“Ah, so she did nail you in the nuts.”
“Will you stop saying that and leave me be? Honestly, I think I would have preferred she physically struck me than the actuality.”
The grin that lit his cousin’s face tightened Dhavin’s grip on the plastic bag. “What did she do to you?”
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. If he ignored Kristos, then Kristos didn’t exist. Of course, with his eyes closed he missed the moment his cousin leapt into action, snatching the icepack and holding it high in the air from across the other side of the room before the warm air touched his jeans.
“Give it back.” Dhavin hobbled across the room and jumped for the bag.
Suddenly they were children again, with Kristos holding one of his treasured warrior figures over his head and daring Dhavin to reclaim it. But they weren’t boys anymore, and he was no longer the runt of the family. He had skills he was not above using against relations.
He pinned Kristos’ arm to the wall and landed a jab to his stomach followed by a head butt to the chin. Kristos’ grip loosened enough for Dhavin to gain control of the bag, which he quickly tucked down into his jeans. He dared his cousin to try to steal it now.
A warrior howl sounded a nanosecond before Kristos tackled him to the floor, wedging his knee into Dhavin’s back and the other across his left shoulder. Cubes of ice dug into his pelvis as he bucked and writhed, trying to dislodge the two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man off his back. The smooth grain of the hardwood floor held no traction under his palm that slickened with sweat from the exertion.
Kristos wrestled a thick arm under his windpipe and flexed. “What did she do to you?”
Spots floated in his vision. “Get off me, you smelly disease-infested bourhund.”
“Oh-ho. If you can insult me, then you can talk. Confess, lad. I have nowhere to be. Do you still require ice? Here, let me assist you.” He pressed with his knees, digging the sharp cubes into his groin.
“You fucking prick,” he eked out of his crushed windpipe.
“That’s a good American insult. What else have you got?”
His lungs burned and the ability to compose a really good comeback was nonexistent. Tears leaked from his eyes to pool on the floor beneath his head. Lucian had once pinned Kristos in this same fashion when he tried to steal Lucian’s favorite cruiser. Even when Kristos passed out, Lucian held his position until he regained consciousness and questioned him again. Kristos learned from the master and Dhavin hated to admit the truth that Kristos would not release him until he yielded.
He pressed his face into the floor with defeat and mumbled, “She shvnebe.”
Kristos leaned closer. “I apologize. Can you please repeat that?”
He sighed. “She shaved me.”
“What does that mean?”
He needed an explanation! “She scalped me, all right? Now the hair is growing back and it burns. Happy now?”
The sudden rush of air to his lungs burned just as badly as his throat as Kristos jumped to a stand. “Was this before or after she told you she knew you were the Chameleon?”
“Before.”
“Are you serious?”
Dhavin glared at him over his shoulder and rubbed at his throat.
The laughter welling through Kristos started slowly, then built like a fuse on a bottle rocket before shooting into the air with a loud crack. His knees buckled and he braced his hands on the floor as he continued to howl.
Let him laugh, Dhavin thought as he lay on the floor, huffing for breath like a fish out of water. There was a story about Kristos that involved Brett, a pair of handcuffs and a chain that sapped their strength. Odds were his cousin would find himself in a similar situation again. Oh, how Dhavin wanted to be the one to bail him out then.
He turned his head as he heard Kristos speak.
“Lucian.” He had his phone to his ear. “You won’t believe what I just heard.”
The peal of laughter that vibrated out of the phone after Kristos retold recent events had Dhavin gritting his teeth. Now his humiliation was complete. Who knew Lucian had the ability to laugh so hard?
“He’s on his way here.” Kristos pocketed the phone. “He said he wants to be here in person.”
Dhavin raised his fist and made a gesture that told Kristos whose ass he could go screw.
“You must really be in love with this girl if you allowed her to come at your manhood with a blade.” He held out his hand and helped Dhavin rise to his feet.
