“Who took him?” she asked, her voice low. Calm.
“A couple of Unseelie bastards, including the big nasty we spotted the other day at Jay Vandermere’s house. They knocked him out as soon as he rounded the corner, and then they hauled him away.” Trevor’s eyes held a fury she’d seen once, at the Lotus Garden when his nightmarish old owner showed up.
“Fuck.” She let out a low curse bordering on a growl. Unless Danica made some vast strides with whatever Rembrandt industries sent her way, they had no clue as to why Jay Vandermere was after Kieran. “I’ll bust into Vandermere’s house and wring him alive.” She palmed her Beretta, ready to march down to his place and demand retribution.
“I want answers as bad as you do, Lizzie,” Jett said, remaining the calm one since her own sense of reason had been scorched away. “However, we’ve got to play smart. Let’s get Danica to meet with us back at the RV, and we’ll go over the mail we stole last night. There has to be something we’re overlooking.”
The idea of heading to the RV while Kieran remained out there in the hands of the enemy dosed her with anxiety, but she fought the urge to snap at Jett. After all, if they didn’t track down the bastards who took him, they might never get him back.
“Fine,” she said, her voice terse, “but I want first dibs on the big nasty who took him.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The stench of mildew reached him at once, further evident by the damp chill along his bare arms. The second scent he picked up was an all too familiar one, a roasted coffee aroma that failed to stamp out all the wrongness here. Kieran let out a wet cough, his eye aching, his jaw throbbing, and patches of intense pain lining his arms and legs.
He had no idea how long he’d been here, but not only had his one eye crusted over, but the other swelled too much to open all the way. As he tried to bring his hands forward to clear out his eyes, pressure restricted him from the wrist, snapping them into place again. Kieran let out a shallow breath. Fuck, he’d been restrained, which eliminated one of his greatest assets, the ability to touch and influence. Whoever took him here had prepared to lock up an incubus.
All he remembered was brimstone, heat, and a big ass bastard looming over him when he’d turned the corner. If memory served him right, two malevolent Unseelie had been waiting in the wings behind the main guy. Which meant he would’ve been boned either way.
He blinked the crust out of his one eye and managed to squeeze the other one open enough to get a gauge on the room. Darkness surrounded him except from the couple of ochre beams spilling in through the small square window by the ceiling. So he hung in a basement of sorts. With his luck, it’d either be his asshole brother’s digs or the idiot who’d helped him, Jay Vandermere.
From the slow beams ambling through the place, he caught a glimpse of wire racks in the back lined to the brim with pressure-sealed five-pounder coffee bags. His brow wrinkled in confusion as he scanned the rest of the room. Apart from the shelving laden with brown Kraft boxes, the room lay empty. A black desk sat in the corner, and the earthen floor hadn’t been finished, adding to the musty smell down here.
He tugged at the manacles strapped to his wrists, causing the chains to jangle. These weren’t the average restraints either—the way they ached around his wrists meant they must’ve been forged with platinum bands. Pure platinum was a tool of the Unseelie and would’ve scalded a Seelie-born like him, even without claiming his allegiance to any courts or proprieties. Glancing at the beams above him, Kieran balled his hands into fists, trying to concentrate through the pain.
Jay Vandermere—he’d seen the man before in earlier years. Hell, he could’ve sworn he even shook the man’s hand after being introduced, but all of those fae functions blurred into the past for him as a parade of hated memories. The burns along his arms throbbed, but he ignored the pain, focusing in on the walls.
The realization struck him like a punch to the gut.
The basement door creaked open from the long stairwell leading up—to escape. Footsteps pounded along the wooden steps, the weight causing the planks to groan. Kieran’s insides squeezed tight until the rage coiled inside him like a beast begging to prowl. His gaze didn’t leave the steps once, waiting for the intruder to approach from the shadows and confirm his hunch that now seemed all too clear.
