Save Yourself

by Lynch, H. G.

  “I’m guessing so.” I set it down on the floor by the sofa and peeled the envelope off the top, sliding a piece of card out of it with shaking fingers. There were just two sentences on the note:

  GET THE MONEY BY 2 AM OR SHE DIES. MY MEN WILL BRING YOU.

  My stomach rolled, and I swallowed convulsively to keep from puking. I closed my eyes, quivering all over, terrified of what was in the parcel.

  “Hey, man, what’s it say?” Jet asked softly.

  I held the note out to him, and he clenched his jaw, a cold glint in his eyes that I’d never seen before, not even when he was kicking assholes out of Grimshade.

  “He took her. The bastard took Kez,” he said, vocalising the horror and rage that I couldn’t bring myself to utter aloud.

  I nodded, feeling as if the world was spinning out around me, unravelling under my feet. I reached for the parcel and tore it open, cautiously flipping back the flaps of the box, and I hesitated before looking inside. I remembered Brent’s hand lying on Kester’s bed, and I felt bile scorch my throat. What if…no. No.

  “Mate, it’s okay,” Jet murmured. “It’s just a knife.”

  My eyes popped open, and I looked into the box. It was, indeed, a knife. The knife that Kez had taken and threatened to stab me with. Red had sent it as proof he had her. It didn’t mean she was still alive, but as I lifted out the knife, something underneath stuck to the blood on the handle. A photograph. I peeled it off and turned it over, and my heart cracked. It was a photo of Kester, bound and gagged, looking scared and angry, like she was swearing at the photographer from behind her gag. I didn’t doubt she was. The photograph had a time-stamp of 11:47 pm.

  I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and glanced at it. It was 12:23. Red had had Kester for over half an hour. I felt like throwing up, breaking down and punching someone in the face all at once as I thought of what he or his men might be doing to her.

  “Christ,” I choked, rubbing my hands over my face. I stood up and paced back and forth, gripping my head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!”

  Jet held up his hands. “Calm down, Brogan, we’ll figure this out, okay? Just chill for a second!”

  I whipped around and glared at him. “Calm down? How the fuck am I supposed to calm down Jet,? He’s going to fucking kill her, and it’s my fault! I got her into this shit, and now Red has her, and he’ll fucking destroy her piece by piece if I don’t get him his money in the next hour and a half. Money I don’t fucking have!”

  I wanted to throw something again, but there was nothing within reach, so I started pacing again, wracking my brains for an idea, some sort of plan, but my mind kept coming back to, Red has Kester!

  I had to get the money, but even if I whored myself to Mrs Hamilton for twice the usual price, it still wouldn’t be enough, and hitting the streets to find another client would take too long. I couldn’t risk hitting up a liquor store or petrol station. The cops were already on my case, and I’d be no use to Kez if I wound up being arrested. I was screwed—and that meant Kester was screwed.

  Unless…

  There was an intense tugging in my gut, deep and strong—like the beast was trying to tell me something. A crazy idea popped into my head, probably the most insane idea I’d ever had. But if it worked, I could save Kez and take down Red at once, without getting myself killed or arrested. It was a hell of a long shot, but it was my only option.

  I stopped pacing and looked at Jet, who frowned.

  “What? What is it?” he asked.

  My brain, running at double-speed, I said evenly, “I’m turning myself into the police station.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ** Kester **

  As it turned out, Red was a very good-looking man—for the embodiment of pure evil. He had a charming sort of face, topped with waves of hair the colour of coffee—a rich, dark brown. His skin was a honeyed bronze colour, leading me to believe he was of Spanish descent, but his voice, when he spoke, held a perfect, snotty English accent. He dressed well, in a clean white shirt and black blazer, his trousers pressed and shoes shiny. However, his eyes that struck me more than his beauty, his voice, or his clothes. They were black and as hard as chips of obsidian. The eyes of a murderer wrapped up in a deceivingly pretty package.

