Strange Case, an Urban Fantasy (Hyde Book III)

by Lauren Stewart

  Mitch put his precious syringe on the floor next to the unnecessary key to Eden’s cuffs. Huh. That didn’t seem quite fair.

  Did you just set yourself up to be fucked, you idiot?

  Rattling off the door’s keycode, Whittley stared greedily at the bottles Mitch set down. ”You’re going to share the recipe?”

  Mitch nodded. “Tell me a story first, Ry. I want to hear all about why your dad hated you so much. His eldest child, right? Following in his beastly footsteps. Were your parents still together when he decided he liked Eden’s mom better? Or did your mom run for it as soon as she figured out that her son was actually nicer to be around when he was in his Abnormal form?”

  He shrugged. “All I remember is how good Ian looked through bars.”

  “That had to be satisfying for you—turn the man who probably could have cured all of us into an unthinking guinea pig.” He winked. “You sure showed him, right?”

  They stood on opposite sides of the room, equidistant from the door and the items anted up.

  “Ian was a very useful guinea pig. Until you tore him apart.” He whistled. “How mad was she about that?”

  “Well, she wasn’t happy—that’s for sure. But I think she has more of a problem with what you did to him…and her, and me, and all those other people. If I ever have a son, Whittley, I hope like hell he’s nothing like you.”

  “If you ever have a son.” He laughed. “Too bad Eden isn’t as fertile as your sister was.”

  Mitch felt the comment hit him low, right on his most sensitive area—Shelly. Until she was killed, Shelly was everything to him, the only person he’d ever loved, cherished. He wished she could’ve met Eden. She would have loved Eden. But nothing this asshole could say about her would hurt Mitch more than he already did.

  He took a deep breath and laughed. “Game on, motherfucker.”

  “That’d be ‘sisterfucker’, wouldn’t it?” Whittley asked, smiling. “Yours was a pleasure, but I’m not going to fuck my little sister—half or not. And since you couldn’t get it done, I’ll have to find an Abnormal who can.”

  Mitch had been wrong—there was something that could make him hurt more. And that was it. The room chilled as, one by one, all of Mitch’s defenses were knocked over until there was nothing left to protect his heart.

  When he’d found out Shelly was pregnant—posthumously—he assumed she’d had a secret boyfriend she thought he would hate. And she would’ve been right—no man was good enough for her. And the man in front of him…

  Nah, that’s impossible. “You’re such a goddamn liar.”

  “Often yes, but not right now. Even if I gave a shit about my sister, I wouldn’t be upset about you fucking her. Because I fucked yours. And—I forgot her name. Shelby? Sheila? Whatever. She was an amazing fuck.”

  Mitch felt like he’d just been punched in the gut from six feet away. He wished it had been a physical punch. ‘Cause that hurt far less than this.

  Whittley was the bastard who got Shelly pregnant. Another science experiment performed on a wonderful, innocent soul. Mitch knew his sister—she was everything he wasn’t. Everything Whittley wasn’t. Shelly was not a one-night-stand kind of girl. So the only way Whittley could’ve gotten her pregnant was if he got her so drunk she couldn’t say no. Or if he didn’t listen to her no’s.

  He raped my sister. He fucking raped my sister. The only way to stop his body from shaking was to move. So he launched himself forward. Whittley jumped out of the way, and all Mitch grabbed was shirt. When that ripped, the asshole ran away. Did he know they were both stuck in a box? Not too many places to flee in a box.

  “Was she conscious?” He asked the question before he realized that he didn’t want to know. It wouldn’t change anything. This was just something else to hate him for. And knowing what he’d done to her only reminded Mitch of all the ways he hadn’t been able to protect her.

  “Mostly.” Whittley shrugged. “She wouldn’t have been able to suck my cock if she was totally unconscious.”

  “You sick fucking bastard.” He hit low, like a football player, using Whittley’s body instead of one of those plush pad things. The momentum sent both of them onto the floor. At least the other asshole was getting the brunt of it, acting as an unwilling crash pad.

  “You and I have a lot in common, Turner.”

  “Same curse, totally different coping mechanisms. You torture, rape, and kill people. I irritate them. I don’t see the similarity.”

