She coughed and cried out, sucking in a ragged breath.
Ren tugged his T-shirt over his head, exposing an upper body strewn with scars; Gábor’s knife wound was fresh and red. His eyes took on a venal glitter as he toed off his boots, the way he looked at her making her skin crawl.
She shot a desperate glance at Murk, her belly knotting into a hard tight ball.
Murk’s gaze skidded from her to Ren.
“You want to have an ogle at us, mate, while I’m slippin’ her a length, is that why you’re dossin’ about?” Ren crossed to the bedroom door and shoved Murk out into the hallway. “Right sick of you, old sod.” He slammed the door shut and rounded on her. “Get your kit off, Toni, now.”
A wracking shudder shook her spine. She stood frozen in place, unspeakably terrified. Oh, this situation way out-trumped the day she’d been kidnapped by the Vârcolac. She’d been scared that day, without question, but right from the start, the men of Ţărână had treated her with nothing but absolute respect. She’d quickly learned that no one was going to do her bodily harm.
Not so here.
“I have a brother named Videon.” Ren spoke offhandedly as he unbuckled his belt. “Now he likes it when a girl cries and carries on while he’s fuckin’ her, see. He’s the real radgie one. But me?” Ren shrugged. “Either way’s fine with me. Savvy?” He shoved his pants down, stripping himself naked.
Toni’s pulse beat thundered up into her head, the sight of his large, thick penis slamming another layer of horrible, inescapable reality over this appalling situation. His organ probably wasn’t any bigger than Jacken’s, but the circumstances made it seem dangerously enormous. In a few short minutes, this man was going to try and shove that thing inside her when she wouldn’t be – couldn’t be – anything but bone dry.
“There’s ….” She cleared her tight throat, opening up a channel for speech. “There’s no reason for doing this, Ren. I’m already mated to a Vârcolac, which means I can’t get pregnant by any man other than my husband. That includes Om Rău.”
“I can think of two reasons,” he said, leering at her breasts. “Any road, my brothers and I aren’t like the sheep-shaggin’ Underground Om Rău you’re used to dealin’ with, love. We’re half-Fey.”
“The rule still applies.” Although truth was, she wasn’t sure about that, but it seemed prudent to add it.
“As bang-tidy as you are,” he came back lazily, “it’ll be worth the experiment.”
“Worth incurring this Raymond’s –?”
“Get undressed!” he roared, “now, or I’ll do it for you.”
Jumping at his shout, she jolted backward, her eyes darting around the room. The walls were closing in on her, time running out, options disappearing. “C-can’t … please, can’t we do this with my clothes on? You know, j-just the first time.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts again. “No.”
Her abdominals cramped around a surge of panic. She could feel the forceful, painful rhythm of her heart, pounding beyond her control, heightening her sense of helplessness. Bile swam up her throat and into her mouth, its acrid taste making her eyes water.
Ren planted his hands on his hips. “This can be a doss for you, Toni, or hard as fuck. What’s it going to be?”
Every atom of stubborn pride inside her rebelled against being docile and sweet as a lamb, but as she passed her eyes over Ren’s body, she knew she didn’t have a hope in hell of fighting him off. She’d seen a lot of large physiques during her time in Ţărână, but Ren’s was one of the more brutally masculine bodies out there. With his massive muscles carved into curving rock, he looked to be somewhere between Jacken and Lorke.
If she was really clever – and lucky – maybe she could hold him off for a short time, but to what purpose? Ţărână’s warriors were unconscious, for God knew how long, and even if they should awaken, they had no way of finding her. No eleventh-hour rescue was on the way.
Ren stepped toward her.
It was such a casual step, it left her totally unprepared for his hard slap. Her head whipped sideways and her bottom lip split open, blood rushing onto her tongue and chin, her ears ringing from the pain. She had only a moment to shake the fog from her brain before a powerful arm closed around her waist and hauled her off her feet. She screamed as she was tossed onto the bed, landing in a loose-jointed sprawl.
Ren followed her onto the mattress, one hand snapping shut around her throat, the other tearing at her clothes.