  Oh, and the knife was a little disconcerting. As he stood over me, he flipped a slim, bone-handled hunting knife over and over between his fingers. He’d been doing it the entire time I’d woke up there, and god only knew how long that had been. Could have been hours, but it felt like days. I was cold and hungry, and my shoulders were aching from having my hands bound behind my back. The plastic zip-tie was chafing my wrists, and the cloth in my mouth smelled of salt, sweat and fear, as if it had been well used before.

  I tried not to think about the stinking rag having been in other people’s mouths, or I’d gag. I also tried not to think of what might’ve happened to those other people because then I would freak out again. I’d done enough freaking out and crying when I’d woken up there, in the warehouse, surrounded by armed men and tied up like a pig. After that, I was mostly just angry—so fucking angry that I wanted to take the knife from Red’s fingers and slash him into tiny, unrecognisable pieces.

  Being tied up kind of prevented that, as did the fact that I didn’t doubt Red knew how to use that knife very, very well. Also, the dozen or so shady-looking guys loitering about, smoking and cleaning guns and knives and taking bets on whether or not Brogan would show up, discouraged any rash actions. Even if I did kill Red, those guys would likely kill me—and have their fun while doing it.

  So far, none of them had tried to touch me. I suspected Red had given them all orders not to harm me…yet. If Brogan didn’t show with the money on time, though, all bets were off. I would become a plaything for the brutes, something I was really not going to enjoy.

  Needless to say, I was praying for Brogan to show up, but part of me—a painfully large part—was sure I was wasting my time. I’d left him, insulted him, and threatened him. If he’d had any feelings for me at all, I’d surely changed that when I’d walked away, calling him a monster. He probably hated me.

  I didn’t hate him, though. Damn it, I should have. He’d attacked me, for Christ’s sake. He had drunk my blood. I was still angry about it, but I’d had time to calm down and realise that I’d been so angry because I was hurt. I was hurt that someone I’d trusted had done that to me, made me feel helpless and weak.

  Still, after everything he’d done for me, everything he’d told me about himself, I cared about him, and a small part of me—the part that wasn’t terrified and selfish—didn’t want him to show up. I wanted him to stay as far away from Red as possible. I didn’t want him to have to pay the evil man for killing his uncle and kidnapping me. I knew that, if Brogan showed up with the money, Red would kill him.

  I didn’t think I could stand that. Knowing Brogan had died because of me, because I was stupid and childish, and I’d walked away from him when he’d warned me not to.

  So, no, as much as I didn’t want to become a toy for Red’s brutal men, I also didn’t want Brogan to come. I wanted him to stay far away and stay safe, even if it meant my slow and painful death.

  I wasn’t quite resigned to that yet. I was still looking for a way to escape.

  We were inside an old, abandoned warehouse. There was graffiti and stains on the walls and floor that I didn’t want to identify, cigarette butts and smashed bottles littered the ground, and the only light came from the small windows sunk into the top of the walls. Some of the glass was smashed, one or two were boarded up, and the rest were coated with grime. Around the warehouse, there were broken wooden pallets, planks of splintered wood, and scraps of twisted metal. I couldn’t tell what the warehouse had housed before it became the headquarters for a drug-dealing demon.

  The place had obvious been spruced up a little bit, with a handfuls of folding chairs and a ratty, ripped sofa, as well as a cooler full of beer bottles, and a surprisingly nice—if scratched�
��coffee table that held an array of weapons. I suppose it constituted as fairly homely for a bunch of soulless, ruthless killers.

  What interested me was that there were two doors into the place—excluding the giant bay door which had presumably been used for lorries to bring in shipments. The other doors were person-sized, one near the front of the warehouse, the other at the back. Both were fire doors, but the alarms had long since died or been disconnected. Each was guarded by a beefy man holding a large, long gun—a rifle, I guessed. I’d never seen one before, and I wasn’t really familiar with gun types, but I knew enough to take a guess.

  The front door was a lost cause, I knew. There were nine armed guys between me and that door. Anyway, I was closer to the back door, with only one man and a pile of splintered wood between it and me. But Red was watching me like a hawk. He never moved more than a few feet away, and anytime I so much as blinked, his gaze pinned me down like arrows.

