The Tiger's Ambush (Kit Davenport Book 3)

by Tate James

“Check her for weapons,” Gray ordered his guys. “This little bitch has surprised me one too many times. But not this time, little girl. Oh, no. I took steps to ensure that not only would you be weak as a damn child, but also that your little friends downstairs were well and truly detained for the foreseeable future. No one is coming to rescue you, Foxy Girl. Not even yourself.”

  The stronger oaf held me immobile while the other one stripped my beautiful gown from me and let out a low whistle when he saw my arsenal of weapons. Or, at least, I assume that’s what he was gaping at. Slimy motherfucker.

  “Bit pointless being so well armed when all it took to disarm you was a poor, innocent drowning victim,” Gray snickered, watching with hungry eyes while his goon unstrapped my many weapon harnesses and tossed them all into a pile on the dresser. Once again I cursed myself for being so stupid. Of course it was a goddamn fucking set up. Of fucking course it was!

  Once totally divested of all my weaponry, the first man pulled out a couple of zip ties and bound my hands together in front of me before releasing the wrist lock he’d held me in.

  “Secure her and then leave,” Gray ordered, and I was roughly manhandled onto the queen-size bed, my zip-tied wrists then zip-tied again to the slatted headboard and my ankles to the base board. Fear spiked in my belly at being so helpless and vulnerable, but I squashed it down hard. I was better than that, and men like Mr. Gray, Richard Liath, didn’t deserve to see my fear.

  The two hard-faced men worked in silence, but I knew better than to waste my breath pleading with them. Too many times in my short life I’d encountered goons for hire like them. Nothing and no one was going to talk them out of their assigned, and well-paid, task.

  They left the room, closing the door behind them with an ominous click, and Gray locked it by shooting an old-school bolt across before turning his predatory eyes on me.

  “You’re a sick piece of shit, you know that?” I sneered at him, curling my lip in disgust. “Preying on the weak and innocent, taking your sick pleasure from children and helpless women. People like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of the world, and I promise you, I’ll make sure you don’t for much longer.”

  He didn’t respond, loosening his tie, tugging it over his head, and laying it over the back of a chair before rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  “I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve here,” I scoffed at him. “A bit of revenge? Are your feelings hurt that I publicized your disgusting proclivities?”

  When my foster home had been raided by Omega team some nearly six years ago, Jonathan had done everything in his power to press charges against Mr. Gray and his revolting compatriots. Despite them being able to wiggle out of the charges due to their impressive ability to clean the house and the kids of any and all DNA evidence, it had still been a huge scandal in the media. Gray was still stupidly rich and powerful, but considerably less so than he had been.

  Still, he didn’t respond but climbed onto the bed and straddled my waist. His weathered, leering face looked down at me with victory clear in his eyes just seconds before his huge fist plowed into the side of my face. For a brief moment, my vision darkened then returned along with the pain, and my ear began ringing. The pain was sharp, but I’d endured far worse at this despicable man’s hands, so it’d take a whole lot more than a couple of hits to the face to break me this time.

  He barely waited a few short seconds for me to suck in a shocked breath before his other fist crashed into my other cheek, whipping my head to the side and sending a spray of blood from my mouth as my lip burst open in a deep gash.

  “Oh, that one worked nicely,” he murmured, taking my chin in his hand and inspecting the damage he’d just inflicted. Blood streamed down my neck from my mouth, and I spat at him.

  “Now, now, none of that.” He chuckled a sick laugh, wiping my bloody spit from his face and waggling a hand at me to see. “See what I just used to bust up that pretty mouth of yours? Poetic, don’t you think?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, my gaze locking on the ring sitting just below the knuckle of his pinky finger. A large, oval-shaped sapphire set in an ornate yellow-gold band etched with what looked like runes all the way around it, it was unmistakably the ring we’d come here to steal.

