Midnight Revenge

by Elle Kennedy

  “You’re the one I’m concerned about,” he added, discomfort creasing his features. “Are you sure the, ah, sex didn’t hurt the . . .” His gaze rested on her stomach.

  “The baby, Derek. Saying the word doesn’t mean you’re signing a contract to be in his life.”

  The bitterness appeared out of nowhere, bringing a sharp bite to her tone. In all the chaos since she’d shown up at the airfield, she’d completely forgotten about their talk this morning. About how his lawyer would be visiting her, giving her money, because D was uninterested in being a father to their child. Not just uninterested, but adamantly against it.

  “Sofia . . .”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he sighed too. “You’re angry at me.”

  “No.” Yes.

  “It’s all right. You can be angry.” D slid toward the wall and leaned his head against it, his demeanor reverting back to what she was used to—hard and detached. “I wish I could say the words you want to hear. I really do. But that’s not who I am. I . . .” He slowly met her eyes. “I can’t lie to you.”

  Pinpricks of pain stung her heart. “It’s . . . fine. It really is. It’s not like we planned this. I can’t expect you to be happy about the pregnancy when—” Her body suddenly went cold as panic fluttered up her spine.

  “Sofia?”

  Her throat got too tight to speak through.

  “What’s wrong?” D demanded.

  “I won’t be in his life either,” she blurted out. “He won’t have a life.”

  The panic turned into a full-blown anxiety attack, causing her to sag forward and bury her face in her hands.

  “Mendez is going to kill us. He’ll kill me. And the baby . . .” Her breathing went shallow. “The baby will die with me. Oh God.”

  Sickness spiraled up her throat. She gagged, stumbling toward the metal toilet in the corner of the room.

  She heard D’s footsteps behind her as she doubled over and emptied the meager breakfast she’d eaten earlier, her eyes watering as wave after wave of nausea crashed over her.

  D knelt behind her and pulled her braid off her shoulder, then smoothed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. He didn’t say a word as she threw up. He simply held her hair back and patiently waited until she’d finally stopped retching.

  Sofia wiped her mouth with her shirt, nearly gagging again when she smelled D’s blood on the thin fabric. Then she groaned softly and turned to look at him. “I’m not afraid of death,” she admitted.

  He blinked. “Ah, okay.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  She searched his face. “What scares you, then?”

  There was a beat, and then he said, “Nothing.”

  A miserable laugh slid out. “Bullshit.”

  “It’s the truth.” His voice was quiet. “I’ve already experienced almost every horror you can imagine, and the ones I haven’t experienced, I’ve witnessed. So, no. Nothing scares me.” He swallowed visibly. “What scares you, Sofia? If not death, then what?”

  She swallowed too. “Being abandoned.”

  D looked startled by her very candid answer. “Oh.”

  “Everybody I’ve ever loved has abandoned me. My dad was thrown in jail. My mom chose to shoot heroin instead of taking care of me, and then she OD’d. My grandparents were deported and then died. Every person I lived with left me behind. My last boyfriend left me to take a doctor post in Africa.” She stared desperately at him. “Everyone leaves me, Derek.”

  She could tell she was freaking him out, making him uncomfortable again, but she couldn’t stop the words from exiting her mouth.

  “I never would have left this baby,” she whispered. “I would have been there for him every day of his life.”

  His gaze softened. “I know you would have.”

  “But now I won’t be able to because we’re going to fucking die here.”

  “C’mere.”

  D reluctantly held his arms open, and she hesitated for only a moment before sinking into his embrace. She buried her face in his neck and fought back tears. She’d never felt so damn powerless in her entire life.

  “I’ll figure something out.” His touch was tentative as he stroked her back, his voice hoarse as he spoke again. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to get you out of here, Sofia.”

  You. Not us. She didn’t miss the distinction, but she was too exhausted to argue. “Sure, Derek,” she said numbly. “If you say so.”

  • • •

  It felt like someone was using his intestines as marionette strings, pulling and tugging them in all directions. As his abdomen contracted with each sharp yank to his gut, Sullivan breathed through the pain and tried not to scream in frustration.

