by L. R. W. Lee
As much as the thought disgusts me, I need to figure out a response that will win him over, not send him scurrying, because I’m talking to the guy who can actually change things. And I can’t mess this up.
I shift and feel that his whole body is rigid behind me.
“Hey,” I murmur, and look over my shoulder, catching his gold and silver eyes wide open, intent on me.
He squeezes my abdomen. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. What’s wrong?”
“We’ll go see King Midas today.” He sighs and I feel his shoulders droop against my back.
I make like a rotisserie chicken and rotate, still in his arms. I shouldn’t comfort him, but he was my rock last night, so I bring a hand to his face, cradling his jaw, the scruff of which has grown thicker overnight. “What’s wrong?”
He only grunts.
The onion has returned, and it seems it’s up to me to peel it again. “Why did you delay going to him?”
His gaze connects with mine for a second before he says, “You’ll understand when you see him.”
A sour feeling besets my stomach because my brain’s off and running, imagining scenarios where the ancient Midas dude’s fallen and can’t get up and has been laying there for days or wild animals have mauled him—of course, I suppose said animals would be turned to gold, but hey, what a way to go—or worse.
“How about some coffee?” Maybe that’ll lighten his mood, I know it’ll improve mine, dramatically.
Harpoc tweaks my nose. “That sounds like a good idea. I scheduled it for later, but I’ll go get it.”
“The god of secret’s magic doesn’t deliver coffee?”
A corner of his mouth hitches up. “Afraid not.”
“You really ought to talk to management about that. Oh, but I guess you are management.”
He chuckles, and I ogle as he slides on navy sweats and slippers that the hotel delivered last night.
I’m still mad at him, but I’m not blind. For an old geezer, he’s still eye candy.
He’s a freaking god, Pell, down girl.
He runs a hand through his onyx locks, and they fall into perfect order. Okay, that’s just not fair.
A minute later the door shuts behind him, and I slide out of bed, slip on my sweats, go pee, then brush my teeth to tame my dragon morning breath. I don’t know what it is, but the thought of eating anything before I’ve brushed my teeth in the morning utterly disgusts me.
The door handle jiggles not long after, and I laugh. “Secret magic doesn’t open the door when your hands are full either, huh? I really think we need to take these defects up with someone above your pay grade.”
I fling open the door.
But it’s not Harpoc.
It’s Zeki and his goons, and they force their way into the room, pushing me back before I can react, then close the door behind them.
I shriek, hoping a neighbor hears, but these walls are soundproof judging by the lack of “neighbor noise”—I’ve heard no squeaking bedsprings or thumping headboards.
Gold eye, silver eye. Where’s Harpoc when I need him?
I knew Zeki was bad news.
I keep screaming until one of Zeki’s goons grabs me, and another ties a gag over my mouth and my hands behind my back.
“Hurry up,” Zeki says to one of his henchmen, eyes darting about the room like Harpoc’s going to materialize any second. I pray he does.
I’m pushed down on the sectional and Gag Guy—and no, he’s not funny—pulls a plastic bag from his jacket and slides out a rag.
Shit.
I try kicking, but the four goons stand too far away for my feet to connect with any of them, and I end up flopping onto the floor, nearly banging my head on the coffee table.
“Serves you right.” One of the guys laughs.
Gag Guy comes around the table, to my head, and I wriggle for all I’m worth. I just need to stall until Harpoc gets back.
But the guy’s faster than Harpoc because the dude captures my head despite my twisting and holds the rag over my nose, grinning. “The King of Roses’ greatest weakness is in our hands.”
Like hell.
Hold on for Harpoc. Gold eye, silver eye.
I keep shaking my head this way and that, making it as difficult as possible, but my fingers tingle and my head feels buzzed, like when I’ve had a few too many drinks.
Hold on, Pell. Hold on.
I keep fighting, but it feels like I’m walking in mud.
Gold eye, silver…
Blackness overwhelms me.