  “You know, when I heard from Suzette that you were coming for this piece of trash, I almost didn’t believe her. But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, so I had Amelia submit it into this stupid gala in the hopes of flushing a fox out of her hole, and here you are.” He punctuated his victory speech with another punch to my face, and the ring dragged a gash open across my cheek. “Don’t worry Foxy Girl, we have all night together. May as well get business out of the way first so I can take my time and really... savor the experience.”

  He hit me again, and this time I really did black out.

  25

  RIVER

  My gaze cast around the room again. Kit and Austin still hadn’t returned from the bathrooms, and they’d been gone an uncomfortably long time so far. Not for the first time, I wished I’d let her heal my arm. Maybe then I would have that emotional link with her and I would know if she was in trouble or not.

  “Wesley, I need you to check on Kit and Austin,” I murmured quietly as I pretended to gather up empty champagne flutes from a table. “They left for the bathroom ages ago and haven’t come back.”

  Impatiently, I tapped my finger against an empty flute while I waited for Wesley’s response. None came.

  “Wes?” I tried again, but still no response came.

  Turning to face the corner, I surreptitiously pulled the receiver from my ear to check the little white LED marker that would indicate it was working. Dead. How the fuck had that happened?

  Some minutes ago, I’d seen Cole head out in the direction Kit and Austin had gone, so I could only hope he was checking on them. Caleb was nowhere to be seen, nor was Vali. The absence of any of my team, including my comms backup, was giving me a seriously uneasy feeling in my gut.

  The dark, caged beast inside my mind reared up, thrashing and testing its mental bonds, but I wasn’t stupid. I had that shit locked down tight. Tighter than I had ever needed to previously because I knew without a doubt that Kit’s magic would set it free. And then God fucking help us all.

  Leaving the main ballroom, I slipped my phone from my pocket and dialed Wesley. It was pointless trying the rest of my team as we didn’t carry phones on missions. Not even me, usually. But for some reason, today I had grabbed it.

  “River, hey,” Wesley answered. “What’s going on down there? I’ve lost comms with everyone.”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” I pondered, scratching at the short stubble on my chin. I never could go fully fresh-faced; it made me look too damn young. “Something’s giving me a seriously bad feeling, Wes.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he agreed. “I’m still new to this whole bond thing, but I’m pretty sure Kit used her magic to heal someone not long ago, too.”

  “Shit,” I swore. “Okay, I’m going to find them. Call back if you manage to get the comms back up.”

  Panic clawed at my gut, and I clamped down hard on it. This was no place for emotions that only served to cloud my judgement. If Kit was in trouble—which, if I knew my Kitten, she would be—then I needed all my wits about me. Unlike the rest of my team, I was now the only human left. Thank fuck for small mercies, though; my arm was healed, so I wasn’t totally useless.

  The past weeks had been such a rush of planning for this mission that Kit and I had barely managed to steal more than a few moments alone together. Certainly no time to discuss that fucking word that had slipped from my mouth while we were in the shower.

  Love.

  What the hell had I been bloody thinking? Not that I wasn’t—falling in love with her, that is—but I simply should have known better than to tell her so soon.

  Gritting my teeth against my own self-flagellation, I made my way back into the main ballroom just as the distinctive
red of Kit’s gown caught my eye across the room. She was coming down a corridor looking wrecked, and I knew instantly that she’d just healed someone. Fuck.

  The overwhelming worry for her that flooded through me blinded me to my surroundings, so much so that I paid no attention when someone bumped into my shoulder.

  “Sorry, pal,” the guy apologized, grabbing onto my arm and spinning me to face him.

  “No worries,” I snapped, turning away from him, desperate to get to my girl.

  “Have a good evening then,” the man replied, clapping me on the shoulder heavily, and I felt the sharp sting of something pierce my skin. “Have a really good evening.” The stranger’s face leered down at me as my knees turned to jelly and I crumpled to the floor.

  The last thing I saw before blacking out was from between people’s legs as the party guests crowded around to see what all the fuss was about: Kit, in her beautiful red gown, being hauled away by a huge man in a suit.