  “Tomatoes, tomatoes.”

  Mitch shot back onto his feet, dragging the other man up by the waist. He didn’t let go and he didn’t stop striking. He did, however, have a hard time ignoring the fist that hit him right in the solar plexus. He lost his grip as he tumbled backwards, fiery pain in his chest and his breath knocked out of him.

  With absolutely no thought for himself, he came back and, after grabbing the collar of Whittley’s shirt and squeezing, he landed a few satisfying punches. One in the jaw, another in the cheekbone. The last one was so hard, it knocked the guy out of Mitch’s grip.

  Something felt…wrong.

  Whittley was panting, blood on his forehead, lip, hands, and everywhere else Mitch had touched him.

  “I’m going to castrate you,” Mitch said. “You realize that, don’t you? And you’ll definitely be conscious.” In order to do that, he had to stay in control. Of himself and of Whittley.

  But whatever the hell was going on inside the asshole was deeply disturbing. Mitch’s body was stiffening up, his muscles locking as the pull grew stronger. Just like in Florida around Whittley’s old man. That damn pull—like a siren’s call. A perverse, evil, ugly siren that would get metaphorically fucked if it was the last thing Mitch ever did.

  The only way out was through pain. He wouldn’t let the asshole win the fight because he was unworthy. Because he wasn’t beating Mitch enough.

  A kick to his abs that normally might have knocked him back a step put him on the ground instead. Mitch wasn’t the kind of guy anyone would put on a pedestal, but it turned out that he’d be great at falling off one. His back hit the floor first and then his head, but not with enough force to do any damage or even to release him from the pull.

  The only thing that would make this more fun would be if Mitch started seizing now. Not that anyone would be able to tell, of course—rigor mortis had already set in.

  Whittley stood still for a minute, heavy breathing, confusion on his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just giving you a breather.” If he wasn’t going to die in the next few seconds, he would have the time to feel humiliated.

  Instead of kicking Mitch while he was down like any sane person would do, Whittley ran in the other direction. Right to the syringe Mitch had anted up.

  Oh, shit.

  His head tilting and a melodramatic frown on his face, Whittley pressed his thumb on the plunger, sending all of Mitch’s salvation raining down, down, down.

  Wonderful. I get to lick the floor after I kill that motherfucker. Unless the motherfucker killed him first, which seemed the more-likely scenario when Mitch looked at it…from his back.

  “Oh no, Turner. Did you need that?”

  “I would never have pegged you as a cheater, Whittley. You seem like such an honest guy.”

  “I’m honest with myself. No one else matters.” He took a few steps closer. “But how about this—I honestly thought you’d be a better fighter.”

  I used to be. Mitch was almost out of smack to talk, so he had to move on to something deeper, something that would cause him a lot of emotional pain. And hopefully, it would get Whittley to turn the pain physical. No pain, no more Mitch. In times like these, you aim low—physically, psychologically, and verbally. Whittley had already proven the damage it could do. But he had sore spots as well, two sore spots—his Hyde and his family.

  Mitch looked at the I-beams that ran across the ceiling of the cell. “So to recap: You…knew my sister once, and I know your sister freque
ntly, and right up until I killed him, I think your dad and I were getting along great. So we’re practically a family—a seriously dysfunctional, incestuous family.”

  “Get up.”

  “Did I ever fuck your mom, Ry?”

  Whittley’s shoulders tightened even further as he came towards Mitch. “Fight with your hands, not your mouth.”

  “Sure. Just one more question: Did you ever fuck your mom?”

  When Whittley’s boot hit Mitch’s side, he gained some control over his body. Oooh, feel the burn. He snagged the guy’s foot and shoved hard. All he had to do was keep up the motivational speeches and he’d be fine.

  “I didn’t hear your answer. Can you repeat it?” Mitch relished the control gained by the pain. And he wouldn’t have to worry about the pull once Whittley was dead.

  “I wanted to drag this out and enjoy it, but you’ve made that impossible.”

  “Right, you’re on a timeline. Things to torture and people to kill. What are you going to do when you run out of them?”

