by Becca Andre
“Darby!” she shouted, then cringed at what that did to her head. Where was the bastard?
A door opened behind her, but the back of the chair blocked her view.
“About damn time,” she complained.
Footfalls sounded on the bare wooden floor, accompanied by the squeak of loose boards.
“Spare me the dramatic entrance,” she said. “What the hell are you about?”
“Such language, Bridget.” Andrew stopped before her, a smug smile on his face.
Briar stared at him. She’d been right. Darby was working for Andrew. Even though she had suspected it, the realization still hit her like a punch. Had he been aware of the lengths Darby had gone to, or worse, had Andrew encouraged it?
“My father would be disappointed in you,” he added.
“Not half as disappointed as he would be in you,” she replied.
“If he could have seen what I have accomplished—and shared in it—you would not be his favorite.”
“What you’ve accomplished? You are nothing but a fleshy puppet for a sadistic ferromancer.”
“And you’re the whore of one!” he shouted the accusation with a suddenness that made her jump. “Yours has given you a little magic whereas mine has given me immortality.” He tugged at the fine coat he wore, straightening it.
Briar was ready to shout back another accusation, but made herself stop. Instead, she watched her cousin smile and preen. Had he always been this delusional or was it a new development? And what was that comment about her being Uncle Charlie’s favorite? That wasn’t true. Uncle Charlie had loved Andrew dearly. He had worked long hours and sacrificed much to pay for that fancy education Andrew longed for.
Taking a breath, Briar tried to organize her thoughts. It wasn’t easy with the headache. “I’ve told you the truth. Mr. Martel has given me nothing. My mother’s mother was ferra. My abilities come from her.”
“That is complete humbug,” he answered in that haughty tone that always made her want to punch him. “Master Solon explained the nature of ferromancer gifts. Do not try to hide how little Mr. Martel values you with that preposterous story.”
She decided to let that go. “What’s going on? I thought your master wanted me in Portsmouth in three days.”
“You? He wants Mr. Martel, and I will be the one to deliver him.”
“Oh dear God, that’s what this is about? You had Darby trying to stop me so you can take Grayson to Solon? I thought Darby was too…common to be one of your associates.”
“He is a boorish fool,” Andrew answered, the disdain heavy in his tone. “But I couldn’t remedy the problem personally. Master Solon insisted that Mr. Owens accompany me. That lunatic seems to believe that he is expected to watch my every move. Like you, he wished to take credit for the task Master Solon had given me.”
“Why would I want credit for that? The only reason I’m taking Grayson to Solon is to keep that bastard from destroying my hometown. Your hometown.” She stopped to take a breath. “You’ve gone mad, Andrew. You’re completely unhinged.”
“You’re just angry that you will not take this from me as you have taken everything else.”
“What have I ever taken from you?”
Andrew ignored the question. “Besides, I’m sure Mr. Martel would much prefer the accommodation of my private railcar to that ignoble boat.”
“What makes you think he’ll go with you? He doesn’t give a shit about Solon. He’ll come looking for me.”
“I highly doubt that.” Andrew paused as he considered that. “Although, I suppose he doesn’t wish to waste the magic he has given you. If he does express concern, I will explain that you will be waiting in Portsmouth for him.”
“You really think—”
The door opened, and Andrew lifted his gaze to whatever was behind her. “Yes?”
“He’s here, Mr. Rose.” Dale Darby stepped into view. “I don’t know how he knew. I did everything just as you asked.”
Excitement surged through Briar’s veins, intensifying the headache, but she didn’t care. Grayson must have found her.
“Clearly, you failed,” Andrew said to Darby. “I should have known you would screw this up as well.”
“Don’t be so hard on him,” a new voice said.
Briar’s excitement turned to a cold ball of dread in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t Grayson, but it was still someone she knew.
“I’ve been on to you from the outset,” Mr. Owens said, stopping before Andrew. “I wonder if Master Solon knew as well and that is why he tasked me with babysitting you.”
“I am fulfilling the task Master Solon gave me,” Andrew answered.
“Then why the subterfuge?”
Andrew lifted his chin. “It is my task and my task alone to deliver Mr. Martel to Master Solon.”
“Odd, that’s not the way I remember it.” Owens looked amused. “I recall him ordering you to remove any hindrance that could impede Mr. Martel’s journey—such as your ill-advised posters.”
Andrew clenched his fists. “It was a good plan.”
“Master didn’t seem to think so. I wonder what he’ll say about this.” His gaze moved to Briar, and he gave her a slow perusal. “Though I certainly approve.”
“Spare me your depravity and your influence. None of this is any of your concern. Master Solon will get what he desires—as charged to both of us.”
“Desires aside,”—Owens smiled at Briar—“I was charged with ensuring you follow orders.”
“I’ve removed the posters, and I’m doing this,”—Andrew waved a hand at Briar—“to guarantee Mr. Martel’s arrival in Portsmouth at the appointed time.”
Owens laughed. “My, you’re skating on very thin ice. No matter the outcome, Master won’t be pleased by your deception.”
