by Maggie Nash
Vincent grunted as a sharp pain shot down hip, knowing he was going to be black and blue by the time this ordeal was over.
If he got out of here alive, that is.
“Pick him up and bring him to my tent,” said a cultured voice with a clipped English accent.
Vincent tried to get a look at his surroundings as he was dragged behind the retreating back of the man who appeared to be the leader of this get up, but his eyes felt so gritty with a combination of dirt and sweat, all he got was blurry impressions of jungle.
No surprise there.
The tent was large with what appeared to be two rooms. The front area where he was brought contained a table and a couple of chairs and not much else. The leader sat on one of the chairs, leaning forward on his elbows while waiting for Vincent to be tied to another chair facing him. Vincent’s arms protested being drawn behind him again, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it, and no way was he going to show these bastards that it was getting to him.
The man opposite him stood as the men moved away from Vince. He was not a large man, but something about him told Vince he didn’t want to mess with him. His white blond hair was stark against his tanned skin and the lines around his pale, almost colorless blue eyes were the only feature that gave an indication that he was not a young man.
“So, Mr. Stone, I trust you are enjoying your accommodations?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
A heavy whack across the back of his head had him seeing stars, and if not for the restraints on the chair, he would have fallen to the floor.
“What the…?”
The man smiled, his eyes cruel, as he came forward.
“My men take exception to insolence. You will learn to answer my questions. Now tell me, how do you like your accommodations?”
Vincent shook his head, trying to clear the buzz that had started up in his ears. “Just fine and dandy. So who are you?”
The man laughed, his enjoyment evident as he abruptly stopped in front of Vince and slapped him across the face. “You have spirit. I like that, but you must learn to respect me or things could become very bad for you, Mr. Stone.”
He moved back and sat behind the table once more, pouring himself a glass of what looked like water from a silver vacuum flask. “I ask the questions and you answer them. It’s very simple, if you take the time to listen. Would you care for a drink?”
Vincent answered him by glaring into his face. No way was he sharing a drink with this bastard.
“No? Well, I guess your mind is a little muddled. Rani, give Mr. Stone a drink, will you? He doesn’t know what he needs at the moment and I would hate him to go without.”
One of the guards brought another glass to the table and filled it with water. Turning to Vincent, instead of offering it to drink, he threw it in his face, the cool water mingling with his sweat and forming streams down his face. He licked a large drop from his lower lip and chin, again staying silent.
“All refreshed? Good. Now we’ll get down to business.” He nodded to one of the guards, who slapped Vince across the face again.
Vincent tasted blood as one of his teeth caught the edge of his lip, but he wasn’t going to risk another blow by talking. It might be better to wait and see what this maniac had in mind.
“That was just to reinforce the rules, my friend. Be sure to remember them.”
I’m not fucking likely to forget them, you bastard!
“Now we have that sorted, I will begin. My name is Davis Thornton. No doubt you’ve heard of me.”
Thornton? “Of course, that would be the same Thornton who sells out the heritage of ancient cultures.”
His expression hardened. “I am a businessman. The politics of the people I deal with is not my concern.”
He moved out of the chair and to the side of the room, staring out through the mess window to the jungle outside. “I want the relic and you are going to give it to me.”
So they hadn’t found the relic at the shrine, after all.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
This time one of the thugs punched him in the solar plexus, making him grunt loudly as he felt all the air forced out of his lungs. Jeezus bloody Christ…how was he ever going to get through this torture?
“Try again, Mr. Stone. You are only making this harder on yourself. I know you are after the relic, and I insist you tell me everything you know about its whereabouts.”
If he stuck to the truth, maybe Thornton would believe him. He had to find a way to bluff his way out of this to keep Magda safe.
“Look, Thornton, yes, I am looking for it, but I have no idea where it is. You’re wasting your time with me.”
Thornton walked in front of him and grabbed his hair, pulling his head backwards and forcing him to look into his eyes. “Tell me what you know or I will get the information from the woman. I have a much more pleasant game to entice her to cooperate.”
Vincent rammed his feet on the ground and stood, the chair still attached. He was almost nose-to-nose with Thornton and feeling no pain as the anger took over. “You touch her and I will kill you.”
The thugs unceremoniously shoved him back to the floor and he fell sideways, taking the chair with him. His side burned as he felt the imprint of a boot on his ribs.
Fuck!
“How quaint. You feel protective of her. This is good. All right then, I will give you my word she will not be touched if you tell me all that you know.”
“I’m sorry if I’m just a little wary, but your word means nothing to me. How do I know you will keep it? If I tell you anything, you’ll kill both of us anyway.”
Thornton raised a blond eyebrow and smiled. “You will never know unless you test that theory, will you?” He returned to the table and sat. “I will tell you this, Mr. Stone. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I will get the information from your lady friend”—he poured himself another drink and saluted Vincent—“one way or another.”
Vince made a spilt-second decision, and he hoped like hell it was the right one. He didn’t really have any choice if he was to protect Mags, and if his plan worked out, then things might get better.
One of the goons moved closer to him and he scrambled to speak in time to avoid another blow. “Hey, back off, mate. I have some information for your boss.”