  26

  KIT

  When I came to, Gray was no longer sitting over me. Instead there was another man crouched over my arm, attaching an IV line or something. My left wrist had been unbound from where it’d been above my head and was now tied to the side of the bed frame, keeping my arm out straight by my side so that the crook of my elbow was exposed for this guy to do whatever the fuck he was doing.

  “What—?” I asked groggily, feeling my face throbbing with pain and my magic prickling as it tried to heal me with what little reserves I had left.

  The man flicked a glance at me but said nothing, instead carrying on with what he was doing. Once the line had been inserted into my vein, he withdrew a test tube sized vial and tucked it surreptitiously into the inside pocket of his jacket before screwing a line into the port.

  My blood began flowing freely down the line and into a bag that he’d laid on the floor beside the bed, and he stood up to address Gray, who was leaning against the door and watching with unblinking eyes.

  “All set. It should take only about twenty minutes to fill that bag, then we switch it and fill one more. Anything over that and we’re likely to kill her, and it’s my understanding you wanted that honor for yourself?” the man addressed my childhood abuser, who grinned savagely.

  “If she can be killed,” he grunted. “But it’ll be damn fun to try.”

  “I’m going to go and make another appearance downstairs but will be back in twenty minutes to change the bag over. Do what you will in the meantime, but don’t disrupt the drain.” The man snapped his briefcase of tools shut and let himself out of the room while Gray prowled back towards me once more.

  “Did you hear that, Foxy? I can do with you what I will.” A slimy leer slid across his face as he raked his eyes down my near-naked body. “You play your part just like old times, and I might let you enjoy it. After all… this doesn’t have to be all business.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” I coughed out in a weak voice. “If you honestly think I’m that same scared little kid, following your script, you’re more delusional than I gave you credit for. And as for enjoying it… I’m far too old for your tastes; you couldn’t get it up if you tried, let alone do anything with it.”

  The unhinged look in his eye suggested he was, indeed, more fucked up than even I had realized. I knew what he wanted; it was what he had wanted every, single godforsaken time he’d visited me in Mother Suzette’s foster home. He wanted me to beg him to hurt me. Tell him that I loved it, loved him, and that I wanted more.

  The memory of eleven-year-old me—wailing in pain but repeating his revolting script—echoed through my brain, and I shuddered, stuffing those memories back in their box where they belonged.

  “Perhaps, but until you’re a good girl and tell me you love the pain—which you’ll say, sooner or later—I know one thing I can do that will bring me worlds of pleasure.” He picked up one of my deadly sharp daggers from off the dresser and approached the foot of the bed where my ankles were still zip-tied to the frame. With almost gentle fingers, he untied the delicate, red satin bows around my ankles and slid the shoes from my feet.

  “Do me a favor, would you, dear?” he asked casually as he trailed the tip of my knife over the sole of one foot.

  “Oh yeah?” I replied sarcastically. “What’s that?”

  “Scream.” He grinned, slamming the blade into the center of my foot so that it protruded out through the top. I badly wish I could say I gritted my teeth and swallowed my scream of pain, but I did not. Partly from sheer shock but largely from the overwhelming, searing agony radiating up from my foot, the scream that did rip from my throat was one of pure misery, and I was repulsed to see Gray’s dick visibly harden through his slacks when I desperately looked down the bed at him. Evidently, he didn’t need me to follow the script after all.

  Not that it changed anything. I knew all too well how easily he got off on hearing me beg, and I’d be fucking damned if I made this easy for him. If he wanted to get his sick and twisted rocks off, he could go about it the hard way.

  “Perfect.” He grinned, then yanked the knife back out again and left me sobbing. I thrashed against my bonds, desperately trying to push some strength into my limbs. Not much, just enough to break the damn zip ties, a feat that would have been a walk in the park at my full power.

  “Uh-ah-ah,” Gray tsked. “You heard what the good doctor said, no bumping the blood drain. Sure you don’t have anything you want to say to me?”

  “Bite me, you sick fuck,” I panted, feeling my face slick with sweat as I worked to control my pain and fear.