“I do.” He flopped back onto the couch and closed his eyes. “I hurt her feelings. Understandably she’s upset, but it will pass. This is but a small hiccup in our relationship. I am not giving up on her yet.”
“Good. I hope you know that we, and I do mean all of us, are rooting for you. If you need us, call.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Got any more of those beers in the kitchen?”
“Nope. Not a one.”
“Right. I’ll help myself.” He turned to leave the room and paused with a knock on the wall. When Dhavin met his gaze he asked, “Given the opportunity, would you let her do it again?”
There was no question what “it” was. The memory of Fiona, naked and flushed, kneeling between his legs with her pink lips stretched over his throbbing cock replaced the fire in his groin with a heat of a different sort.
Kristos chuckled. “I’ll take that smile to mean you would.”
In a heartbeat.
* * * * *
Five o’clock was the latest he allowed himself to stay away from Fiona. He didn’t want to think of the upcoming encounter as a confrontation, but he was ready to fight for their future. If a knock-down drag-out match was what it took, then the gloves were off.
He stopped by the shop first to see if she was steeping herself in work to avoid him. The store was dark and closed up tight, so he made his way to her home. The little house was just as black inside as the store had been. There was the possibility she decided to hide out at her aunt’s house, but something about the stillness in the air made his arms tingle and his brain jolt with a rush of adrenaline. As he rushed up the driveway he saw the front door stood slightly ajar. The lock was broken and a muddy footprint was stamped on the blonde wood.
Silence filled the house, the sinister weight clung to him like cobwebs as he crept from room to room. His didn’t sense anyone in the house, but that didn’t mean a malicious visitor wasn’t waiting to attack.
The sight in the living room made his muscles tense and his hands clench, ready to smash skulls. An armchair lay on its side and all the knickknacks from the mantel were scattered across the floor, mingling with shards of a broken lamp and pieces of firewood. A search of the rest of the house found nothing amiss, which made his hearts race faster as he realized this wasn’t a burglary.
He pulled out his cell phone to call Brett and froze when he saw a white envelope on the dining table, propped up against a crystal vase holding a blood-red rose. Scrawled across the parchment in an elegant hand was one word. Chameleon.
His chest felt as if it were filling with concrete, weighing him down in a quick-drying dread, and his hand trembled as he reached for the envelope and withdrew the thick notecard from inside.
Dear Chameleon,
Darling Fiona requests you join her at the old Millstone building in the city. This is an intimate affair, so only your presence is required. She is waiting patiently for your arrival, but I must say I am enjoying her company tremendously. In fact, the longer you dally, the better acquainted she and I become. I heard her sweets are quite delicious and I’m feeling the need for a nibble.
I look forward to our meeting,
S
Dhavin crushed the paper in his grip. This was his worst nightmare. Hell, it was everyone who wore the mantle of the Chameleon’s worst nightmare. As a police officer it was expected you hunt and detain criminals as part of the job. Threats were often made toward those on the force and their families, but there wa
s a solidarity in the department. But as the Chameleon, he was on his own. Any fallout from his actions landed squarely on his shoulders. And this time it grabbed Fiona in its spiteful grip, using her to punish him for his contributions to the community.
Gods, he had been so stupid. Why did he think his alter ego had no effect on his personal life? He should have taken more care to protect his privacy and his woman. Actually, he should have done a lot of things, but now his priority was getting his woman back.
He punched the number on his cell phone as he ran back toward town. “Kristos. Where are you?”
“I’m home. What’s wrong?”
“Is Lucian with you?”
“Ya.”
“Good. I need your help. Fiona’s been kidnapped.”
Chapter Eleven
Where had she gone wrong? Fiona didn’t consider herself a greedy person. She only had a few wishes in life. A successful business, good health, close friends and maybe a man to share it all with.
Well, two out of four wasn’t bad. Having a successful business left little time for friends, but Mags and Aunt Bridget were true.
The man to share it all with… Ha!
