The Tiger's Ambush (Kit Davenport Book 3)

by Tate James

  Panting and shaking, I forced my gaze back to his. He could have my body, torture me, kill me, it didn’t matter. Deep down, he knew he hadn’t won until I spoke those disgusting words.

  For a long moment, Gray held my gaze with his shiny, insane eyes before he sighed heavily and turned back to the dresser. “I brought a few tools of my own along too, you know,” he commented, like we were discussing the fucking weather or something. “Now, let’s see here...” He dug around in the drawer for a moment, then came back with a couple of instruments, which he laid on the bed cover beside me.

  The angle I was tied at made it impossible for me to make out what exactly those tools were, but I sure as fuck recognized the brass knuckles he slid onto his fingers, then closed his fist around.

  Oh fuck, this is going to hurt.

  The thought barely had time to register before his fist came slamming into my side. Distinctive cracking sounds reached my already ringing ears as my ribs broke, and Gray’s face split into an excited grin once more. No longer bothering with his need to make me beg and plead, he rained blows down on me, switching the brass knuckles to his other fist when his first must have become tired.

  Eventually he stopped, puffing, with sweat patches spreading under his armpits. My eyes were beginning to roll back into my head, and it was everything I could do to stop myself from passing out. I would not give him the satisfaction of giving in.

  “Stubborn bitch, aren’t you?” he panted, tossing aside the brass knuckles and picking up a pair of needle-nose pliers and waving them in front of my face. “See these? I’d intended to use them to rip out your fingernails, but I don’t want to risk disrupting this drain...” He tapped them against his chin. “But I’m always open to compromise.”

  Circling back to the foot of the bed, he grasped the little toe of my undamaged foot and lined up the pliers with the nail. Looking up at me with a twisted grin on his face, he chuckled.

  “I’m not going to lie, Foxy; this is going to hurt.” He gave no further hesitation before clamping down on the little nail and ripping it from my flesh in one smooth motion.

  My jaw clenched hard. I bit back a scream but couldn’t do anything to save the moan of pain as the nerves in my foot shredded and burning agony lanced up my leg. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, and cold shock rushed over me in waves while I desperately clawed my way back to consciousness. It was becoming painfully obvious he wanted me to pass out. Well, fuck him.

  “Still hanging in there, huh?” he observed, lining his pliers up with the next toenail over. “Maybe I’ll do this next one slower. Really drag it out.” As he said this, he began pulling with his pliers, tearing the nail from my skin with excruciating patience while my nerve endings fractured and frayed. This time I really did scream, the sound coming out hoarse and dull in my agony.

  What the fuck was I thinking? I couldn’t do this. If I really was immortal, then this pain truly might never end. There was no easy escape for me in death. My only hope was for Gray to become bored, but given he’d been waiting six years for this opportunity, I doubted it’d happen any time soon.

  Maybe it’d be easier to just let him have what he wanted. Control. Obedience. After all, they were only words, right?

  Haze swept across my vision, blurring the room and Gray’s leering face in and out of focus, and I knew I was losing the battle. My magic was almost entirely depleted now; I could barely feel a single tingle of it trying to work. Or maybe that was just because the pain of my many injuries was outweighing any other sensation? Hard to know.

  Dimly, somewhere in the fog of near unconsciousness, I heard Wesley’s voice calling my name. But that didn’t make any sense; I’d thrown my receiver into the pool. Hadn’t I?

  “Kit, sweetheart, can you hear me?” Wesley’s voice called softly, seeming to echo through my head rather than meeting my ears like a normal voice might.

  “Wesley?” I murmured, not totally sure if this was a pain-induced delirium or not.

  “Who’s that?” Gray sneered at me. “One of your useless boyfriends that won’t be coming to save you?”

  “Sweetheart,” Wesley’s voice echoed again through my head. “I’m with you. You don’t need to answer out loud; you can just think your thoughts to me.”

