so scared, and so out of options.
There is always a solution, she thought, although the words… they weren’t hers. This thought wasn’t hers. Someone was speaking inside her head. You just have to find it.
Do you see a way out of this?
Poet wanted to scream at whoever was saying those words to her. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remain calm despite the mounting stress wracking her body. In her mind, she was back in her flat with Max, the two of them laying entwined in one another, a nude tangled pile of legs and arms.
Max looked at her, his bright eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? You’re pale.”
Poet shook her head.
“I’m starving,” she confessed. “They haven’t given me anything to eat or drink since I arrived.”
Max’s face darkened. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Tell me where you are so I can come and get you.”
“I don’t know,” Poet sighed. “I think somewhere around South Bank, but it could be anywhere.” Max propped himself up on an arm and peered into her face.
“Your father is going to pay the ransom tomorrow at Waterloo Station,” he said. “It makes sense that you are there, then. I’m sure there will be a tracker in the money, and we will find you, Poet, I promise.”
“They will kill me before you find me,” she replied dully. “Tracker or no tracker. Tell him not to pay. There is no point.”
“It’s Nick and Mya, isn’t it?”
Her head jerked up, and she stared at him in disbelief. “How did you know that?” she whispered. “Is this really happening?”
Max nodded slowly. “You came to me just after you were taken. You thought I was responsible.”
Poet shifted her eyes downward in shame.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” she mumbled.
“You must keep it together, Poet,” Max urged her. “I am working on finding you, but you need to focus on staying strong, do you understand?”
“I’ll try,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. “Please, just hurry. I think they’re getting antsy.”
“I will find them,” Max assured her, kissing the top of her head. “Trust me. I am not going to let you go now that I’ve finally found you.”
Poet turned her eyes back toward him, laying her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat.
He feels so real right now, she thought. I feel like I really am with him. I’m going crazy.
“Will you tell me everything about you if we meet again?” she murmured, her mind growing fuzzy. “Everything about you and your family?”
“You mean when we meet again,” Max said firmly. “And I will tell you everything.”
Poet heard the hesitation in his voice. “What is it?”
“Who are you talking to, Princess?” Mya chuckled, and Poet’s eyes flew open. “You chatting with your god?” She managed to blink the exhaustion away to see Mya sashaying toward her, a tin cup in her hand. “Thirsty?” Mya taunted, bringing the cup close to her lips.
Poet eagerly leaned forward, trying to take a long gulp, but Mya yanked it back before she could drink out of it. Poet gaped at her in disbelief.
“Why are you so cruel?” she asked. “You are getting everything you want. The money is coming.”
“You think this is cruel?” Mya growled, her face inches from Poet’s. “You don’t know cruel.”
Poet flinched, half-expecting a slap to her face. When none came, she stared defiantly at her captor.
“What do you have to be so bitter about?” Poet demanded, a spark reigniting in her gut. The imaginary conversation she’d had with Max had empowered her somewhat, despite her weakened state.
“Oh, that’s fresh!” Mya chortled, beginning to pace in front of her. “The princess is telling me my life isn’t so bad!”
I didn’t say your life isn’t bad, Poet thought angrily. I’m just wondering what sent you over the edge completely. She stared steadily at the girl pacing before her like a caged animal.
“We’ve been trying to get our hands on you since the day you took off with your boy toy at the Cloak and Clock. We planned it down to the second, and suddenly you have new security? Indoor security?”
Poet’s mouth dropped open slightly, her body suddenly running colder.
“Every day, we waited for a new chance to grab you from your flat, but then you shacked up with a guard. It was Nick, wasn’t it? He got cold feet and told you about our plan, didn’t he?”
Poet’s eyes widened as she realized what she was witnessing: a crack in the partnership between Mya and Nick. She could… she could work with this. She could use this to her advantage.
Mya whirled and glared at her. “You’re going to die anyway, Poet, you may as well tell me how you knew we were supposed to make our move that day. It was Nick, wasn’t it?”
Poet swallowed nervously, carefully plotting her next words.
“Well, he didn’t exactly warn me,” she started, her mind racing for a way to turn her kidnappers against one another. “But I knew something was up.”
“I knew it!” Mya cried, her face a grotesque mask of fury. “He’s always been hard for you, that bloody idiot. He almost ruined everything!”
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Poet commented dryly. “He didn’t screw things up that badly.”
“Close enough!” Mya retorted. “He wanted to call the entire thing off that day, but I forced him to stake out your apartment. I knew that boytoy of yours had to leave sometime. I admit, though, I was getting discouraged. I thought he had moved in.”
“Max is going to find you both,” Poet told her conversationally. “And he won’t show mercy when he does.”
Mya scoffed. “You’ll be dead, and I’ll be long gone with my millions,” she retorted. “Your big brain has no use here, Princess. You may have every man you’ve met wrapped around your finger, but now it’s time for me to shine.”