Fiona sighed and hung her head. She flexed her fingers, attempting to work out the cramp in her hands caused by the bindings strapping her wrists to the arms of the old wooden office chair.
Was it good fortune or a curse to have the man of your dreams be a manipulative alien with superpowers and had enemies who did not hesitate to use you in their plans for retaliation?
Yep, every girl’s fantasy.
How many hours had passed since that punk kid she had seen in her shop and two other men burst through her front door? Who were they and what did they want from her? Besides the obvious. One was not made to don a skimpy silk slip for shits and giggles. The only thing that had stopped Trevor from copping more than a feel while he stripped off her clothing was a reminder from one of the goons that Mr. Smithwick had ordered she be dressed in the clothing of his choosing and presented to him untouched.
Who this Smithwick was, she hadn’t a clue, but the Chameleon’s name was whispered in the car as they drove her to God only knew where. She had been blindfolded, unable to track where they had traveled, and the office she waited in could have been any old brick-and-mortar building.
The room’s furnishings were worn, and appeared mid-twentieth century, but the heavy drapes that covered the windows where she was held were brand new. The interior wall was half plaster and half glass, overseeing the maze of empty desks that comprised the rest of the floor. The layout reminded her of the Daily Planet in the Superman movie.
One man, armed with a rifle, stood guard at the elevator while another blocked the door to the stairway. The goons who took her and Trevor the punk took up space near the worn mahogany desk. Even if she managed to free her hands and make a run for it, that was a lot of muscle to power through. Depending on the next few minutes, it might be a risk worth taking.
“Why so sad, beautiful lady?”
The question brought her focus around and her fingers dug into the arms of the chair.
A shudder that had nothing to do with the drafty room shook her until her teeth chattered. In her relatively young life she had witnessed meanness, bitchiness and an occasional moment of cruelty, but never had she encountered someone who oozed such ruthlessness as the man who glided into the room.
Though he was slight of build and almost frail-looking in stature, he had a snakelike aura that made her stomach pitch with impending doom, and the way the other, much larger, men straightened to attention added to her terror. His suit was impeccable and his strides were just as smooth as the top of his shiny bald head. Malicious amusement sparkled in his dark eyes but otherwise his tan face was a blank slate, which reminded her of the scene from Silence of the Lambs when Clarice Starling met Hannibal Lecter for the first time, only Fiona didn’t have the protection of prison bars between her and the deadly gentleman circling her chair like a cobra toying with its prey.
He lifted his hand and slowly reached out to trace the curve of her cheek with the tip of his well-manicured finger. The slight pressure against the bruise made her flinch. “Who touched my property?”
Trevor was shoved to the forefront by one of the guards. “Skeeter did, Mr. Smithwick.”
“I was just trying to contain her, Mr. Smithwick, sir.” Trevor shook and wrung his hands together. “I promise.”
“Hmm.”
Although the sigh was soft, the contemplative hum evoked the promise of hours of groveling and beatings. Poor schmuck. Fiona winced, partly glad the little shit was going to be reprimanded but at the same time sorry for whatever awaited him in the future. Bet the kid wished he hadn’t groped her now.
Smithwick returned his attention to her. “Are you otherwise unharmed?”
“Mentally or physically?” The words croaked out of her dry throat. “Why am I here?”
“You and I have a mutual acquaintance. The Chameleon. I’ve been wanting to meet with him, but he’s rather elusive. You will ensure our introduction.” His accent was just as unnerving as his stare. There was a musical lilt that clipped each word at the end like a cleaver hacking through bone. It gave her no indication of his emotions, which had her tensing in preparation for him to strike at the slightest provocation.
“The Chameleon?” She forced a laugh and prayed he’d buy her bluff. “Right. I’ve seen him a few times, but I don’t know him.”
His eyes narrowed. “Be careful with what you say, Ms. Corrione. Mr. Skeeter said he saw you together in your shop and at your home. What was the phrase he used? Ah, yes, balls-deep I believe it was.”
Heat engulfed her face. Even her earlobes felt as if they were on fire.