  “Wesley,” I groaned silently, realizing with an even deeper spike of despair that he had been changed after all. “I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough. It all hurts.” Even inside my mind I could hear the desperation to my words. I was giving up, I knew it. It was only a matter of time.

  Maybe it was for the best? Gray was a sick, sadistic bastard; there was no question. But his motives were personal, primal, selfish. If I gave in to him now, let him have my mind, would my magic then be out of reach to those who would destroy the world with it?

  “Kit, this isn’t you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” Wesley’s voice scolded me inside my own head, and I frowned. “Sweetheart, fight him. I know you can do it.”

  “How, Wes? I’m weak, bleeding, and tied down. I’m useless. How the fuck can I fight him like this?” Tears rolled freely down my face. Not from the pain, but from desperation. I could hardly believe it had come to this, that Gray might win.

  “Wes?” I whimpered inside my head. My thoughts were punctuated by Gray tearing another of my toenails out, and I had no doubt my scream echoed through my thoughts as well as the room. Blood ran freely down the sole of my foot now, and it almost tickled as it pooled on my heel and dripped off.

  Something clicked inside me though. Not all wins had to be physical, and in this situation, the most important win was mental.

  Fuck him. Gray, that was. He could do what he wanted to my body, but Wesley was right. I’d made a promise to myself to never let Mr. Gray bend my mind to his will again, and here I was about to let him do just that. No. He wouldn’t win this one.

  I’d come so damn far from the scared little girl I’d been in Suzette’s foster home. I’d healed, damn it. Found a life for myself, albeit a dangerous one. Found several men who, against my fears, cared for me. Hell, River had even said he loved me.

  That sealed it. I hadn’t even told River I loved him back, so there was no way, no fucking way, I was letting Gray have those words. I’d get through this and then… then he’d suffer.

  “Hang in there, Kit. Austin is almost there.” Wesley’s voice was faint as the pain dragged me back to full consciousness once more, but he’d left me with a grain of hope.

  Austin was coming; this would all be over soon.

  With that one, comforting thought, I dove head first into the creeping blackness.

  27

  It can’t have been long after I slipped into unconsciousness that the sound of an explosion and splintering wood snapped me back out of it. My heavy lids cracked open just in time to see Austin step through what remained of the door, and a rush of relief washed over me.

  Gray stood at the foot of the bed, brandishing his pliers with his pants open and his hard dick in his hand. He went slackjawed as a mess of wood chips showered the floor and my enraged guardian stood there like an avenging angel.

  Austin raised a hand, just like Yoshi had done that day in the apartment above his shop, and just like Yoshi, Austin spoke one word. The language wasn’t one I’d ever heard before. The word was subtly different from the one Yoshi had used and had a considerably different outcome.

  Time seemed to elongate, and the result of Austin’s spell appeared to play out before my eyes in slow motion as Mr. Gray—Richard Liath, high-powered businessman, billionaire, sadist, and rapist—split open down the middle and exploded from the inside like a fucking tomato in a microwave.

  His skeleton held his mostly human shape while the edges of the wound torn from throat to crotch flew apart and tore off, sending chunks of blood, tissue, and flesh splatting all over the room. Miraculously, not a single piece landed on me. Next, his eyes burst in his skull like rotten grapes, leaving oozing streams of blood and fluid
seeping down his cheeks as his lifeless form crashed to the ground and disappeared from my view.

  The whole process couldn’t have taken any more than a second, but I enjoyed every last nano-second of it. My only wish was that it could have been dragged out for longer so he could feel every tiny ounce of pain he’d delivered upon me since walking through the door of Suzette’s foster home some eight years ago.

  “Princess, hey,” Austin murmured, dropping to his knees beside the bed and yanking the blood drain from my vein. “You still here with me?”

  “Fucker,” I managed to croak out of my hoarse, dry throat, and he raised his eyebrows at me.