“You don’t understand,” Poet said. “If Max finds you before you manage to get away, you’re going to wish you were never born.”
“Oh, no!” Mya cried with mocking worry. “Whatever will I do in a prison on the Island of Luxe? I hear your jails are like spas there. Taking after the German models, I read, with yoga classes and everything. What is it? ‘Rehabilitation, not punishment,’ or something crazy like that?”
A slow, cold smile formed on Poet’s lips. “Max isn’t a part of the King’s Guard, Mya. He’s not part of anything you have ever seen.”
“Oh, no!” Mya squealed with girlish terror, a smirk crossing her lips. “Is he going to spank me? Rough me up? Poet, I’m not afraid of your boyfriend. I must say, he’s sexy as hell. I wouldn’t mind going a round or two with him. Maybe after I get my money, I’ll go crying to him for comfort…” She trailed off and leered at Poet, sensing the rising fury in her eyes. “Oh, I miss her so much! Please comfort me in those magnificent arms and hold me against your raging cock!”
Poet ground her teeth together so hard, she heard something crack in her jaw. Rage burrowed through her, replacing everything else she felt.
Mya glanced at Poet smugly. “Can you imagine, Princess? Your man taking me like an unbridled horse, maybe in your flat as we go through your things? It will truly be poetic in every sense of the word.”
The numbness in her legs and arms began to s
ubside, and Poet’s rage grew. She forced herself to remain calm and struggled against her fury, knowing that no amount of anger would help her.
“You keep saying ‘your’ millions,” she croaked. “Does that mean that you’re cutting Nick out?”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Mya laughed, wagging her finger. “I don’t know what kind of James Bond moment you’re hoping for here, but I’m not about to let you fill your mind with ideas. I need him. For now, at least.”
Poet bit on her lower lip. If she could get Nick alone, she could surely convince him that Mya was going to double cross him. But how? She had never been left alone with him, as if Mya suspected funny business. When it came to it, Poet was sure that Mya would be the one to end her life.
It’s not going to come to that! Poet snarled at herself. You will find a way out of here. Max will come for you, and everything will be fine.
Inherently, though, Poet could sense that the clock was ticking down the remaining minutes of her life.
“Mya,” she tried, a last-ditch attempt to make nice with the evil witch. “May I please have some water? Just a sip?” Mya grinned, dancing toward her with the cup still in her hand.
“You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you got here, have you?” she asked.
Poet shook her head, staring eagerly at the tin cup. Mya slid up to her, pressing the cold metal against her lips, but she did not tip it to allow even a drop of water into Poet’s throat.
“Then again,” Mya taunted, pulling the steel back to chuckle. “What do you need water for?”
Poet gawked at her. “Please, Mya,” she pleaded, loathing herself for begging. “Just a little bit…”
“You don’t feel so superior now, do you, Princess?” Mya laughed. “Suddenly your thesis isn’t so important, and the fact that Kincaid likes you best is really trivial, isn’t it?”
“Mya, you have no reason to be threatened by me—”
“Threatened by you?” she snarled. “Why would I be threatened by you? You’re as good as a corpse right now.”
Again, she put the cup to Poet’s lips, but instead of pouring the cool liquid into her wanting mouth, Mya let the fluid dribble down the front of her sweatshirt.
“Whoops!” Mya laughed, spinning to leave. “That’s too bad.” She grinned disarmingly at Poet. “It’s morning, Princess. In a few hours, Nicky will be meeting with your father in the underground at Waterloo Station, and I will be as rich as I was always meant to be!”
A strange feeling of déjà vu swept through Poet as Mya’s words reverberated through her mind.
Didn’t Max say that Papa was meeting the kidnappers at Waterloo Station? she recalled. Was it just a dream, or did I actually speak with Max somehow?
Poet had no reasonable explanation for any of it, but she could not waste time worrying about how she had connected with Max. He wasn’t there. It was only her and the psychopathic wench who was convinced that Poet was the cause of everything wrong in her life.
Mya almost skipped toward the stairwell leading to the main floor of the building, leaving Poet to glower after her, the water soaking through her top. Her body temperature seemed to be dropping with each minute that passed.
“See you later, Princess!” Mya called cheerfully. “When I see you next, it will be for the last time!”
The words should have sent a shudder of repulsion through her body, but instead, they seemed to empower Poet as she watched the vindictive brunette saunter up the stairs.
Her jealousy and pettiness are going to be her undoing, she thought, forcing herself not to focus on the agony she endured. Instead, she focused her mind and tried to return to Max, inhaling deeply as she willed herself to think rationally.
But the act was futile. Mya’s words rolled around endlessly in her mind, the image of Max and Mya engaged in a kiss bringing bile to Poet’s throat.
Max is coming for me, she told herself firmly. He knows who is responsible and he’s coming for me. Aren’t you? Please tell me you’re coming, Max.