Andrew drew a deep breath as if trying to maintain his composure. “What do you want?”
“Aside from your demise? Hmm…” His gaze once again fell on Briar, making her wish she could flee from his lecherous stare.
“I want her,” Owens abruptly said.
“What?” Andrew’s brows lifted in evident surprise.
“Andrew,” Briar tried to cut in.
“Shut up, Bridget.” Andrew eyed Owens. “Are you serious?”
“Give me the girl, and I will stay silent about your methods of accomplishing your task. As you pointed out, as long as it is completed, the method is immaterial.”
Andrew pursed his lips.
Briar stared at him. “You wouldn’t seriously consider—”
“Let’s discuss it.” Andrew turned and headed for the door, gesturing for Owens to join him.
Owens gave Briar a smug look, then followed Andrew from the room.
Briar released a breath. Andrew might despise her, but he would never stoop to such a level. He was an arrogant ass, but he did have a basic sense of decency.
She looked over at Darby who was still in the room, frowning at the door. “So, that’s what you want?” she asked. “To be a ferromancer’s puppet?” Like Andrew, Darby was clearly willing to throw away everything on a ferromancer’s promise. First Farran, and now Solon—or was Andrew lying to Darby that Solon would reward him.
“It is a period of servitude in exchange for immortality,” Darby answered. “A ferromancer has a very limited lifespan.”
“They do not die, they become a thing. A thing that lacks all human empathy and is still very much in control of its minions.”
Darby abruptly smiled. “Mr. Rose said that you have no understanding of this, that your ferromancer intentionally kept you in the dark.” It seemed Darby had had a talk with Andrew after he learned what Grayson was. He must have run straight to Andrew after she sunk his boat.
With a chuckle, Darby continued, “No doubt you keep your ferromancer interested the same way yo
u keep your crew. Everyone knows what you are.”
“And you’re a wicked old man who frequents prostitutes and shoots the innocent. You’ll get your due, Dale Darby. Mark my words.”
He gave her a nasty grin. “You ain’t in no position to be making threats, Briar Rose. If that Owens has his way, the only position you’ll be in is on your back.”
“Andrew won’t allow that.”
The door opened and Darby looked past her. “Looks like you’re about to find out.”
“Darby,” Andrew called to him.
Still smirking, Darby hurried from the room. A faint rumble of low voices carried to her, then the door closed with a snap that echoed off the unadorned walls.
Briar released a breath. Perhaps they would leave her tied up in this room while—
The slow tap of footfalls sounded behind her. She wasn’t alone. Andrew must have sent Darby away so they could have a private word. She opened her mouth, ready to give Andrew another lecture, when Owens stepped into view. The words died in her throat.
A slow smile stretched his lips as his eyes met hers. “As I suspected, your cousin was agreeable to my offer.” He reached beneath his coat and pulled out a knife with a serrated blade. “You and I are going to have fun.”
Chapter 19
Owens used the knife to sever first the ropes binding her ankles, then her wrists. He stepped back, allowing her to shove herself to her feet, but he didn’t sheathe the knife.
Briar moved away from him. “Andrew didn’t agree to this.”
“But of course he did. Don’t delude yourself. Any man who sells his soul is not a man to be trusted.”
“Do you speak for yourself?”
“I know what I am, and I embrace it.” A crazed light shone in his iron-gray eyes. “And if I serve my master faithfully, he has promised me more organs made of metal.” He rubbed a hand over the front of his pants.
Heart pounding, Briar took another step back. She’d known Owens was twisted, but she hadn’t realized how crazy he truly was.
“Grayson is on his way,” she said. “Leave me alone, and I’ll keep him from ending you.”
“Grayson. Mr. Martel.” Owens took a step toward her. “I suspect he will be glad to be free of you. Master said there is nothing worse than ferra control. Of course, your cousin refused to accept what you are. He thinks you’re just whoring yourself.” Owens smiled. “Though I do wonder if there might be some of that as well. Mr. Martel does appear fond of you.”
“It’s called love, you twisted…” She sputtered to a stop unable to come up with a strong enough word. “If you want to see the end of the day, you’ll let me go. He’ll be here soon.”
Owens chuckled, moving closer. “I do like a girl with spirit. You’re a fighter. I love that.” He groped himself again.
Briar ran for the door. She gripped the cool knob, twisted, and pulled. Nothing. The door was locked.
“I asked Mr. Darby to lock the door behind me,” Owens said, moving toward her.
Briar spun to face him, her back thumping against the closed door. She quickly moved to the side, sliding along the wall as she put more distance between them.
“I told him not to unlock it no matter how much you scream.”
Her heart thumped in her ears, and she looked around for a weapon. If only there was a window. She wouldn’t care if she was three stories up, she’d still jump through it.
The room offered nothing she could use as a weapon. A chair leg would make a good cudgel, but the chairs looked too sturdy to break apart easily.
She remembered Eli punching Andrew in the chest and how that had—what was the electrical term?—shorted him out, but she suspected she didn’t have the strength for that.