_______
My cramped shoulder’s screaming wakes me. My hands are numb, no doubt because I’m lying on them, still tied behind my back, and my head’s pounding as if someone’s playing a drum solo. What’s probably a rough stone is digging into my cheek.
The smell of cannabis is here but not as strong as it was, although the scent of earth fills my nostrils along with wool from the scratchy old blanket I feel weighing on me. I’m just glad I put my sweats on before answering the door or I’d probably be mostly naked under this thing. As it is my bare toes are frozen.
“Yeah, and we’ll make him—” It’s Higher-Pitch-Guy. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.
Constant, repetitive, snapping sounds fill the gaps between words, like they’re all doing something.
“Shut it, Mazhar.” This, lower voice guy, was there with us before, too. No doubt they all were, and they’re pissed at Harpoc for knocking them out yesterday.
I feel the weight of eyes on my back and feign unconsciousness. With my head pounding like it is, it’s not hard. I wish I still was.
“What’s wrong if she knows what we plan to do to get rich? She has a very special role to play, besides she’s not going anywhere.” Mazhar laughs. No one joins in.
That gets my heart pumping.
Where’s Harpoc and what will they do to me once they know I’m awake?
Calm down, Pell, I tell myself. Funny enough, it’s not all that easy to do, all things considered.
“Hand me some more.” It’s a voice I’ve not heard before.
Plastic rustles, then quiets and that snapping sound continues.
I chance cracking open an eye and discover white fabric hanging from a frame, fluttering not far away. I glance out of the corner of my eye to see more white fabric that forms the slope of the top of a tent. Wooden legs—rows of tables—fill my vision, covering much of the space.
I’m in the nursery tent out on Zeki’s plantation, I’d bet my life on it.
I pause, okay, poor choice of words.
The sun makes the thin, white fabric too bright, and I close my eye again.
Who knows if Harpoc will guess who my abductors are and check here first. I pray he does, but in the meantime, I need a plan.
I crack open my eye again to see what else I can see, something that might help my cause. I jump.
The kid from before, the insufficiently dressed one, is on his haunches, leaning over me, watching my every move. I never hear him approach. He’s stealthy. And he’s still not dressed properly.
He smiles and pulls the blanket up, under my chin.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
One friendly, among so many.
“Is she awake, Eser?” It’s lower voice guy.
Eser looks up quickly and shakes his head.
Bless you, boy.
The pounding in my head has taken up “Painkiller” by Judas Priest, and it’s hard to think, but I force myself to focus.
“Then come help us de-stem these, boy.”
Eser brushes a stray lock of my hair behind my ear with his small hand—it’s such an intimate gesture, and I don’t know what to make of it coming from him—then stands and steps around me, disappearing.
Survival. Keep your head down and stay invisible as much as possible. The boy and I understand each other.
I’m not sure how many men are behind me, not that it matters hog-tied like I am, but I ca
n pick out at least five distinct voices.
Plan, Pell. Form a plan.
Right.
There’s a hose not far away, three stacks of empty, green-plastic plant pots, lots of juvenile weed just tall enough so I can see it peeking over the tabletops, spades, trowels, and other usual gardening supplies. Nothing inspires me.
I continue scanning, keeping movement to a minimum.
One of the tent’s fabric panels has come undone at the bottom, from between two of the wood supports, and it flaps in the breeze. It’s inconveniently behind one of the tables that ring the perimeter of the tent, and probably why no one’s done anything about it.
It’s not far, fifteen feet maybe.
I can make it, I know I can. I’ll disappear into the weed once I do and make tracks.
It’s half-baked, but I don’t care. I need to move. Now.
Before I can overthink myself out of it, I pull my knees up and prepare to roll up on them.
“Eser, go check on her again. She should have woken by now,” lower voice guy says.
Time’s up.
I roll up on my legs and the pounding in my head nearly stops me in my tracks, but I press on and I’m on my feet a second later, running.