  “I hope you mean him and not me?” he asked, flicking a knife through my bonds to release me. Not that I was going anywhere in a hurry. I still had three daggers protruding from my flesh, multiple broken ribs, a gaping hole through the middle of one foot, and three missing toenails on the other. Not to mention I was severely depleted of blood. In short, I was in a bad fucking way.

  “No. You. Fucker,” I whispered out, my eyelids drooping as I tried desperately to hold them open. My body had passed the point of pain and was now just cold.

  “Me? What the fuck did I do?” Austin demanded, circling to the foot of the bed and kicking what remained of Gray’s corpse out of the way before cutting free my ankles. He paused when he saw the damage done to my feet, and his mouth tightened to a hard line.

  “I had plans for him,” I responded in a weak groan. “You made it too quick. Too merciful.”

  “Take that back,” he gasped, looking offended. “Did you not see what I just did to that sack of shit?”

  “Saw. Too fast.” I tried sucking in a deep breath, but the knife in my belly and the various cracks and splinters of my ribs digging into my lungs made it difficult.

  “I just... ripped him apart from the inside!” Austin exclaimed. “And then liquefied his remaining internal organs!”

  “I know.” I winced, trying to slowly move my fingers to work some feeling back into them. “You could have made it hurt more, though.”

  He stared down at me for a moment, his jaw clenching and one eye twitching slightly. “I can’t decide,” he finally ground out, “if you’re the most twisted bitch I’ve ever met or just the hardest to please.”

  Against my better judgment, a laugh shook my body, pulling at the blade in my stomach and making me groan in pain once more.

  So much for being past the pain threshold, Kit.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Princess,” Austin muttered coming back around to sit gently on the edge of the bed beside me and eyeing up the biggest knife lodged just below my rib cage. “Can’t believe you just laughed at that. I literally saw your stomach slice further open.”

  My mind tried to form a snappy retort, but inside I was falling to pieces. Hell, I was on the outside too, and I didn’t just mean from my various injuries.

  “Shit,” Austin swore, “You’re not… come on, Princess. Don’t cry. I don’t know how to handle normal crying girls, let alone you.”

  My eyes stung and I could feel the tears pouring down my face, but I was too damn weak to wipe them. Fucking Austin. He was being normal, and I fucking loved him for it. He always seemed to know exactly what I needed, even before the whole dianoch bond.

  “I’m not crying,” I sobbed, so clearly bawling my eyes out. “It’s just hayfever or something.”

  “Princess…” Austin groaned, looking pained. Like he was the one with knives protruding from his flesh. I knew my rare display of emotion would make him uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like I’d made a conscious decision to start crying. It just… happened.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, my voice strangled and weak, but a shuddering sob contradicted that statement and pulled at my stomach wound, making me cry harder.

  Austin frowned, reaching out a hand to touch my face but hesitating and pulling back before he made contact. “You’re not fucking fine, Christina. And nor should you be.”

  He said it quietly, but the fury and passion in his voice resounded through me.

  “He almost had me, Aus,” I whispered, my eyes so clouded with tears I could barely see him, so I squeezed them shut instead. “He almost broke me.”

  Austin said nothing, he just simply let me cry silently for a while. He did, however, place his hands firmly on either side of my waist, holding my body still against further injury while I sobbed.

  “Almost,” he finally said when my tears subsided, “but he didn’t. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I needed to swallow a few times to clear the lump in my throat before replying. It also gave me a minute to formulate coherent thoughts and process the fact that this incredibly personal, intimate moment was with Austin. And strangely, it felt right.

  “Yeah, well,” I croaked, “it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part.” I looked down at the knife in my gut and Austin’s palms flat on either side of it. “Are you going to pull that out of me or just sit there staring at it?”

  Austin’s gaze darted to my face, and he raised one eyebrow in a decidedly naughty sort of expression before he said words I never would have expected to come from his mouth. “That’s what she said.”

  My watery eyes widened as I stared at him. “You did not just say that. What the hell is going on? Is this all some weird pain-induced hallucination? If so, why the fuck am I hallucinating Austin of all fucking people?”