Wheezing and choking, she clawed at the vise-grip around her neck, her throat pumping frantically against Ren’s fist. She tried twisting and bucking, but the Om Rău, at least a hundred pounds heavier than she, skilled at fighting, and totally unaffected by feelings of morality, had her stripped in seconds.
Terror consumed her. She forgot to breathe, her throat going dry and gritty. Her eyesight grayed at the corners.
Ren let go of her throat – but only to grab her legs and jack her knees back to her ears, tilting her core upward.
The intolerable vulnerability of the position ignited a strange, savage electricity in her. It whirred and whipped, an awesome force. She grappled for control over it, but the power remained just outside of her ability to manage. Please, somebody, help me! Murk, that Raymond person, someone! She inhaled a huge breath and screamed for as long and as loud as she could.
“Shut your face now, girl. It’s not as wretched as all that.” Ren grabbed his blood-engorged penis and poked around for entrance into her body.
Teeth gritted, she fought like a madwoman, but with her legs hooked over Ren’s broad shoulders and the weight of his muscled body easily keeping her folded in half, she couldn’t do much more than get her calves swinging furiously. She was utterly helpless. Tears streamed down her face and pooled in her ears. Icy sweat broke out all over her skin, everything inside her cringing against the imminent violation. As a last-ditch effort, she reached between her legs and grabbed Ren’s hand, pulling his member aside.
Ren gaped down at their joined hands, an expression of abject shock on his face. “How the buggerin’ shite are you touchin’ that?”
Touching …? Dear God, she was touching his ring – his immortality ring – and it wasn’t shocking her!
She wrestled with his hand, gouging her fingernails into his palm to force his hand to open. He was stronger than she was, and started to make a fist – then one of her nails nicked his penis, and in the moment his hand spasmed, she yanked off his ring.
“Bloody hell!” Ren snarled. “Give that back, you fuckin’ scut.”
She shoved the ring in her mouth, but before she could swallow it, Ren slapped her again, the hard edge of his palm catching the side of her eye. Stars blinked to life in front of her, and she gasped in pain.
Ren jammed his fingers into her mouth and –
The skylight overhead shattered, glass raining down, and one, two, three, Jacken, Sedge, and Dev smashing down with the prism-like shards. Suddenly Ren was no longer on top of her, but driven to the floor by the juggernaut that was her husband.
Her head spinning, Toni teetered to a sitting position and clawed through the glass on the bedspread for a sheet. Wrapping it around her naked body, she stumbled off the mattress and rushed to the nightstand, wedging herself between it and the wall. She watched through tear-blurred eyes as Jacken roared above his victim, his eyes flashing the hellfire of Rău red. He punched Ren with a blow that sounded like a plumber’s wrench meeting a side of beef. And again. And again.
“Jacken,” she called to him. “I-I removed his immortality ring.”
Jacken paused long enough to notice that, yes, Ren was bleeding normal red blood, not white acid. He had two long knives slicked from his belt in a heartbeat, one in each fist. Fangs bared and dripping, Jacken stabbed the blades into either side of Ren’s throat, then crosscut his arms, slicing Ren’s head off with a sickening crunch. More red blood gouted from the ragged stump.
Toni leaned behind the nightstand and
vomited. Doctor or not, she was done with this night.
“Toni?” Jacken heaved to his feet, the front of his shirt plastered to his body with blood, his eyes searching wildly for her. Spotting her in her hidey hole, he raced over and crouched down before her. “Are you all right? Jesus –!”
She launched herself out of her nook and into her husband’s arms. “Th-thank God you got here when you did.” She trembled against him. “That Om Rău almost … almost ….”
“I saw,” he said in a clogged voice. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner, honey.” He leaned back to look at her, brushing his thumb over her split lip. “Shit,” he hissed.
She wrapped her hand around his wrist. “How did you get here at all?”
“Dev and Sedge were topside tonight on another mission and received your emergency call on their cells, too. They came to the Doubletree Hotel, roused us, and then we followed the homing signal in your purse.”
“My purse?”
“Anyone who goes topside gets wired up with a tracking device. Us warriors have it in our cell phones. It’s one of our normal security measures.”