  Red hadn’t said much to me since I’d woken up. He’d introduced himself and given me a brief run-down of what was going on—he’d taken me hostage and sent a note to Brogan demanding that he bring the money, or I died. He’d reassured me that I wouldn’t be harmed if Brogan arrived by two am, with the money. He hadn’t said what would happen if Brogan didn’t do as he was commanded, but I supposed it was pretty obvious.

  As I said, playtime for the big boys.

  While trying to come up with a plan, I wondered if Brogan would really show. The bets being slung about between Red’s guys were about fifty-fifty. Half of them thought he’d leave me to die, half of them thought he’d show up to save his piece of ass, and they’d get to kill him.

  Finally, Red turned to me, frowning down at me where I was bundled up on the floor In that crisp English accent, he said, “It’s almost a quarter to two. It doesn’t look like your boyfriend is coming to save you, love. I must say, I’m a little surprised. I’d thought better of Rogue, but it seems I was wrong.”

  I caught my breath, a tremor of fear starting to quake through my body.

  Red saw it, and he smiled thinly. “Don’t worry, love. There’s still fifteen minutes. He might show up at the last minute. Maybe he just wants a dramatic entrance. We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and wait until the deadline. But if he doesn’t arrive by two o’clock, on the dot, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hand you over to my men. They’re quite keen to get their hands on you,” he said almost casually, folding his hands behind his back.

  I glanced about, and saw that a few of the men were indeed staring at me with a dark hunger in their eyes—a hunger much more frightening than any of Brogan’s appetites. Looking away swiftly, I shuddered, my stomach churning. I was almost out of time, and Brogan wasn’t going to show. I needed an escape plan, fast.

  A ridiculous idea came to mind, but I was hesitant about carrying it out because…well, it was embarrassing. If there was one thing I clung to no matter what, it was my pride. But it was the only thing I could think of, and I was running out of time.

  So, I sucked it, bottled my pride, and called, “Hey, Red?”

  He glanced at me, those cold black eyes sending a shiver down my spine. But I’d faced Brogan when he’d gone all fangs-and-claws on me, Red wasn’t so scary. Or he wouldn’t be if he wasn’t holding my life in his surprisingly-clean hands. I reminded myself that, just because I couldn’t see the blood, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  “What is it?” he asked, sounding bored and impatient.

  I squirmed on the floor, my face heating with shame and embarrassment. If I got out of this, I was going to kill Brogan. “I…uh, I need the bathroom,” I muttered, my cheeks hot.

  His lips curled. “Two of my men will take you outside and split your ties for you.”

  I gaped in horror. “No, please. I-I’m afraid they’ll hurt me. Please, let me go on my own. I swear I’ll come back.”

  Red looked at me as if I was an amusing, silly child begging daddy to buy me a new toy. “My men won’t harm you, I promise. They have their orders, and they know what it means to disobey me. Either you go with them, or you don’t go at all.”

  Shit. Well, it was worth a try. I narrowed my eyes. “Haven’t you got any female…employees? That seems sexist.”

  He actually looked faintly startled by my comment, and then his brow furrowed. “I have women on my payroll. But I like to keep them out of dangerous situations such as this. My women are...more lovers than fighters.” He smiled wryly.

  I curled my lip, but another idea came to me, and I battled over the bile in my throat at the thought.

  Eventually, I swallowed my disgust and croaked, “Maybe you could use a new…lover. Once this is over, don’t kill me. I swear I’ll make a good addition to your payroll.” The thought sickened me, but I was hoping that I could escape before he stuck me in spandex hot pants and sent me out on the street. There had to be a way out.

  Red seemed intrigued by my suggestion, and he crouched down in front of me, his black eyes level with mine. That close, I could see the shadow of stubble on his jaw, a faint round scar just under his left eye like a cigarette burn, and smell an odd sweetness on his breath. His depthless eyes examined my face, his fingers cupping my jaw lightly and turning my head this way and that. I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to bite his hand off.