“You’ve finally woken up,” a familiar voice murmured. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”
The woman slunk toward him with the poise she always radiated, her hips swinging side to side. Jett had joked she carried a flame for him, but Winter’s breath, he hadn’t believed the siren, until now. A smile curved her lips as she came to a halt in front of him, placing her hands on her hips, as if they were having a normal conversation and he wasn’t chained up.
Jessa stared at him, the cruelty in her gaze a foreign thing from the woman he’d once loved.
“Nice, sweetheart. Because this isn’t coming across desperate,” Kieran drawled. Despite the bite of the cuffs around his wrists and the pain radiating through him, his rage triumphed over all of that.
Jessa’s eyes narrowed. “You goddamn asshole. Like we both don’t know you cost me my place in the Court. I would’ve risked it all for you, but when you dumped me, they treated me like a leper, a pariah.”
Kieran snorted. “Welcome to the club. I’ve been a pariah from birth so don’t expect too much sympathy from me. Not like your family disowned you.”
“They would’ve. But with the upcoming hunter threat, Tiberius promised a position of power to anyone who could bring more numbers into the fold by recruiting their unaligned. Fail to do so and you’re excised from Court protection. With our family businesses tied together, my family’s at risk too.” Jessa folded her arms across her chest with a haughty look in her gaze as she scanned him up and down.
The possession stark in her features sent a shudder of revulsion through him. As if he didn’t know what her addled brain had in mind with his disappearance. He’d been wrong pegging Misandra as a psycho, because her betrayal didn’t come close to this level of insanity.
“You can’t force me to align—that’s not how it works,” Kieran said, trying to focus on needling her rather than the way his body ached or the slow trickle of dread at how deeply in trouble he was. “Tiberius will find some other reason to discredit you and your family instead. Face it, Jessa. The Court is preying on your desperation, and Winter’s breath, you reek of it.”
Her brows furrowed, the twisted anger turning those pretty features into something ugly. As he goaded her, he scanned the room, looking for a nearby tool, furniture, or some way to get out of there. With her front and center, he couldn’t start testing the chains, and the chairs, a stray wrench, and other items lay at least several feet away, meaning he wouldn’t be able to tug anything forward with his feet.
“Big talk when you’re reduced to a prisoner down here,” she said with a sneer, walking closer to him. “Being aligned is essential for your own protection. But until you’ve come to see reason, I’ll enjoy breaking you.” The hunger in her eyes as she stared him over spelled out what sordid future she had in mind.
Bile rose in Kieran’s throat, but he didn’t let his mind wander too far ahead. Indulging in those fears would cripple him. The lust-filled look in Jessa’s eyes and the thought of how he’d left Liz sleeping in his bed made him too sick to bear.
However, Kieran would get the hell out of here, no matter the cost. He wouldn’t be reduced to the hellish future Jessa envisioned. “Sorry, Jess, psychos are a turn off. I’ve had enough of your ugly mug to last a century,” he said.
“Once your hunter girl is out of the picture, you’ll have no reason to remain out in the cold.” Jessa’s eyes flashed with anger as his words hit home. “Who knows, maybe Tiberius will even reward me for killing one of the enemy.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare do a thing to her,” he growled. His hands balled into fists, wrists straining against the heavy manacles. If she l
aid a finger on Liz, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her cold. In all of his disorientation upon waking up and encountering Jessa, he hadn’t thought to check for his weapons. Nothing weighted his waist, but he shifted forward, pretending to surge out of anger toward her. Cool metal brushed against the inside of his boot—the bitch hadn’t removed his butterfly knife.
“Touchy, touchy.” Jessa resumed her level of calm, cruel, and collected as she tapped the side of her face. “Maybe I’ll bring you her head as a souvenir.”
The idea of anyone trying to hurt Liz made his temper skyrocket in a fierce way. He treasured those memories last night with her so much they ached in his chest. The way Liz dropped her guards and welcomed him in—being with her was like after a long journey, returning home. Kieran thrashed against his bonds, the chains jangling with his motions and the manacles biting deeper into his wrists.