The man stood his ground, his hand raised while he waiting for orders from Thornton.
“Leave him for now, Rani. We’ll see what he has to say.”
Magda paced back and forth across the damp floor of the pit for what seemed like the two-thousandth time. She rubbed her upper arms to stave off the chill she felt being underground. How long would it be until they brought Vincent back? Would they bring him back at all?
Warm tears trickled down her cheeks as she thought about the possibility that he’d been killed. She’d never gotten a chance to tell him how much she still loved him. Now maybe she never would.
Damn this bloody relic!
She heard a sound above and the ladder was again lowered to the floor. Vincent started to climb down, but one of the men above shoved his head down, and he fell the rest of the way, landing on his side at Magda’s feet. One of his eyes was swollen and black and blue, and there was blood trickling down his chin from a cut on his lip.
Oh God!
The ladder was whipped up as fast as it had come down and Magda went down on her knees next to Vincent immediately.
Tentatively, she gently stroked a hair off his forehead. “Oh my God, Vincent. What did they do to you?”
He opened his good eye and attempted a smile from his bruised and cut lips before wincing at the effort. “Mags,” he whispered. “You’re okay! I was worried.”
“Don’t worry about me, Stone. I can look after myself. It’s you I’m concerned about. Your face, it’s so swollen and bruised. Did they hurt you anywhere else?”
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck, if that’s what you want to know.
I vaguely remember a boot connecting with my ribs, but I could be wrong.”
Magda looked around to see if there was anything she could use to clean the wounds on his face. The hijab scarf had been tied around her waist when they’d been captured and it now lay abandoned on the floor. “Hang on a second and I’ll see what I can do to clean you up.”
“Don’t worry too much, Mags, I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t if you get an infection, you idiot!”
She stood and walked over to the scarf. Near one of the edges was a small rip, so she helped it along, ripping a small section off. Folding it into a small square, she then collected the large shell she’d placed under the dripping water to collect for drinking in case their hosts didn’t feed them. Moving back to Vincent, she lifted his head and placed it to his mouth. “Here, take a sip. It’ll make your mouth feel better.”
Vince pulled back, his mouth turning up. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s water. I collected it for us to drink.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
“As sure as I can be without a lab. I did the sniff and taste test and it seems fine. There must be an underwater well somewhere around here. Go ahead. Just take a sip.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“Just drink it, for God’s sake, you big baby!”
Magda was sure she heard a soft chuckle just before Vincent took the shell in his mouth. His tongue came out and licked the last drop off his lip after she put the shell aside.
“Thanks, Mags. That feels a lot better,” said Vincent, his voice now sounding a bit stronger. “Where’d the shell come from?”
Mags turned her head as she placed the shell back under the dripping water after first soaking the piece of material she had ripped off the scarf. “It was on the ground here. This must once have been at sea level I figure. It looks like some sort of crustacean, like a scallop. I used to find these on the beach in Sydney all the time when I was a kid.”
Reaching his side again, she sat beside him. “Can you lift your head? I’ll cushion it with my lap.”
He opened his good eye again and winced as he attempted to move. “Maybe if you help me a little. My hands are stiff from being tied up.”
After a few minutes of gentle lifting and rearranging, Magda finally had Vince’s head resting on her lap. She picked up the wet cloth and started to wipe it over his face, cleaning off the dirt and blood.
“Oh, that feels good. I could fall asleep here forever.”
“No, you don’t, Vince. You could have a concussion. You can doze, but I’m going to be waking you up every now and then just to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why bother? There’s nothing you can do for me other than what you’re doing now. Just let me sleep. I hurt like hell, Mags, and sleep is the only thing that is going to do me any good at this stage.”
Magda looked at his battered and exhausted body and couldn’t really disagree with him. He did need some rest. “Okay, but just for a few hours. Just for my own sanity, I need to know if you’re all right. Besides, you and I need to talk about what happened with the bad guys and make a plan for how to get the hell out of here.”
Vincent closed his eyes and yawned. “Fine. Whatever you want. Just going to sleep for a bit. Night, gorgeous.”
“What did you call me?”
But the only answer she got was a quiet snore. Vincent was deeply asleep. She took the opportunity to study him in slumber. His face was more relaxed now, and even with the injuries he’d sustained, he was still one very good-looking man. She ran her fingers gently over his cheek and he shifted, unconsciously moving closer to her hand. Why was he so hard to forget? Good-looking men were not that difficult to find for the women of the LAW. Men fell over themselves to get acquainted with them, but Vincent, he was different. He got so completely under her skin that she couldn’t fit anyone else under it.
Thank God he was still alive. She wouldn’t know what sort of shape he was in until the morning, but at least he didn’t seem too bad. She sighed, feeling exhaustion take over her. It had been a tough few hours and her eyes were drooping. A few hours’ nap wouldn’t do any harm, would it?
She lay back against the stone wall and placed her hand on Vincent’s head, carelessly playing with his hair and listening to his breathing.
* * * *
Magda woke to find herself being yanked upright, Vincent’s head dropping to the ground.