Eyeing the chairs, she moved over to stand behind the smallest one. Though less elaborate than the others, it was still well made, with sturdy arms and legs and a two-inch-thick seat. It would be heavy.
Owens stopped before her with the chair between them. “This isn’t as much fun as stalking you through the streets of Chillicothe. Although, you didn’t fear me then, and now you do.”
She wanted to deny that she feared him, but decided to save her breath. This man was disturbed. If she lived through this, she was going to play Solon a song—and dissolve his iron heart for giving this man such power.
“But enough chatter.” Owens smiled. “Shall we get down to business?” He raised his arm to display the knife.
Briar lifted the chair, but it was too damn heavy to take a proper swing at him.
He caught it with his free hand and slung it aside. It flew across the room and slammed into the wall. Unfortunately, the chair didn’t break into pieces, though it left a huge dent in the plaster.
Owens wasn’t a big man, and under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have been afraid to face him, but the superhuman strength of the soulless was another matter.
Now that there was nothing between them, Briar took a hasty step back.
She thought he’d be angry, but he continued to smile.
“What a feisty girl you are,” he said with approval, then lunged at her.
The move was so quick and unexpected that Briar didn’t get a chance to elude him.
He caught her by the upper arm with his free hand and lifted the knife to her throat.
She gripped his wrist, but made no other move. It was all she could do not to cry out to Grayson, but without knowing her location, she couldn’t do that to him. More than just the cruelty of it, she didn’t want him to let the ferromancer out where others might see, or worse, where he might hurt someone. She was on her own.
Owens frowned. “You’re not going to fight me?”
“You’re holding a knife to my throat. Any sudden movement seems like a bad idea.”
To her shock, he took the blade away and returned it to its sheath at his belt.
“We can come back to that,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t want to kill you. In truth, I’ve never wanted to kill any of my lovelies, but none have ever had the stamina to keep up with me.”
Briar had been afraid all along, but for the first time, true terror gripped her. She had known Owens to be a lecherous degenerate, and could easily believe him a rapist, but this…
She remembered reading about a sensationalized series of murders in London where the female victims had been cut open and organs removed. Was Owens of the same ilk?
Briar? For the first time since she woke in this room, she was aware of Grayson. Had her terror opened her to him? Stray emotion always seemed to cause involuntary sharing on her part.
Where are you? His query pulsed with anxiety and worry.
I don’t know. Perhaps in Newark. After all, Andrew still planned to meet with Grayson there this afternoon. Andrew would not want to venture far and chance being late.
She shared a mental image of the windowless room, locked door, and discarded furniture, but she made a concerted effort not to share her plight. If Grayson lost it without a target—
She grunted as Owens slammed her against the wall. Hard. He followed, his hands gripping her shoulders to hold her in place.
“You’re not paying attention,” he said. “What were you doing?”
“Talking to Grayson. He’s close enough for me to hear him now. He’ll be here soon.” Please, please, please let Owens believe her and run away.
He studied her for a moment, then chuckled. “You’re a skilled liar.”
“I’m not lying,” she said through clenched teeth. “You told me that you’re not like Andrew. That you believe I’m not entirely human.”
“I’m counting on it. Ferra are a lot tougher than mortal women, and even if you’re not full-blooded, that’s got to make a difference.”
Briar focused on her breathing, trying to keep it somewhere close to normal. If only she could slow her r
acing heart.
Owens released her left shoulder and without warning, seized her breast in his inhuman grip.
She cried out, despite her best effort not to.
His grip loosened and he smiled. “That’s a girl.”
He moved back a little, perhaps to draw his knife, but she didn’t give him a chance. She brought her knee up, hard, and caught him squarely between the legs.
He gasped and stumbled back before doubling over. To her immense satisfaction, she discovered that the soulless were still susceptible to that particular pain.
She ran to the door and frantically pounded against it. “Darby, let me out!” She continued on, trying to find a way to entice him. “I can get you what you want. Andrew is only using you. He doesn’t have the power to give you immortality. I—”
Her braided hair was seized from behind, and she was jerked off her feet. She never got a chance to regain her balance before Owens grabbed her by the upper arm and slung her aside. She was airborne for half the length of the room before she collided with the high-backed chair she had started in. The chair overturned, and she went with it. Unable to catch herself, she fell to the floor, cracking her head against the worn boards. She fought the closing darkness, knowing that it would be very bad to pass out in this man’s presence, but it was a fight she couldn’t win.
The next thing she was aware of was the cool air against her bare chest and the bite of Owen’s blade down the center of her sternum.
She cried out, both in pain and fear.
“I thought that would wake you,” Owens said with glee. He straddled her lower body, but thankfully, they were both still clothed. He’d only opened her shirt.
“Don’t pass out on me again,” he continued, his tone angry. “I don’t like that. I have to cut deeper to get your attention and that never goes well.”
She wanted to beg him to let her up, not to do this, but she knew he wouldn’t respond to such a plea. He would probably welcome it. A devolved ferromancer had more empathy than he did.