  The withdrawal shouldn’t hurt this much anymore—it had been almost a week since his last fix. So why did it still hurt so bloody much? And it wasn’t just the nausea and the shaking and the bouts of ice-cold shivers that plagued his body. It was the cravings.

  They weren’t going away.

  They were getting stronger. Pulsing in his blood and pounding in his chest, reducing his thoughts to want, want, want. He wanted it, damn it. So fucking bad he could taste it, and yet if someone had asked him to describe the high, he wasn’t sure he could do it justice.

  A full-body orgasm.

  No, a thousand orgasms. Pure and utter euphoria that surrounded you in a warm blanket and held you tight and—

  Snap out of it, mate.

  Sullivan sucked in another breath, willing away the craving. He had to get his shit together. Ash was coming to get him. Liam had said so.

  Oh Christ, he was going to see Liam again.

  He’d burst into tears when he’d heard his friend’s voice on the phone. Bawled like a bloody baby. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said. Hell, he couldn’t remember how he’d made it to the pay phone in the first place, because time no longer had meaning. The days and hours and minutes were a dizzying blur of pain and euphoria and sex and desperation.

  He had the vague recollection of stumbling across a beach and crawling through a forest. Hearing the rumble of car engines and seeing the ocean. Startled faces focused on him. His trembling fingers dialing a number he knew from memory.

  And now he was here, ten yards from a beat-up gas station, staring at a dusty road as he waited for the rookie to pick him up.

  He tensed when a black SUV appeared at the end of the road, and the mere act of his muscles tightening brought another gut-wrenching jolt of agony. Please, let that be Ash. It had to be. All the other vehicles he’d seen were rusted over, falling apart. It had to be Ash.

  The SUV stopped and the driver’s door opened. Heavy boots hit the dirt, and then a familiar figure rounded the front bumper.

  Relief nearly knocked Sullivan on his ass.

  “Sully,” Ash called, hurrying over with urgent strides. His concerned gaze swept Sullivan from head to toe. “Sully. You okay?”

  He managed a nod.

  Ash hesitated, still scrutinizing. Sullivan couldn’t even begin to imagine what the other man was seeing. He hadn’t looked in a mirror in six months. He knew he had a beard—it scratched his hands every time he rubbed his face. He knew his clothes were stained with blood, maybe even torn. He knew he must look ravaged.

  He felt ravaged.

  “C’mon,” Ash said, his voice gruff. “Let’s go.”

  Sullivan swayed on his feet as he stepped forward, and when the rookie gently took his arm, he flinched as if someone had stabbed him with a needle.

  Ash immediately let go. “Ah . . . sorry. I . . . uh . . .” He stopped talking, shook his head as if he were fighting an internal debate, then reached for Sully again. This time, his grip was strong. “Let’s go.”

  Sully allowed his teammate to guide him to the car. His legs were weak as he swung them into the seat, and his fingers were shaking so badly that Ash
had to buckle his seat belt for him. A moment later, the rookie got behind the wheel and put the gas station in their dust.

  “Where are we going?” Sully mumbled.

  “Safe house. Liam’s waiting for us there.” Without glancing over, Ash touched his ear to activate a nearly invisible transmitter, and when he spoke a second later, Sully knew he was addressing Liam. “I’ve got him.” Ash paused for Liam’s reply. “Yeah. He’s safe.” Another pause. “I know. We’ll figure it out.”

  Ash cut the comm.

  As out of it as he was, Sully didn’t miss the groove of worry in the younger man’s forehead. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Nothing. It’s all good, Sully.”

  “You’re lying.” He swallowed. “What’s wrong? Is Liam . . . Boston’s okay, right? And D?” He drew a shallow breath into his lungs. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Ash looked over, visibly unhappy. “Just a little hiccup. It’ll be fine, man.”

  “What hiccup? Tell me!” Panic shot through him. “Is Boston okay?”