  Whittley spun around and did some kind of jujitsu move that ended with his foot on Mitch’s abs again, shooting him backwards onto his ass. He blinked, trying to find air, but either his lungs had shut down or the room wasn’t giving any up.

  “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”

  “Really?” he asked, concentrating on expanding his ribcage and belly to force his goddamn lungs to start working again. “Because you don’t seem fine. You seem like you’ve lost all your fucking marbles.” He looked up and saw something that would’ve made him laugh…if he’d been on the other side of the glass.

  Whittley’s eyes were now entirely blue.

  Big fucking game changer. “You idiot. You didn’t take your meds, did you?”

  “Got distracted. I’ll do it just as soon as I’m done with you.”

  “It’s going to be too late by then, asshole.” And with no drug to stop a seizure and bring Hyde back, Mitch’s time and luck gauges were both blinking ‘E’.

  He climbed to his feet. “I’ve been thinking about what to put on your headstone, Ry. What do you think of: ‘Even though he was a crappy son, a terrible boss, and a shitty lay, he was the best monster ever’? And then it could end with a smiley-face.” He shrugged. “But if you want to change the order around, I’m okay with that—put ‘shitty lay’ first or something.”

  Mitch needed to get out. Now. But the walls were too tall to climb, and he doubted that Whittley would give him a boost. So the door it was. The door that was on the other side of the asshole transforming right before his eyes.

  He threw all of his weight into Whittley, knocking him to the ground. Then he lifted him up by a fistful of shirt and slammed his head against the floor as many times as he could. Dazed and wobbly, Whittley still managed a good jab right under Mitch’s ribcage. Mitch rallied with a punch so hard, it was a miracle he hadn’t broken his hand along with Whittley’s jaw.

  But a Hyde didn’t need a working jaw to kill. Or to follow Mitch out that door as soon as he opened it. His only chance was to knock Whittley so unconscious, it might have some effect on the monster crawling out of the asshole’s skin.

  In not nearly enough time, he felt Whittley’s body change, his own body lifting a little farther off the ground. Hyde Jr. was ready to play. Now would be a good time for Plan B. If he had a Plan B. What could he do against a beast that outweighed him by about a hundred pounds and whose knack for destruction was unparalleled by any other primate? Well, it would be nice to start by getting off the bastard. But that wasn’t exactly possible with Mitch’s entire body in statue-mode.

  Blood was leaking out of places it shouldn’t—the Hyde’s ears and eyes. Well, isn’t that particularly disgusting? And it was a great sign that the bastard’s body was failing. Unfortunately, it wasn't happening fast enough.

  Not wanting to excite the animal while they were in the SAME FUCKING CAGE, Mitch spoke slowly and calmly. “Okay, big guy. I take back the shitty lay comment. And any of the others you want me to. I’m sure you’re a great lay. Not that I actually want to know.”

  “Move!” Eden’s voice came through the open ceiling.

  Boy, he’d really, really like to. And then, when the Hyde wrapped his hand around Mitch’s neck and squeezed, he could. Now he had to do something before he passed out. He aimed for something he could reach, jabbing his fist right into the creature’s throat.

  “Get out of the way!”

  What did she think he was trying to do? Coughing, the Hyde tossed him backwards, and Mitch kept going, scrambling backwards on his ass because it would’ve taken too long to get to his feet.

  Eden was standing on a table and straining to reach the top of the wall, the gun raised above her head. Props for trying, but it wasn’t going to work from that angle. As the monster slowly climbed to his feet, Mitch glanced at the empty syringe that would’ve brought out his own Hyde. And given him a chance of getting out of here.

  I’m gonna die in a fucking fishbowl.

  Chapter XLIV

  Eden fired as soon as Mitch was out of the way. Once. Twice. Then a third time. Each bullet hit a different area, jolting the Hyde back a step and then knocking him to his knees. Then he climbed back to his feet and ripped off what was left of Ryan’s clothing.

  Damn it. She’d just wasted three shots. Firing from outside the glass while hanging on the wall by her arms was just stupid, especially with the slug in her shoulder. She was never going to hit him somewhere fatal unless she fired from one of the beams running across the top of the cage.