  He sighed as though he’d expected something different. Waving my slick, blood-coated blade in the air, his beady eyes took in my trembling frame. “Now, that blood is earning me a pretty damn huge favor, so I can’t go wasting too much of it before the bags are full. After, though... well, after the doctor retrieves what he came here for, then all bets are off. I intend to see exactly how much you can heal from before you finally give up.”

  Circling around to the side of the bed, he stood over me a moment before slamming the long dagger straight into my belly, all the way to the hilt. Another tormented cry tore from my throat, and my breath came in short, sharp gasps.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit.

  After years of torture at Gray’s hands, I’d thought myself capable of withstanding any pain, but the memories had faded and this… well this was a lot worse than I’d remembered.

  Logically, I knew my body was going into shock. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened, so I knew the warning signs. On the one hand, it meant a break from the cruelty, but on the other, I’d be unconscious. Call me crazy, but I considered passing out a win for Gray, almost as much as if I said what he wanted to hear. So no, I’d cling to consciousness with everything I had.

  “I wonder how well you’ll heal if I leave that there,” Gray mused, tapping the hilt of the knife thoughtfully. “I can’t pull it out; you’ll bleed far too quickly, and that would be counterintuitive with the blood collection. I may be a sadistic prick, but I’m not stupid.”

  He tapped the hilt a few more times while he appeared to be pondering his options. Meanwhile, I could feel sweat beading and rolling down my forehead as my body tried to comprehend all that was happening.

  “Feeling chatty yet, Foxy Girl?” Gray enquired, running his slug-like tongue over his lips while he leered at me.

  There was so little magic left in me, and it was rushing all over my body like it didn’t know what to try and fix first. I wanted to tell it not to bother, but of course I knew it wasn’t sentient. If it was madly trying to heal my wounds, it was because my subconscious desire to live was forcing it to.

  I didn’t bother trying to respond to Gray. What was the point?

  “Hmm, well, just a little more blood loss shouldn’t hurt,” Gray pondered aloud, then gripped the hilt of my dagger and twisted.

  “Motherfucker,” I finally gasped out from behind clenched teeth after screaming yet again. “A
s soon as I’m free, I’m going to rip your balls off with my bare hands and shove them down your throat so far you choke on them.”

  The twisted man barked a laugh and grinned down at me. “Don’t be pathetic, Foxy. You’re not getting free this time. Now be a good girl and beg for more; tell Mr. Gray how much you love it. How much you love me for giving you what you crave.” He stood close beside the bed, and I could clearly see his erection straining at his pants along with the little flecks of saliva beading at the corners of his mouth.

  “Eat a dick, Richard,” I snarled, spitting at him once more and causing a furious frown to cloud his features. Glaring at me with eyes narrowed in anger, he stalked back over to the dresser where all my weapons had been dumped and picked up two more knives.

  “I said,” he ground out from behind clenched teeth. “Beg me for more, you little bitch.”

  “And I said,” I panted, desperately fighting the lightheadedness of my impending pass out. “Eat a fucking dick, Dick.”

  An enraged growl rumbled out of him, and he raised his hand up high, then slammed one of the blades deep into my thigh. A shudder rippled through me as I felt the blade hit my femur and scrape off it to the side.

  “Try. Again.” He glowered down at me, but I was already too far gone to give a flying fuck what he might do next.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” I gasped, and his eyes lit up, clearly thinking I was about to beg for my life. Deluded fuck. “I’m not going to kill you straight away. That’s far too kind to a pervert like you. I think after I castrate you, I’ll drop you in a maximum security prison and ensure they know just how much you get off on torturing and raping little kids.”

  His eye twitched in rage, and he slammed another knife into my other thigh, glaring at me feverishly as I howled.

  Briefly, my stubborn determination slipped, and I considered telling him what he wanted to hear. I knew from experience he would lose interest pretty quickly after getting off, but I had promised myself over and over in the years since Omega had rescued me that I wouldn’t give him control again. I wasn’t a helpless kid anymore. I was an adult. I was powerful. This—this was fleeting. He couldn’t touch me.