It wasn’t her actions she was ashamed of, rather the knowledge some pervert had peeped in her windows and leered at her jiggly parts that had bile churning in her stomach. Dear God, how mortifying.
“Oh. Him.” She focused on saying every word strong and steady enough to sell the lie. “Well, we were going out, but we broke up. He’s a liar and a sleazeball and I never want to see him again.”
Well, it wasn’t all a lie.
“I see evidence that belies your words, Ms. Corrione.” His unnerving finger dipped lower and traced the lacy border of the slip across the slope of her breast then pulled down the cloth to expose a rosy nipple fringed with red nip marks left by Dhavin’s teeth. “Unless you’ve taken another lover so soon.”
One of the other kidnappers spoke up. “She has hand-shaped bruises on her ass too, boss. I think she likes it rough.”
Fiona pushed against the back of the chair to try to gain some distance from the probing digit. “Stop touching me.”
He scooped up her tender flesh in his palm and squeezed the mound tight in his grasp until she cried out. “You do not give me orders. You are mine to do with as I please, when I please.” The pressure loosened and he rubbed his hand over the tip as he took a step back. “Make no mistake, I will have you. But not tonight. When I fuck you, you will not bear the mark of another man.”
Gee. How encouraging.
Fiona pressed her lips together and fought against the tears making her vision blur. This was ridiculous. Women like her do not find themselves in such incredible situations. Hysteria seized her brain and made her feet bounce with adrenaline as she fought to remain calm and in control.
“Please let me go,” she pleaded. “I’m telling you the truth. What the Chameleon and I had was just a fling. He’s not going to come for me.”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll still have a use for you. Either way, I win.”
“This is crazy. I mean nothing to him. I’m a nobody.”
“No, my dear. I believe you are the heart of my greatest enemy. That makes you my most valuable possession.”
Dear Lord, if Dhavin has any love for me, please let him find me and get me to safety. Then grant me the strength to kick his ass for dragging me into this mess.
&
nbsp; The knock at the office window brought her head up with a startled gasp. At Smithwick’s command, the door opened and a guard leaned in far enough to announce, “The jeweler’s here.”
Smithwick smiled. “Let him in.”
Fiona didn’t know who to expect to walk through the door with such an innocuous name, but fear closed up her throat and her teeth chattered together. The man who entered the room was dressed in black slacks, Doc Martens and a black cotton long-sleeved shirt. His blond hair was clipped short and the glacial stare made her think the nickname Iceman was better suited. Whoever he was, he was definitely not going to be an ally in helping her escape.
The silver metal briefcase in his beefy hand held her attention like a pregnancy test taken after a one-night stand. Whatever was inside, she did not want to know.
She flinched when the latches clicked open like twin gunfire. Nestled in the foam interior was a strip of metal cases joined together to form a thin belt. The man fitted the strap around her neck like a collar. An electric charge buzzed under her ear and her terror increased tenfold.
A fob passed from the jeweler to Smithwick, who attached the device to a chain he then placed around his neck.
“Do you know what you’re wearing?” He smiled and her gaze remained glued to his thumb circling the red button.
Fear held her tongue. She couldn’t form a word if a gun were pointed to her head, and she feared that was exactly the case.
“Insurance, my darling,” Smithwick answered for her. “If you stray more than one hundred feet from this fob…” He pressed the device and white-hot lightning wrapped around her throat, stealing her vision.
Smoked filled her nostrils and her jaw locked as the excruciating pain burst through her skull. The agony lasted mere seconds, but her teeth continued to ache after the power was disrupted.
Tears poured down her cheeks, wetting the silk covering her chest and soaking the fabric until it was transparent. Fear paralyzed her, making it difficult to do more than wheeze and shake like a tiny mouse before a horrifying lion. Any pretense to maintain the appearance of control was obliterated, gone like light sucked into a black hole.
Hero Unmasked: 3 (Heroes of Saturn) Page 15