“Well, it would’ve been nice to have known that. I felt really damned hopeless.” Toni laid her cheek against her husband’s chest, not caring that she was getting herself all bloody. “You guys have to be better about filling in your new co-leader.”
Jacken laughed shakily. “Yeah.”
“I want to go home.”
“I bet you do.” Jacken’s tone was gruff. He kissed her hair.
Arc slipped silently through the broken skylight above, landing on cat feet. He was covered in dirt and grime and his nose was bleeding. “What the hell,” he swore, glancing at the headless corpse. “You guys were supposed to save that dick wad for me.”
Jacken came to his feet, drawing Toni up with him. “What that lowlife did to my mate way surpasses what he did to you and your brother, Costache.”
Arc’s gaze raked over Toni’s sheet-clad body, her bloody mouth and bruised eye. He paled a little. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. Toni, are you –?”
The door was front-kicked open by Murk, and the bald Om Rău stormed inside the room, a rifle jacked back against his shoulder. “Everyone get your hands where I can see them!” he shouted, pinning the barrel briefly on each of them.
Sedge and Dev slowly raised their hands in the air, the smirks on their faces making it a mocking gesture. Arc and Jacken didn’t comply, both of them just glaring.
“Up!” Murk snarled, “or I drop you.”
“Now would be nice.” Dev drawled the comment.
Murk’s brows snapped low in confusion, but in the next moment, a belt whipped over Murk’s head from behind and looped around his neck. “Howdy, cue ball,” Gabor said, jerking the belt into a tight garrote. “Not fun having someone sneak up behind you, is it?”
Murk wheezed and reddened.
Dev plucked the rifle out of Murk’s hand. “Gimme that.”
Gábor shoved Murk farther into the room. “You gonna end this guy,” he asked Jacken, “same as that other?”
Murk angled his gaze to Ren’s lifeless body, fear rocketing through his eyes and his face staining a deeper shade of red.
Jacken bent to unsheathe a knife from his boot. “Fuckin’-A.”
Murk fought to get away, the white line of his teeth showing.
Jacken cupped Toni’s cheek with his free hand. “I know it’s been one hell of a night, honey, but do you think I could ask you to get Skull’s ring off?”
“What?!” Murk thrashed against Gábor’s hold. “No! Bugger off, you piggin’ grot!”
“I won’t let him hurt you,” Jacken assured her.
Nodding mutely, she clutched the sheet tightly around her body and started forward.
Jacken kept a steadying hand on her lower back as he led her to a spot in front of Murk.
Murk fought harder. “Get her away from me!”
Dev stepped forward and slammed a brutal fist into Murk’s midsection.
As Murk sagged against the garrote, Jacken grabbed the Om Rău’s arm and forced it up, presenting his hand to Toni.
She swallowed convulsively. “You’re going to have to pry open his fingers.”
“Oh, please,” Arc drawled nastily, “allow me.” He seized Murk’s wrist and twisted sharply, breaking it with a brittle snap. Murk’s hand flopped open.
Toni quickly tugged his ring off.
Instantly, Murk threw back his head and howled in pain.
Jacken put his knife to the Om Rău’s throat, the point pressing against the man’s bulging Adam’s apple. “Don’t watch this,” he told her.
“Toni, please!” Murk begged, “don’t let him kill me! Please!” He struggled backward, his thick boots gouging up chunks of carpet. “For fuck’s sake, Toni, I’m your brother!”
Chapter Forty-Three
Jacken rammed a clip into his M-16 rifle, then glanced at Nyko, seated next to him on the passenger side of the Pathfinder. “You ready?”
Nyko had an M-249 “SAW” machine gun propped between his legs, a huge motherfucking weapon for a huge motherfucking man, but as Nyko peered down at it, he frowned forlornly. “I’m much better with knives, you know.”
Weren’t they all. The warriors had only, er, borrowed these U.S. military weapons from a shipment headed for the Marine Corps Base at Camp Pendleton for the rare times they required firepower. “I just need you to look like a sociopathic Godzilla, Nyko. Point the damned thing at –” Movement in the rearview mirror snagged Jacken’s attention. A black stretch limousine was pulling into the gloomy, underground parking garage. “They’re here.” He twisted around to glance at the men in the backseat. “You two ready to rock?”