“The more you struggle, the more you’ll injure yourself,” she said leaning in close to him. “And we both know I won’t be able to heal you in the way you need.” Her gaze fixated on his lips.
Kieran squeezed his stomach tight to bite back the revulsion and played into it. He switched on the gaze he’d delivered to a thousand girls before who he hadn’t given a damn about. Sure, he’d healed and energized, but they never reached his heart, and they’d never connected with him.
Jessa’s eyes widened, and the greedy bitch leaned forward to kiss him.
Her mistake.
Kieran reared back, slamming his forehead against hers. The crack resounded around the room, but before she staggered backward, he thrust his hips forward to lock his legs around her torso. He’d sleep with her over his dead body or preferably hers. Pivoting with his hips, he used his legs like a clamp and given the momentum, shoved her body forward.
Reeling from the sudden onslaught, Jessa whipped around at an off angle and lost her balance. She went flying forward, spreading her hands out as she crashed onto the ground.
She hit the floor with a smack, her side absorbing most of the blow. He’d been hoping the attack would’ve knocked her out but no such luck. She let out a groan as she shook her head, wincing at the motion.
Kieran braced himself for the backlash, because stirring the pot with someone as batshit as Jessa would have consequences. In their year together, he’d never seen this side of her, this sadistic and desperate streak. Selfish and spoiled, sure, but he’d looked past those traits during their relationship.
She pushed herself from the floor and smoothed the skirts of her long paisley dress. The woman took her time with each meticulous stroke to the starchy fabric, even though she brimmed with rage the entire time.
She straightened her stance until her gaze met Kieran’s, those dark doe eyes glinting with a vicious gleam. “You won’t be pulling a stunt like that again.” Her voice iced over as she walked to the desk on the opposite side of the room. Her heels clicked against the hard-packed earth as she crossed the chamber. When she reached the desk, she pulled open the drawer, retrieving several long, thin knives. “I can be patient,” she said, the leaden tone unnerving.
Kieran clenched his jaw, refusing to look down. She could torture him all she liked—he wouldn’t break. His brother had done a number on him every time he found happiness, his parents had beaten him in their fights for submission, and he’d gotten into so many brawls growing up that he didn’t fear a little pain. The only threat with any weight was the one against Liz, because he couldn’t bear to lose her, not after what transpired between them.
But if Jessa wasted her time torturing him, she wouldn’t be trying to eliminate Liz.
“Bring it, bitch,” he growled.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Once they leapt off the light rail and raced up the steps of the underground tunnel on their way back to the RV, Liz yanked out her phone to make the call to Danica. Each passing moment with no word from Kieran and no leads allowed her imagination to take hold, and that became a dark and terrifying place. Her Keds slapped along the pavement as she set a quick pace, though with the way their nerves rode them, the guys kept up.
She pressed Danica’s number and lifted the phone to her ear, waiting for the clever leannan sidhe to pick up as the ringing began. Her breath caught in her throat. She gunned for the RV like a lifeline, as if she’d arrive there and Kieran would be waiting. Like nothing ever happened. Like he hadn’t been beaten and dragged out to wherever the fuck the bastard who wanted him dead or alive kept him. This entire situation reaffirmed her healthy fear of the fae from the start—despite the ones she cared about, the rest of the lot were a menace.
“Hey, Obiwan,” Danica’s cheery voice came through the phone loud and clear.
“Kieran’s been snatched. Did you get those emails? Do you have any lead as to who the hell might’ve taken him?” Liz fought to keep her voice level as she relayed the information, even though urgency leaked through anyway.
A sigh came through the speaker. “That sucks, but I’m outtie, chica. Our alliance was to take Larsen down, and right now, I’m delivering his head on a platter to the Court. Bastard will be behind bars once they get a gander at these financials. Everyone’s got their panties in a twist about recruiting their unaligned, whether it be family or business associates, but I wouldn’t worry—it’s not like anyone can force the decision.” Danica spoke with the same brisk, business-like efficiency as always, and before Liz fit another word in edgewise, the line went silent, because Danica hung up.
