by JJ King
His nostrils flared with barely contained rage and I wondered when he’d managed to get control over his temper. He’d regularly lost it with me, which accounted for why I’d had so many broken bones over the years.
“I was raised by a king among wolves, and I refuse to live like a commoner anymore!” Randall’s voice rose with each word, like a preacher on the pulpit. His eyes blazed with fervent belief in what he said.
It made my blood curdle.
He glanced away from me, staring at nothing as if seeing a memory. “This world is disgusting and crude. People are sheep, just milling about their daily lives, ignorant of what could be, the possibilities for those who are bold enough to demand what’s rightfully theirs.” His eyes cut to me again, hot and mad, just like Raphael’s. “Don’t you think I’m bold enough, Alexis?”
He lifted his hand, holding it out so I could see what he'd retrieved from the table. It was a picture of a group of young women, standing before a majestic old manor house. I recognized the background, the women, and remembered the moment it had been taken.
I stood near the center of the group, flanked by Rose and Katherine, and surrounded by my sisters. There was hope and joy visible on almost every face, even those still shadowed by the past. We'd been free three days when Liam had gathered us together in front of his father's home and insisted on documenting such an amazing memory. He and Rose had arranged a party with cake, and decorations, and music, where we'd all laughed, and danced, and cried in catharsis. It was one of the first true peaceful memories in my entire life.
"Where did you get that?" I asked, reaching for the picture.
Randall pulled it out of reach and tapped a finger to it. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is this right here." He brought the picture closer and circled a finger around my face, including Rose and Katherine. "I know how close you've grown with sweet little Rose and how close she is with the bitch who ruined my life."
"This is about Katherine?" I frowned and tilted my head in question, not understanding the path of logic he was taking. I was close with Rose, yes, but so were a lot of the girls. As for Katherine, I rarely saw her, and that was usually only at a distance. "She was just standing next to me. We're not friends or anything."
He let the picture flutter to the floor where I grabbed it and held it like a shield against my chest.
"That may be true, but let's play six degrees of separation, shall we. He let the picture flutter to the floor where I grabbed it and held it like a shield against my chest. “We don’t even need all six. It’s simple. You’ve got LaFlamme blood running through your veins. The Alpha family won’t let you be tortured and killed, not if they can help it. So, I’m going to allow them to save you. Perhaps not all of you,” he said with a sly grin, snapping his teeth. “But most of you.”
He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “How much do you think you’re worth?”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. They don’t even know me. Why would I be worth anything to them?”
It boggled my mind that he would think I would make a difference to the Alpha family’s existence.
Randall's laughter rang out. "That's the best part! They'll care because they're good people." He put a bitter emphasis on good and rolled his eyes. "They care too much, and they're willing to sacrifice, especially material things, if it means saving a life. For them, it's as simple as that. Ta-da!" He lifted his hands, palms up, with a flourish.
I stared at him, letting my emotions show clearly on my face.
"You're just as mad as he is," I murmured, realizing just how far Raphael's influence had gone in Randall. "It'll never work."
He shrugged. "It will, but, on the off chance that it doesn't, who cares? I have nothing to lose, Alexis," he said, letting the corners of his lips fall. "If I win, you live, but if I lose—"
I shivered and squeezed my eyes shut, bringing to mind an image of my three beautiful guys, letting them give me the smallest measure of hope possible before looking back up at Randall and accepting him at face value.
I would live or die but, either way, this psychopath was going to get exactly what he wanted.
Chapter 22
I caught the first glimpse of approaching sunrise through the curtains just after Randall announced he was in need of a cup of coffee and would, perhaps, deign to bring me food, not that he was promising much, he said.
I moved to the window, pulled back the brittle lace, and peered into the diminishing darkness. The sun rose in the east, and it was straight ahead, which meant— absolutely nothing, I realized with a grimace.
"So much for being a CSI agent when I grow up," I muttered, shaking my head to clear the panic cobwebs. I had to forget about the big stuff and focus on the little details. They would be what saved me.
So, what did I see out the window?
Endless fucking forest.
I turned away from the window with a huff, knowing full well that most of the land surrounding Beta Wolf Academy consisted of undeveloped forests. The Academy, like every other Academy, made damn sure there were little to no locals around who could grow suspicious and start snooping. There were too many conspiracy theorists out there with ideas about the supernatural to warrant nonchalance in that area. The good news was that, if we were still in forested land, we might not be too far from Beta Wolf Academy.
The fact that my head still pounded from the drugs despite my lupine metabolism also suggested that it was the same night as my abduction.
I was getting better at this CSI shit.
I knew my alone time was limited, that Randall would be back sooner rather than later, hopefully with food. Maybe there was something in this room, or in the distance outside, that would help me escape, even though I really doubted it. Still, I scanned the room, taking in the pieces of furniture that, while old, were made of solid wood and were, therefore, potential weapons.