Of course, there was no response—only the chitter of rats communicating to one another as Poet fell deeper into an abyss of despair.
12
His wings extended over the clouds, sweeping through the wisps of white as the pale light of dawn broke through the misty morning.
Maximus had been in the air since Poet had reached out to him, scouring the industrial area of South Bank for any signs of her. He had been hoping she would visit him again, and while he had been expecting her, her presence had come as a shock all the same.
She’s here somewhere, he thought, his giant body sliding lower toward a mass of abandoned warehouses, sniffing the air with his snout, trying to detect the sweetness of her scent through the foggy London morning. Tell me where you are, Poet, he begged, knowing that he had to return to his hotel before his massive form was seen soaring through the sky. He didn’t want to give up.
The previous night had been spent searching for Nick and Mya, his gut telling him that they were responsible for what had happened to the princess, but he had come up empty-handed. They were not at their respective flats, nor were they at any of their usual haunts, according to friends.
There is only one thing left to do, Maximus thought grimly, turning away from the river and flying back toward his lodgings.
He fell back into his form, his silver-grey body melding into his mortal form in the back alley. A drunk gasped when he landed, but Maximus left him in peace. The old-timer posed no threat to him.
Not the way Poet poses a threat to you, an unwarranted voice chimed in his head.
Maximus scowled and slipped in through the back entrance. His immediate concern was not what was going to happen after he found Poet. It was if he was going to find Poet at all.
You should just let the chips fall where they may, the devil on his shoulder told him. You will be better off without that girl. This problem is taking care of itself.
“Shut up!” Maximus barked aloud as he entered the lobby. Several guests eyed him oddly, but he ignored them. He forsook the elevator and climbed the stairs to his room, grinding his teeth together as he contemplated what he was about to do.
It’s the only way, he thought. If I go to the police with my suspicions, they will wonder how I know so much and probably detain me until it’s too late. Once those two have the money, they will kill Poet.
But Maximus also knew what was going to happen if he reached out for help. He shook his head, vowing to deal with that later. He couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.
Shoving his way into his room, he reached for his cell, dialing before he could change his mind.
“Hello, brother,” Titus greeted him. “I am surprised to hear from you after our conversation last night.”
“I need your help,” Maximus told him without preamble. “I need you to trace two mobiles for me.” There was a long pause.
“I could do that,” Titus agreed.
Maximus knew that. After all, his brother owned one of the biggest technological corporations in the world. Tracking a cell phone was less than child’s play; it was almost second nature.
“Here are the numbers,” Maximus said, reaching into his pocket for the cards he had secured from Professor Kincaid.
“Before I do this for you,” Titus interrupted, “you have to tell me what this is about.”
Maximus was silent, debating lying to his brother, but he knew that Titus would eventually hear the news one way or another.
“I am looking for the girl,” he answered. “She’s in the hands of these people.”
“Max…”
“Titus, I have to find her!” The passion in his voice must have instilled something in Titus, because Maximus heard him inhale sharply.
“Max, Father wants you to go home.”
“And I will,” he replied shortly. “After I find Poet.”
Another long pause ensued.
“Give me the numbers. I will see if I can get their location,” Titus relen
ted.
Maximus sighed with relief, almost shouting the numbers into his brother’s ear.
“Hang on the line,” Titus instructed.
Maximus sat on the edge of his bed, his heart racing with anticipation. Outside his window, the sun fought to break through the gloomy clouds. Maximus took it as a good sign.
It’s going to be a good day, he told himself optimistically. A quick glance at the alarm clock told him that it was eight thirty, and his optimism was immediately gone. In a few hours, it would be too late.
“Can you go any faster?” Maximus finally asked, the stress of the moment affecting him to the point of shaking.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Titus replied smoothly. “Talking to you is prolonging the trace.” Maximus chomped down on his lower lip to prevent any more outbursts. “Okay,” Titus said. “I have a trace on one phone. The other one is off.”
“Text me the address,” Maximus said tersely.
“I already did.” As he said it, Maximus’ phone pinged.
“Thank you, Brother,” he said sincerely.
“Maximus!” Titus called before he could hang up.
“Yes?”
“You better know what you’re doing,” his brother said. “By saving her, you’re only prolonging the inevitable. If she knows what we think she does, there is no way to protect her from Father.”
“I will deal with that later,” Maximus said grimly. “I have to go, Titus.”
“Max…”
“Titus, I don’t have much time.”
“Be careful,” Titus murmured. “Despite his unbalanced mind at times, Father can still be a ruthless enemy when he’s lucid.”
“I am perfectly aware,” Maximus replied tensely. “You forget I have lived it for the past seven hundred years.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Titus answered. “On the contrary, it seems you are the one who has forgotten. I am just reminding you. Do what you must and get home before he comes looking for you. God knows he hasn’t been out in the world for centuries. Who knows what he’ll do if he finds you and her together.”