“What did she have to say?” Renn asked, lagging a pace or two behind them.
Liz blinked, unable to register what had just happened. She tucked her phone into her pocket, and her brows furrowed, but she couldn’t piece together how fast someone she’d believed to be a friend dropped them in their time of need. The entire excursion yesterday hadn’t been about Jay Vandermere—Danica must have gotten what she needed from the financials they’d scoured over during their visit to Rembrandt company. A sharp shard needled her chest as the realization sunk in from betrayal she hadn’t felt this fiercely in a long time.
“She’s out,” Liz said as they neared the parking lot.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Trevor growled. “Why the hell is she bailing out?”
Jett’s gaze flashed to ice with understanding. “Because she got what she needed to from us. She never signed on to solve a mystery or help Kieran—she stated her intentions from the beginning: to take Larsen down. And once she got the ammo to do so, she no longer needed this alliance.”
“Fae lawyering at its finest,” Liz spat out. Rage burned in her something fierce at the sharp needling in her chest. She’d believed Danica to be a friend, thought she was more than a convenient alliance. And now in two foul sweeps, her so-called friend got the hell out of dodge, and the man she’d finally let in was missing with no leads. “Fuck,” she cursed, her voice ragged. If anything happened to Kieran, she’d never forgive herself.
“Cold-hearted bitch,” Renn said, shaking his head. The storm cloud around their group increased at this news, since the one hope they had snuffed out.
Liz’s throat burned, but she didn’t let her emotions triumph. Though her incubus would fight like hell the moment he woke up, if his captors wanted him dead in the end or were trying to extract information from him, she didn’t want to think about the torture he might endure. The idea made her ill.
“We can’t let that deter us,” Liz said, the calm person she projected sounding foreign in her ears. “Priority number one is getting our boy back.”
“Right, the mail we stole.” Trevor took the cue and jogged ahead. While they’d pieced through the letters last night for a brief scan of anything startling, everyone had been too exhausted to fine-tooth comb it with the sleuthing that seemed to be Danica’s specialty. They’d come to rely on her too much, not realizing the woman served herself, and that was it. Liz tugged on the end of her ponytail, frustration riding her in one consuming tidal wave.
“What did she say?” Jett asked
as they made their way to the RV.
Trevor opened the doors and near dove inside.
“That she was ‘outtie.’ Seelie and Unseelie families are coming out of the woodwork to push those unaligned to take a side or the rulers will dole out consequences. Not like she couldn’t be bothered to help out,” Liz said, not trying to quench the bitterness. She should’ve expected this one—after all, she’d spent a lifetime not trusting people. However, being around these guys changed her, and they’d left their mark in an indelible way. She’d found people she trusted with her life. For the first time, she had a home she didn’t want to leave.
“Hmm,” Jett murmured, sinking deep into thought.
Liz hopped up the steps to the RV right as Renn slammed a fist into the side. The ferocity of his punch left a dent, but she didn’t have the heart to argue it or even care. The exact same frustration coursed through her.
Trevor sat at the kitchen table where the letters they’d snagged lay open across it. He pored over them with the same intensity he applied to playing the guitar, so absorbed he shut out everything else.
She snagged a couple of the flyers from the top—junk mail that came with any route. Except this consisted of the normal suburban tripe of lawn cutting services and a local restaurant opening.
Trevor scanned over a banking document, which by the seven or eight pages in it proved to be a lengthy read.
Liz tossed the papers to the side while Jett snagged a chair beside them and plucked another piece of mail from the bunch.
Under the flyers lay an official looking envelope with a return address featuring none other than the Blackmore family. She tore the thing open. A bill for services. The thing was all numbers and menial bullshit, the sort any company might send to another. “At least we know why Larsen wants him so badly now,” she muttered. “Associates of undeclareds are getting the black mark.”
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