  “Hmm…” he murmured. “You are pretty enough, you’ve got a good strong body, and I don’t doubt you have certain skills. But I can see in your eyes that you’d rather die than be one of my girls. You can’t even stand my touch. The hate and disgust radiates off you. Your flesh is sacred to you. You would never sell it, not even for your own life.” He sighed, almost disappointed. “Pity, too. I do believe you would make a good prostitute if you weren’t so proud.” He said it as if it was meant to be a compliment, and I almost spit in his face.

  His lips quirked as if he knew what I was thinking, and he then stood up, adjusting his jacket. “Five more minutes, love. And then we shall know your fate.”

  My chest constricted with panic, and I tried to breathe deeply around it. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t-freak-out-don’t-don’t-don’t. Damn it, I was freaking out. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, forgetting to worry about Brogan, fear making me selfish. Please, please, Brogan, please save me. I don’t want to die. Please. Come on. Come on!

  I’m coming, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out safe.

  My head jerked up, and I looked around, startled and confused. Red frowned at me, but I ignored him. I could have sworn I’d just heard Brogan’s voice in my head…but…that was insane. Right? Then again, he was an Incubus. I didn’t know what sort of magical powers he had. I doubted even he knew. Or maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me because I was totally shitting myself.

  I sighed, slumping. Oh, God.

  “Sixty seconds,” Red murmured, clucking his tongue and looking at the shiny watch on his wrist. I bit down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood to keep from screaming. Please, please, please!

  “Thirty seconds.”

  Tears built at the corners of my eyes, and I whispered, “Please Brogan.”

  “Ten…nine…eight…”

  “I’m here, you son of a bitch!”

  My heart jerked out of my chest, and my head whipped up. Brogan stood in the doorway near the front of the warehouse, haloed by the light of the streetlamp outside. Two of Red’s black-clad men were with him, and he was carrying a small duffle bag.

  The money, I thought. He’s got it. He is there. He really came—for me!

  I sobbed in relief and cried his name. His head whipped toward me, and his eyes flared so bright, I could see the violet glow even from here.

  Kester, he whispered, his voice an echo in my mind. Then he turned a fierce glare on Red, who was beaming, apparently pleased by Brogan’s arrival.

  “Long time, no see, Rogue. I was starting to think you weren’t coming for your little girlfriend.”

  Brogan’s face was hard as stone, his voice
flat and cold. “Actually, it’s just Brogan now. I ditched the nickname after juvie.”

  Red shrugged politely. “Brogan, then. Still, it’s good to see you.” He jerked his head at the two men guarding Brogan. “Search him. Sorry, but you know the protocol.”

  The two men moved toward Brogan, and he held out his arms and spread his feet while they patted him down. One of them pulled a gun out of the back of Brogan’s waistband and smirked as he dropped it and kicked it across the floor into the corner. Brogan didn’t look concerned.

  The men moved back, and Red clapped his hands together. “I’m so sorry about your uncle, but…well. He knew the consequences when he borrowed money from me. You understand.”

  Brogan didn’t look very understanding. He looked deadly calm, but I could tell, from the gleam of his eyes and the tension in his muscles, he was anything but. He was furious, and I knew it had to be taking every ounce of self-control he had not to rip Red’s throat out right then.

  All he said was, “I brought your money. Let Kester go.”

  Red sighed and shoved his knife into his belt. Bending, he grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. With my ankles tied together, I stumbled against him, and he put his arm around me. I tensed, my skin crawling, and Brogan narrowed his eyes unhappily.

  Red flicked his free hand. “Check the bag.”

  One of his men moved forward and Brogan handed the bag to him. The man—who I recognised as Scarface, one of the men who’d broken into my house and kidnapped me—opened the bag and looked inside. He lifted his head and met Red’s cold eyes. “Looks like it’s all here, boss.” He slid the bag across the floor toward where Red was holding me captive.

  Red leaned over to peer into the bag, and sure enough, there was a huge amount of cash inside, some of it loose, some of it bound with paper bank ties. Red smiled. “Well, well. What did you do, Brogan? Rob another liquor store? Or a bank maybe?”

  I was wondering the same thing. God, please don’t let him have gone to a client. Don’t let him have done that to himself for me.