  “My God, even half-dead and pinned down like a butterfly on a board you still don’t shut up. Okay, how is this going to work? I obviously need to remove these knives before you can heal those wounds, but you have so many other ones right now that aren’t healing...” His sharp green gaze ran all over me like he was making a mental checklist of all my visible injuries. I figured it wasn’t necessary to tell him about the broken ribs or internal bleeding; the skin around his eyes was already pinched tight in a way that betrayed far more concern for my well-being than he was letting on.

  “Uh yeah, so this stupid dick let me heal a drowning victim, so I’m practically running on empty.” I narrowed my eyes at him in accusation, and he snorted, clearly understanding I was kidding. Given that same situation, I would still heal the drowning victim, even knowing it was a trap.

  “Oh yeah, wonder who that was. So you need to recharge before you can heal?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes in what I hoped was a mocking sort of way and not like I was trying to mask the bubbling cauldron of emotions threatening to boil over any second now.

  “Do I need to repeat myself again?” I parroted his statement from earlier in the evening when I’d been the one repeating things I already knew. Hopefully he understood my unspoken message. Keep being normal. It’s the only thing holding me afloat right now. Snap at me or insult me or something, but don’t make me cry again.

  Austin’s jaw tightened, and he brushed a finger up my side where blood was obscuring the gorgeous fox tattoo he’d inked into my skin just weeks ago. Shockingly, even through the pulsing pain throbbing through my entire frame, I could still feel the tingle of desire that chased his fingertip across my skin.

  His white shirt was still wet and translucent, clinging to his muscular frame. I wasn’t an idiot, nor was I blind. Of course I was attracted to him. I’d been trying to deny it, thinking he hated me, but I was beginning to think it wasn’t totally one-sided.

  “All right. Try to contain your revulsion. The guys are still MIA, and Wes is too far away to get here in time. I’m all you’ve got.” His attention remained on my blood-covered tattoo while he spoke, which was probably a good thing. If he’d have been looking, it would have been painfully clear how okay with this situation I really was. Not the magic, although I needed that. But, if I was totally honest with myself, I wanted him.

  “I’m sure we can both survive a quick makeout,” I suggested, schooling my features into careful indifference before he looked back up to me. Hopefully if any lingering desire still showed in my face, he’d mistake it for pain.

  Grun
ting a noise of agreement, Austin shuffled closer to me on the bed and slid a hand over my bruised face to cup the back of my head where my hair was—so far—free of blood.

  “Let me know when you’re feeling strong enough, and I’ll pull the blade out,” he advised me, bending low and hovering his lips an inch above mine. “I don’t want to yank it out too soon and have you fighting the blood loss as well.”

  “Makes sense,” I breathed, then leaned up and closed the gap between us.

  The second our lips touched, it was like two sides of a magnet finally meeting. Our mouths locked together with an intensity born of blood and hate and sexual desire gone too long unacknowledged. Austin held firm to the back of my head, pressing me closer to him as his lips teased mine apart and his tongue invaded my mouth, meeting mine and wrestling for control.

  Magic flared hot between us, sparking and tingling as it rushed in to fill the empty void that was my own magic store. The added sensation of magic passing between us flushed me with heat, and I moaned against Austin’s mouth. My hands lifted from the bed where they’d been lying limp and useless, and I clutched weakly at his strong back while his lips laid claim to my own.

  Another strong pulse of magic shot through me as my hands found the tail of Austin’s wet dress shirt, slipped beneath it, and came into contact with his hot skin.

  “Now,” I gasped, feeling the blade in my gut tugging and pulling as I tried to get closer to him.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, pulling back from my lips and meeting my eyes with a serious frown, but I nodded.

  “Yes, now,” I gasped. “But do it quickly, for the love of God.”

  Austin didn’t hesitate again, simply tightened his jaw, grabbed the hilt of the blade, and wrenched it out of my flesh.