“Stop her,” Mazhar shouts.
I wish I’d played softball because I’m no base hitter, sliding awkwardly as I am, but I’m under the table, then halfway under the flapping fabric, then ducking beneath and pushing myself up by my arms from behind.
“Damn it, Eser, get out of the way,” one man yells.
Eser, my hero.
Oh, my pounding head, it’s making my stomach turn, but I do my best to ignore it, and I’m running hard, for the weed. Until I step on a sharp rock I didn’t see in my haze.
Shit! Oh, that bitch hurts, but I keep moving, hobble running.
Gold eye, silver eye.
I can do this.
I keep telling myself that, until Zeki steps from between plants, into my path.
I can’t stop in time, and I barrel right into him, sending us both sprawling.
But I’m not done fighting.
I scramble to get up again, but my head really isn’t on board with my hairbrained plan anymore. I’m going to puke.
Keep going, Pell, my inner voice shouts.
Zeki rights himself to sitting, then reaches over and grabs me by the forearm with a vise-like grip, pulling me up.
My stomach rebels all over the front of the guy, and he throws me to the ground, profane words filling my ears.
I’m not one bit sorry as I collapse, panting, then wipe my mouth on a shoulder.
Mazhar and two other guys, plus Eser, surround us a minute later, their eyes wide as they take in the scene.
I give Eser a secret wink while Mazhar drags me up to standing, taking care to avoid the sick, which I’ve managed to leave entirely on his boss and the ground—I’m pretty proud of myself, I couldn’t have aimed better if I’d tried.
Eser grins, then shrinks back between the men while he schools his expression.
“Get her back to the tent while I go change,” Zeki says in a gruff voice, waving his puked-on arms.
But Eser’s now-clenched jaw and unwillingness to meet my eyes, tell me no good will come of whatever’s about to go down.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I’m not sure what’s worse, an angry sphinx, a pissed harpy, or Zeki in his current mood.
He’s changed into an old, puke-green get up, but that fire-breathing dragon sticking above the coat’s collar gives me the willies—if he so much as gets a lighter out, I’ll freak.
That, combined with the pinched expression on his face, and him continually flexing his fist as he stares me down where he stands, legs spread slightly, braced, keeps my heart pounding.
Because my arms are tied to the arms of a metal chair, inside the nursery tent, and I’m not going anywhere.
Gold eye, silver eye.
A little help here, Harpoc.
His cronies circle me, like I’m a threat to run again. Morons.
Thank goodness the drummer in my head finishes his solo.
Eser cowers behind them, waiting to be commanded to do Zeki’s bidding. I feel sorry for the kid and wonder how he got wrapped up with these guys. Maybe he’s been abducted, like me, because it’s clear no one here holds any paternal feelings for him. My heart goes out to the boy.
“I don’t believe in striking a woman on the face, but there are other ways to procure cooperation.”
Careful, Pell. Watch your mouth, don’t make him angrier.
I swallow. “You could try asking nicely.” I force a smile.
Pell, don’t be a smart ass.
Zeki crosses his arms and leans back.
I’ve seen Harpoc make that same move a time or two, and he looks sexy-tough. Zeki, definitely not, not that it matters.
He studies me, clearly considering his next words. “The King of Roses has made my life… difficult.”
I let a corner of my mouth rise. Join the club.
He frowns, clearly thinking I think it’s funny.
I want to reply, “And abducting me will make things better?”
Pell, don’t.
“I intend to repay his generosity.” His mouth hitches up.
My breathing labors, but I hide it, pasting on a plastic smile. What is it about me that attracts brutes like this?
“Would you like to know how?” One eyebrow rises. He thinks he’s brilliant.
“Curiosity’s killing me.” I can’t help the sarcasm that sneaks in.
Pell, stop.
I try to look bored, turning an arm beneath my bonds and running a finger across my nails.