“What the fuck?”
With no time to retaliate, she was dragged to the ladder and pushed up the rungs. She turned her head in time to see Vincent scrambling to his feet, holding his side before she was pushed over the edge and out of the hole.
“Watch it, buster. That’s my spine you’re manhandling,” she yelled at the man behind her as he shoved her forward at a speed her feet were unable to keep up with. “I’ll fall down if you don’t let up, and then you’ll trip over me.”
“Be quiet, woman!” The beast pushed her even harder.
Bastard!
The tent she was led into seemed quite clean, which was a bit of a surprise given the disgusting state of the filthy thugs she’d seen so far. The table in the center of the front section was set up for dining, with a place setting for one. There was a plate with a silver cover over it waiting and a filled glass of what looked like white wine.
How nice. A civilized dinner in the jungle.
Hungry after two days of eating fruit, Magda’s stomach rumbled.
I wonder who’s eating it?
“You may sit, Magda,” said a cultured voice she didn’t recognize. “You don’t mind if I call you Magda, do you?”
She looked around to see if she could find the face that went with the voice. “Usually I know the people that I allow to become so familiar. I don’t even know your name.”
A blond man came into view in front of her and offered his hand for her to shake. “Davis Thornton at your service.”
She stared into his cold blue eyes, ignoring the hand. She knew that name and it wasn’t one she was in a hurry to get to know intimately. “You’ve got to be joking.”
His lips twitched slightly on one side, the other side of his face slack, as if he’d had a stroke. “I assure you, Magda, I never joke.” He dropped his hand and walked toward her, moving so close she could smell the sickly sweet odor of his sweat. “I suppose I can forgive your suspicion, since you do seem to be the captive and I, the captor.”
He walked around to the other side of the table, a slight limp noticeable as his tall, thin, body moved. “You may sit down. I had the chef prepare a special meal for you.”
Magda stood her ground, even though her stomach growled at the thought of a decent feed. “No, thanks.”
Thornton nodded to one of the thugs, and the next thing she knew, she was dragged by the arms to the chair and heavy pressure was being applied to her shoulders as she was pushed into the chair.
“It would be rude of you to refuse my hospitality, Magda, especially after all the trouble I have gone to, to make this a pleasant occasion.” He clicked his fingers and another man appeared with a second glass and a wine bottle. “At least share a glass of wine with me, my dear.”
I am not your dear! “Thank you for your kind offer, which I respectfully decline.”
The Brit glared at her, his face turning red and his breathing hitching up a notch. “Surely you are hungry from your trek through the jungle the last few days,” he hissed, before slowing his breathing and once again composing himself. “Just have a taste. I am sure you will be unable to resist eating the whole dish.”
What part of ‘no’ did he not understand?
“I’m not hungry. It seems being kept prisoner in a hole in the ground kills my appetite. Stop pussyfooting around and tell me why you have brought me here.”
Thornton stood abruptly, sending a waft of his sickly sweet sweat in her direction. “Fine. Then tell me what I want to know. Where is the relic?”
Wrinkling h
er nose to prevent the gag that was threatening, she answered him, standing as tall as she could manage. “Buggered if I know. I thought you had it.”
He moved away from the table and walked around behind her. “You thought wrong.” His hands wrapped around her hair on both sides and he tugged, pulling her head back in a tight grip. “The information Stone gave me was useless. Now I want you to tell me what I need to know.”
Instinctively, her hands reached for his as she bent her legs, kicking the table with all the strength she could muster. She pulled his hands toward her while digging her nails into his skin. He swore loudly and pulled his hands from her grip as the table went flying across the room, smashing the plates and glasses as they fell on roughly hewn rock which lined the floor of the tent.
Jumping out of her chair to face him, she was stopped in her tracks as two of the goons took hold of her once again.
Thornton breathed fire as he inspected his hands. “You bitch! I’m bleeding!”
“Ha, what about my scalp? You nearly pulled my hair out. No one messes with my hair!”
His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Oh shit. She didn’t like the look of his expression. Her temper seems to have gotten her into more trouble once again.
“You think this is funny? Perhaps a short spell with my men will change your mind. Let’s see if they can convince you to give me the information I need.”
He nodded at the one of the thugs, then turned around and left the tent. Just like that. No goodbyes. No nothing. Shit.
She shivered as a cold sweat trickled down her forehead as they dragged her outside the tent and lashed her arms and ankles to the trunk of a tree at the far side of the clearing. One of the men avoided eye contact with her as he pulled the rope tightly around her ankles, but it was the other one who had her worried. He leered at her, staring at her breasts with a heated expression in his eyes. She felt sick at the thought of his filthy hands touching her body.
Oh God, why didn’t she take up the girls’ offer of help while she had the chance?
The quiet one moved away and sat cross-legged facing her, about fifteen feet away. The flame from a fiery torch did little to illuminate his face except to cast more shadows over his already dark skin. All she knew was that he appeared to be the spectator, not the participant at this stage. She moved her gaze to the other man. He grinned at her, showing a gaping hole where his front teeth should have been and the remaining teeth showed blackened holes.