  “He’s fine. I promise, Liam is fine. We’ve got a minor issue with D, that’s all. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Tell. Me.”

  The rookie sighed. “D went to get you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s meeting with Mendez to discuss your release.”

  He froze. “What? Where? Where did he go?” Tremors rattled his hands as an icy gust flew up his spine. “Did he go to the island? Is he on the island?”

  Ash hesitated again. Then he nodded.

  A strangled roar tore out of Sullivan’s mouth. He lunged for the steering wheel. “No. Bloody no! We have to get him. He can’t be there.”

  The car swerved wildly, making Sully’s head spin. With a frantic curse, Ash slapped Sullivan’s hands away and straightened the vehicle a nanosecond before it clipped the side mirror of a neighboring car. Loud honks blasted all around them. They sounded like deafening trumpets in Sullivan’s head, and he covered his ears with his palms.

  “Shut them up,” he burst out.

  Ash’s expression swam with worry as he regained control of the SUV. The honking stopped, but Sullivan’s ears continued to ring.

  “Sully. You need to calm down.”

  “He can’t be there,” Sullivan whispered. “It’s . . . a bad place.”

  “I know it is, man.” Ash’s voice was quiet. “But he’s already there, and there’s nothing we can do to change that right now. Reinforcements are already on the way. We’ll get him off the island, I promise.”

  He nodded weakly. His head hurt. Everything fucking hurt.

  The rest of the drive was plagued by silence. Sully closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep. D had gone to the island. D was going to die.

  His tired brain was capable of producing only those two thoughts.

  D is on the island. D will die.

  He wasn’t sure how long they drove for, but when Ash finally slowed the car, Sullivan could no longer smell the salty breeze of the ocean through the open window. They were inland, then. In a city. He gazed out the window and saw run-down buildings. Bodegas. Pawnshops. Yeah, a city.

  “This is it.” Ash pulled into a small parking lot and killed the engine.

  Sullivan stared at the pink apartment complex. “Liam is in there?” he said slowly.

  Ash nodded.

  They got out of the car, and once again Ash had to steady Sullivan before he keeled over. Each jerky step brought him closer to the entranceway. To the teammate—no, the friend, the best friend he hadn’t seen in months.

  “He’s inside,” Ash said when they reached a paint-chipped door. “I promise.”

  Sully breathed deeply and followed the other man inside.

  The apartment was empty.

  Just as disappointment flooded his gut, Ash called out, “Boston?” and then a muffled response came from the corridor. “I’m back here. Just giving our guest some water before she goes to sleep again.”

  Guest?

  Sullivan stared blankly at the rookie, who shrugged and said, “Don’t worry about it.”

  The halfhearted assurance didn’t ease him. He staggered toward the hallway, his pace quickening as he heard the faint sound of Liam’s voice. He had to make sure his friend was all right. He wouldn’t be all right until he made sure that Liam was.

  Sully skidded to a stop in front of an open doorway. Broad shoulders filled his line of vision. Familiar shoulders.

  Liam.

  He sagged forward in relief. “Boston—” The greeting died in his throat when he spotted the figure on the bed.

  Dark eyes stared back at him.

  Then blue eyes, as Liam turned his head and sucked in a sharp breath.

  Dark eyes, gleaming at him as recognition dawned in them.

  Blue eyes, swimming with shock and joy.

  Then they both turned red. Everything turned red as the woman on the bed released a throaty laugh and said, “Is that you, querido?”

  A growl of outrage sliced the air. Had it come from him? He had no clue. He had no awareness, no restraint.

  Just a thick red haze where his vision used to be, as he lunged at Angelina Mendez and wrapped his hands around her throat.

  Chapter 18

  Four months ago

  She came back to visit him. Two weeks after she’d begged a man not to rape her and then let Sullivan cry in her arms, she returned to the cell with a carefree spring in her step and greeted him with a broad smile reserved for old friends.

  “Good evening, querido. You look well rested.”

  Sullivan clenched his teeth. “Get out.”