Mazhar and another of the goons shift, and I know I’m pissing them off. Good. I don’t care if they’re used to being treated like kingpins; I’ve got standards. And I’ve got Harpoc, when he finally gets his sexy little ass here.
God, get the lead out.
Zeki nods. Mazhar grabs more rope from one of the nearby tables and joins another goon who steps forward. As one, they stride over to me, and I tense.
It’s hard to play it cool when you’ve got two gorillas breathing on you, and my shoulders go tight. I’ve been cold with just my hoodie and sweats, but not anymore, not with adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Zeki laughs. “Not so free with your words, I see.”
He nods and the pair stoop and reach for my legs, which I quickly wrap around the chair.
But the next thing I feel is the chair going over and my head smacks the hard ground. It’s all the distraction they need to grab my knees. Gorilla #1, aka Mazhar, secures one of my legs to the chair while Gorilla #2 squats and, using his shoulder, forces my other leg straight, up in the air where he hugs it.
I fight, but he’s practically sitting on me, not to mention stronger and I’ve got nothing.
Figures, it’s my wounded foot up in the air, too.
Eser looks away, lip quivering, and my limbs start to shake.
Zeki smiles at that, then nods at Mazhar who strides back to that damn table and retrieves what looks like a paint stirrer stick, then returns, stopping beside my upraised foot.
I grip the arms of the chair beneath the rope to still them, but there’s no hiding my distress.
“So,” I croak, “how do you intend to repay the King of Rose’s generosity?”
Zeki laughs. “I see I’ve created a willing listener. Very good.”
I’d like to “very good” him.
Gold eye, silver eye. Harpoc where are you?
“You’re a bit plain.” Zeki watches for my reaction.
He’s not telling me anything new. Only Harpoc has ever enthused at what he calls my “beauty,” and I don’t react. It doesn’t hurt anymore, I’ve conditioned myself.
Zeki’s lips press tight. It’s clearly not the reaction he’s hoping for.
Ass.
He steps toward me, glancing at my upraised appendage. I know exactly when he spots the
wound from earlier because he raises his chin. “I think the king would appreciate some decoration on his ‘weakness.’”
I force a smile. “Actually, I think he fancies me just the way I am.” I wag my brows.
Two of his thugs snicker.
“No, no. He definitely deserves better.” He raises an eyebrow.
My heart races all out. “What kind of decoration are you considering adding?”
“Curiosity killing you?” He throws my smartass words from earlier, back at me. Fair enough. I’ll woman up.
His thugs chuckle.
Eser bites his lip and holds himself.
“Actually, no,” I say.
“That’s a pity.” Turning to the boy, he says, “Eser, come here.”
The kid straightens and pulls his shoulders back, then strides between the goons—I refuse to call them men.
Zeki places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and I note the boy’s grimace even though Zeki isn’t squeezing. “I thought we’d make you and the boy match.” He smiles as he pats Eser, “Show the lady what I envision.”
Eser’s shoulders slump as he takes a seat beside me on the dirt, then raises a foot. His sole is full of stripes.
Fury blinds all reason, and I somehow kick free, smashing Gorilla #2 in the nose. He drops my leg in an instant and grabs his nose to staunch the free-flowing blood. Good. I hope I broke it.
Pell, mind your temper.
No freaking way!
“Kadir.” Zeki’s calm as Gorilla #3 approaches. He frowns at Gorilla #2’s moaning as the goon scuttles away.
I kick Gorilla #3, landing several of my strikes on his seeking hands and dodging shins, but my leg tires and the guy grabs it at last, then repositions it, hugging it like the last monster to keep it immobile.
I pant, I’m not sorry, but I stop short when Eser closes his eyes and, hands trembling, takes the stirrer stick from Mazhar.
My knuckles turn white. They can’t mean to make a boy…
Harpoc!
I need to stall. He’s coming, I know he is.
I clear my throat. “The King of Roses did what he promised.”
Eser stops and looks between me and Zeki.
“And what exactly do you think that is?” the overlord asks, looking down at me.