Sedge blew a Bubble Gum bubble and lazily snapped it, his own M-16 cradled in his lap.
Dev had an M-4, a rifle similar to the M-16, but with a shorter barrel, gripped in his hands. His pointy smile spoke volumes.
Jacken shifted his gaze to the man wedged between the protective muscle in the middle seat. “Roth?”
“Of course,” Roth replied. Only two words, but they cut like honed steel.
Yeah, he’d say so, then. Over Dev’s shoulder, Jacken saw four men climb out of the limo. One was that trigger-happy mutt from the shoot-out at the Water Cliffs, black flames slithering up his jaw. The other three Jacken had never seen before, but they were all black-haired, tall, beefy, and to a man looked like the types who strangled kittens and drowned puppies just for shits and giggles. One’s hair was cut into a viciously spiked mohawk – not that he needed help in the menacing department – another had a scar tugging his upper lip into a permanent sneer, and the fourth was sporting black flame tattoos up both arms from his elbows to underneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt. Scar Lip and Mohawk’s requisite black flames must lie elsewhere on their bodies, nowhere Jacken had a need to see, thank you very fucking much.
They were armed for a damned street war, most with Uzis and Glocks; Scar Lip had an AK-47 assault rifle. An interesting amount of hardware to be carrying for a business deal that all parties had agreed would go down “non-violently” as an “act of good faith” between races.
Roth snorted softly. “It appears that nobody trusts anybody.”
Roth had that right. “Stay tight on your game,” Jacken ordered his warriors, hopping out of the Pathfinder. “The shit could hit easily with these fuck nuggets.”
He prowled to the end of the car and took up a wide-legged stance across from the four Half-Rău, his M-16 held nose-down. Roth stood beside him, Sedge and Dev flanking the two of them a little behind.
They all waited.
The garage was silent as a tomb; no keys jangled, no engines cranked over, no footsteps echoed out. No one was around. Anything at all could go down here and the world would never know.
Scar Lip finally broke the silence. “Bring Murk.” The two words sliced cold and hard, edged with barely-suppressed violence.
“No,” Jacken returned
. “We have matters to settle first. Tell your leader to stop sucking down caviar and join the party.”
The limousine door swung open again and a well-polished shoe emerged, then a sleek pant-leg, and finally the rest of a man, tall, elegantly dressed. “Debonair,” chicks would call a guy like this, or “silver fox” with his thick, silver-blonde hair and steely cheekbones. Jacken would call him a damned meteorite. The intensity of power coming off him filled the entire garage, an electrical current that surged and ebbed through Jacken’s body as if electrodes had been attached to his ’nads and some kids were fooling around and rapidly turning the switch on and off.
Roth stiffened. Apparently, his ’nads weren’t having a jolly time, either.
Mr. Elegant headed across the garage, the heels of his dress shoes tapping sharply on the concrete floor. He came to a stop a few yards away, his blue eyes cold and piercing, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Raymond Parthen,” he introduced in a cultured accent. “I detest caviar, if the truth be known. Terribly fishy stuff.”
Hatred corroded Jacken’s veins. He ached to squeeze the trigger of his M-16 and keep squeezing until this man was a sieve. The look on Toni’s face in Spike Boy’s bedroom when she’d discovered that her father was head of the Topside Om Rău would be burned into his memory forever.
“Roth Mihnea,” Ţărână’s leader counter-introduced.
“Charmed. My son, Murk?” Parthen inquired blandly.
Roth swept a fleck of dust from the sleeve of his blazer. “He’s here.”
“You’ll get him back,” Jacken informed Parthen, “when you agree to what we want.”
“Which is?”
“Leave Toni the hell alone. I don’t want you anywhere near her again. Ever. You got that? You’ve hurt her enough to last a lifetime.”
“Have I? My, what distressing news. And after I had my lads use pellets to save her the gore of all those killings, too. Tut. A wasted generosity. But here nor there ….” Parthen flicked a careless hand through the air. “I need my daughter, gentlemen, regardless of your concerns.”
“And your douchebag son?”
The Community Series, Books 1-3 Page 31