Randall was smart, and he'd been raised by a diabolical mad genius, so why had he left potential weapons in the room with me? And why hadn't he tied me up? I padded across the room, checking every corner and shadow, sneezing when the thick dust billowed up around my face. Other than the chair, a small table near the door, and the dresser drawers, there was nothing else useful in the room.
I was trying to decide what to do with the furniture pieces when footsteps began to climb what sounded like a long set of stairs.
Listening intently, I counted off the steps and tried to picture the layout of the house in my mind, so that I would be ready if I got the chance to escape.
Randall entered the room holding a tray filled with sandwiches that smelled suspiciously like peanut butter and jam. The choice struck me as such a mom snack that I had to choke back the manic laughter that bubbled into my throat. My stomach growled loudly when he set the tray down on the dresser and gestured towards the quartered sandwiches.
“Eat up," he said, which set my teeth on edge and reminded me of the Mad Hatter. "You'll need all your strength very soon."
I reached for a piece and brought it to my mouth, then froze with the sandwich inches from my mouth, suddenly realizing that the peanut butter and jam snack could be laced with more drugs, which would knock me unconscious and weaken me further.
Randall laughed, obviously enjoying himself.
"You watch too much television, Alexis. I didn't poison your sandwiches." He picked up a piece and took a bite, chewed thoroughly, and swallowed. "See, all clear."
When I took a bite and swallowed, he smiled.
"Good girl."
I swallowed the next bite, but it tasted like sawdust on my tongue.
But, since I had no intentions of dying or being maimed by this ass hat, I'd take his advice and keep up my strength.
He studied me while I ate, his eyes like a hawk, taking in every detail. I stared down at the floor and ignored him.
It was weird. He was weird; different somehow. There was a sharp edge of madness in his eyes now that had never been there before. He�
�d always been mercurial, flashing between calm and rage in an instant, but he seemed to be teetering on the edge of insanity now.
Fanfuckingtastic.
Raphael had gotten steadily more unstable towards the end but, as much as he’d liked to call himself The Father, he had no biological stock in any of our lives. His mental health issues hadn’t passed on to Randall through heredity.
Nature versus nurture at its best, I supposed.
But how did you handle a burgeoning psychopath with a longstanding chip on the shoulder for you, when he had you alone and was ready and willing to dismember you for shits and giggles?
The moment I finished the last piece, Randall lifted a bottle of water and waited patiently while I guzzled it down, then reached for the platter. He walked to the door without saying a word, then paused, looking over his shoulder at me and smiled again. Then the door clicked shut and I was alone again.
"What the fuck?" I muttered into the silence.
I'd watched a lot of police procedurals since leaving the mountain, and none of them had portrayed anything like this. How was I supposed to use my television learning when my captor was being unpredictable?
I groaned and blew out a puff of air, then looked around the room again, hoping that since the last time, something useful had appeared out of the ether. I sighed.
"Fuck it," I said between clenched teeth.
It was time to attempt an escape.
I moved quietly but quickly, pulling one of the drawers from the dresser and setting it on top so I could work. Everything in the room that had the possibility of being a weapon was visible and would be noticed immediately the next time Randall stepped into the room, except for the drawers.
Feeling a little like Buffy on the hunt for a new stake, I pried the back of the dresser off with a quiet grunt of effort. All the pieces of furniture were solid, which made them perfect for what I had in mind. I held up the rectangle of thin but solid wood and considered it. I needed to break it into a sharp point, since there was nothing in the room that would allow me to sharpen it. Going with instinct, I set it on the floor, braced my foot against it on an angle, then pulled with all my might and was rewarded with a sharp snapping sound and a new pointy friend. I quickly made five more and tucked them into the top draw of the dresser.
Now that I had weapons, however crude, I needed to find a way out. I was on the second floor of the house, which meant the fall wouldn't kill me or even break a bone, if I fell right. An image of Dimitri, holding out laced fingers to give me a boost over the fence brought a fleeting smile to my lips and tears to my eyes. There was an empty feeling in my chest without them nearby. I shut down that line of thought. It would just incapacitate me to what needed to be done if I was going to get back to them in one piece.
I moved to the window and I tried the lock mechanism. It swung open, no problem, but my first attempt to open the window made the problem abundantly clear. It was warped and, to add insult to injury, it had been painted over, probably several times over its lifetime, so it was sealed shut and wouldn't budge. I chewed my lip, to the point that I could taste blood with the tip of my tongue and considered.
If I could somehow cut through the layers of paint, there was a chance I could muscle the window up far enough to squeeze through. But what could I use to cut the paint?
I glanced around the room again and decided on one of the stakes I'd created from the drawer wood. One of them had come out super sharp at one end, but too thin at the other to be a good weapon. It was worth trying, at least.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," I murmured, hoping the philosophy would get me somewhere in this bizarre situation.
I gripped the piece of wood and jabbed the sharp end into the corner near the sill and began dragging it slowly across the window.
The paint parted beneath the makeshift blade, but not the whole way through. I finished the line then went back to the start and retraced the cut until it looked complete, then repeated the process all the way around as precious seconds ticked by.