  The Hyde was tossing Mitch around, playing with him, enjoying the incredibly unfair fight.

  “Get out, Mitch!” She jumped down and grabbed a chair to put on top of the table.

  “No can do, babe! He’d come out with me.” ‘Me’ was elongated and then cut off abruptly at the same time Eden heard a thud and a moan. “But you feel free to shoot him whenever.”

  “You stupid, stubborn, idiotic…man. Just get out!” From her makeshift pyramid, she aimed directly at the Hyde’s head and pulled the trigger….of a gun that did nothing but click. Not now! She pulled it again. And again.

  Stupid, idiotic, piece of shit. She threw it at the Hyde and jumped down, hearing him grunt when the weapon hit. Hurray—he’ll have an itty-bitty bump on his head when he murders Mitch.

  Think, Eden. There had to be a way to either kill the Hyde or get Mitch out of the cage. Think.

  She saw the chain and cuffs she’d just gotten out of. The chain was long, long enough to hang over one of the beams and give Mitch something he could use to climb out. She pulled the chain hand-over-hand until it was free from the O-rings on the wall, and then dragged it to the cage.

  Eden tried to separate herself from what was happening behind the glass because if she focused on Mitch dying, she couldn’t make sure he lived. It was impossible to ignore when his body hit the wall in front of her and she saw the pain on his face. Only four inches separated them.

  Without looking at her, Mitch turned around dazedly and stretched his neck. “You hit like a girl…who’s asleep.”

  The Hyde chuckled. “The more you talk, the more I want to kill you.”

  “Really? Who would’ve ever thought my mouth would get me into trouble?”

  She slipped her hand through the cuff at one end of the chain and pulled herself onto the top of the wall. Then she let herself fall forward, grabbing the closest I-beam with both arms as she hit. Her shoulder screamed in pain, but the muscles didn’t fail. Once she was straddling the beam, she wrapped the chain around it twice and attached the cuff to secure it.

  Groans, moans, and slams echoed below her, but Eden couldn’t lose focus now. When Mitch coughed and said, “Do you know a good Chinese place around here? When we’re done with this, I wanna take Eden out for dinner,” she wanted to laugh. As long as he was being an ass, he was still breathing.

  He landed a good kick right in between the creature’s legs that sent him
to his knees. It also sent Mitch stumbling backwards awkwardly. He was too weak right now. There was no way he’d be able to use the chain to climb out. She crouched down and then made a decision Mitch was going to hate. But there was no other way, and he wasn’t going to last much longer. Plus, he did stuff she hated all the time. The Hyde looked disoriented but deadly as he gathered his legs under him, readying to stand.

  When the unattached end of the chain hit the cage floor, Mitch looked up, his eyes finding hers almost immediately. “No.” There was such finality in that one word. No room for negotiation or discussion. Neither of which she was interested in.

  “No!” he yelled as her feet hit the floor next to his. “Get out of here!”

  “Shut up and distract him. Then pull when I tell you to pull.”

  Without any further explanation, he understood. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “It has to,” she said, already running for the opposite side of the room, the chain in her fist. She was faster than Hyde, but speed might not be enough. He turned towards her, but she kept moving, circling him. Mitch wrapped his arms around the Hyde’s waist to hold him back. The creature was so strong, Mitch’s feet slid on the cement floor.

  Eden’s only focus was avoiding his hands and getting the chain onto his shoulders. He didn’t seem to even notice the extra weight, probably because he was so focused on trying to kill her. When his nails stripped grooves into her back, she cried out but kept moving. Pain could happen later.

  One more loop and she ran into Mitch. “Now!” With his hands almost on top of hers, they pulled. The chain tightened, sliding from something like a necklace into a noose. When the links snagged on each other, they had to give it slack and shake it free. And that meant getting closer to the beast. He lunged towards them and they jerked backwards—each action serving to tighten the noose. Gagging, he swiped, desperately trying to reach them.

  He fisted the chain and pulled, but their combined weight and strength stopped him from dragging them closer. As long as they and the I-beam held, he was stuck. And his desire to get his hands on them resulted only in cutting off more of his air.