  Her delighted laughter echoed in the air. “I missed you too, baby.”

  She’d cleaned herself up since the last time he’d seen her. Her chocolate-brown hair was loose, shining as bright as her eyes. A slinky green sundress draped over her ample curves, swirling around her firm thighs as she moved closer.

  “David,” she called over her shoulder.

  The guard of the day entered with brisk efficiency, carrying a large bucket, which he placed at Angelina’s feet. He handed her a washcloth, then drew a six-inch hunting knife from the sheath on his hip.

  “I thought you could use a bath,” Angelina said with another smile. “It’s been, what? Two months since you washed up?” She glanced at David. “Cut his clothes off.”

  The guard was about to step forward when she touched his arm.

  “You might want me to hold that.” She gestured to his rifle.

  Without a word, David handed over the weapon. Then he knelt in front of Sullivan.

  Sullivan didn’t move a muscle. He tracked the movement of the knife as the guard brought it to his collar. Even with his hands shackled, he could have grabbed the knife, slashed David’s throat and watched the man bleed out. But there was no point, not when Angelina had a rifle trained on him.

  She laughed again, as if reading his mind. “Don’t kill poor David,” she clucked. “He’s just trying to help you.”

  David made a clean slice down the center of Sullivan’s shirt, then several more strategic cuts until the fabric lay in pieces on the floor.

  His bare chest made Angelina’s eyes widen in approval. “Now the pants,” she ordered.

  Sully tensed when the guard unlocked one of the iron cuffs on his ankles. He resisted the urge to scissor his legs and capture the bastard’s neck, twist until he snapped the bloody thing. Instead, he sat silently as the man removed his pants.

  After Sully was shackled again—and buck fricking naked—David rose to his feet and accepted his rifle from Angelina.

  She nodded at the door. “Leave us now.”

  Once they were alone, her expression grew decidedly seductive, her gait even more so as she sauntered toward him. When she realized that her fuck-me walk had no effect on him, irritation flickered in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry for what happened the last time we were together,” sh
e said as she settled on her knees. “It was my father’s idea to let Ricardo fuck me in front of you.” She shrugged, dipping the washcloth in the bucket. “It’s proved successful in the past, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t bite. You seem like a very smart man, querido.”

  She brought the sudsy, wet cloth to his chest and swiped it over his skin. Water rolled between his pecs and dripped down his stomach, and her eyes followed the path of the soapy drops, flaring with heat as she studied his groin.

  “You have a big cock.”

  Sully said nothing. Though he couldn’t deny that the hot water dribbling down his body felt bloody glorious. He remained utterly still as she washed him, basking in the first feeling of warmth he’d experienced since he’d gotten here. Not the warmth of her touch, but the water. It was heavenly. And the soap smelled so fucking good.

  “Ah, you like this, don’t you, baby?” Her teasing voice made him nauseous. “I’m glad. I want you to like me. I want you to feel at home here.”

  She wrung out the cloth and soaked it in the bucket again, then proceeded to clean every inch of his body with damn near reverence. His chest and shoulders. His stomach. His legs. She saved his groin for last, giggling as she ran the soapy cloth over his cock and balls. She spent a long time in that region. A minute. Five minutes. A bloody eternity.

  Sully ground his teeth together. He wanted to kill the bitch for how much enjoyment she was receiving from this, but at least his body wasn’t responding. He was softer than pudding down there, no matter how many times she stroked and petted him.

  When her expression grew annoyed again, he hid a satisfied smile.

  “This won’t do.” Angelina’s hand slid into her cleavage and emerged with a tiny white pill that she held up in front of him.

  Sullivan felt sick again.

  “But this will help.” She brought her hand to his mouth and danced her index finger along the seam of his lips.

  It would serve her right if he bit that finger right off, but he forced himself not to act on his bloodlust.

  “Open for me, querido . . .” The tip of her finger teased his lips. When she felt the tight clench of his teeth, she smirked. “Would you rather I call David back so he can hold your mouth open while I shove this pill down your throat?”