My pulse raced, beating so loudly it was hard to keep an ear out for the old house's telltale creaks that would signal Randall's return. I'd never been so happy to be a multi-tasker in my life.
With the cuts complete, I slid the stake back into the other dresser drawer, where I'd stashed my other Mr. Pointys, and braced my fingers on the small ledge at the bottom of the window.
Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, I held my breath and pulled with all my strength, praying to the Old Ones for my escape to be this straightforward.
The window made a loud groaning noise and inched up.
Hope and joy surged through me, making my pulse leap before resuming its gallop. An inch wasn't enough, but it was a start. I slipped my fingers through the opening and gritted my teeth as I pulled again, moving it another inch upward.
The window groaned again, and the sound seemed to echo through the room. I froze in place and strained to hear frantic footsteps and was met by silence.
"Old Ones, save me," I said as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I crouched, managed to lever most of my wrist and forearm directly under the window and, thinking of my three guys, threw all my strength behind the thrust.
The window exploded in a shower of glass, that rained down on me as a boom of cracking wood let loose.
The door behind me burst open. Randall moved like a predator straight towards me with his hands raised and his eyes narrowed.
"You stupid bitch!" He grabbed me with one hand while the other swung up and delivered a crack to my cheek and temple.
The light in the room flared intensely bright, then dimmed and almost went dark. My head lolled back as my head spun, precariously close to blacking out. Before I could get a firm grip on consciousness again, Randall shoved me to the floor with a disgusted snarl.
“Did you honestly think I’d let you escape?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I knew you were stupid, but this is just hard to swallow.”
My body felt like the rag doll Liam’s little sister carried around with her everywhere, boneless and disjointed. Panicked shouts to “get up!” filled my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull like an echo in a quarry, growing quieter with every passing second. I fought against the lure of the darkness, gritting my teeth and holding on to one single thought.
Fight back or you’re dead.
“You hit like a girl,” I slurred through lips that didn’t quite know how to shape words. I worried for a moment, hearing my voice, that his blow had caused brain damage, like a stroke or something. But, when my body began to obey, in increments, lifting me from my prone position on the floor, I congratulated myself on not being severely injured. I could still fight back. I just needed to regroup.
Randall frowned down at me and shook his head. “You always were the most stubborn bitch.” His shoulder rose and fell. “You should probably hold onto that stubbornness. You’re going to need it for what comes next.”
I lifted my head as his words filtered through the haze. I moved a shaky hand to my face and touched the tender skin on my cheek. It was hot and raised and would sport an impressive bruise. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and block out whatever it was he planned to do.
Stubbornness reared its ugly head again, though, so I jutted my chin forward and glared at him through a developing black eye.
“Fuck off,” I hissed, then spit blood on the floor at his feet.
His mouth quirked up in a sick impression of a smile as his eyes went dark with fury.
“I’m going to enjoy every second of this,” he muttered, then pounced.
Chapter 23
I whimpered and choked on the sharp taste of copper in my throat, before opening my mouth to let blood slip from my swollen lips. It spilled onto my ripped and already bloody shirt because I was too battered and exhausted to do much more than take labored breaths.
Vague awareness of Randall filtered through the pain. He was standing a few feet away, holding up something, aiming it at
me. I winced back, expecting a silver bullet, then blinked to clear my sight when nothing happened.
It was a cell phone. The realization took a moment to sink in. He was taking pictures of me. A groan slipped from my swollen throat as I tried to curse him.
“Fuck off,” I managed to wheeze out.
Randall regarded me with cold eyes and chuckled.
“Almost done,” he said, snapping another few images from a distance before squatting down to take a close up shot. “There, perfect.”
He stood up and turned his back on me.
I wished I had the energy to leap up and sink my teeth into his throat. I dropped my gaze to the floor and closed my eyes against the tears that wanted to fall. They burned against my eyes, reminding me of all the times I’d cried at Randall’s feet as a child.
I wasn’t a child anymore. I wasn’t a captive, or a slave, or an experiment, either. Determination, fueled by spite and rage, stole through me, shoring up my reserves and pushing me to search for more. I gathered whatever energy I had left and shoved myself up with trembling limbs to stand before my assailant.
He quirked up an eyebrow. “Feisty little bitch, aren’t you?”
His gaze shifted to run along the length of my body, traveling every inch of me with a leer twisting his face.
My skin crawled.
“You know,” he said, biting the corner of his lip as a man did when looking at a big juicy steak. “Raphael isn’t here anymore. His little obsession with the LaFlamme family has run its course. I don’t need to play by the rules anymore.”
His eyes gleamed.
My stomach threatened to rebel and purge the sandwiches he’d so graciously made earlier. I knew what that look meant. I’d feared it all my life. I pressed a hand against my abdomen and swayed on my feet. I wouldn’t cower in fear, I demanded of myself. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t slide to the floor or make this easy on him in any way. I would bite and claw and fight until my last breath.