Crusader (Impossible #9)

by Julia Sykes

  “I can’t give you back in the same condition I found you in.” He shook his head, as though indulgently explaining something simple to a small child.

  I snarled, frustrated and scared. “Why bother letting me go? Why keep playing this stupid game if you’re so sure you’re going to have me in the end?”

  “Because it’s driving you mad. I’m breaking you already, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He tapped the center of my forehead. “I’m in here.” His fingers moved downward to hover just over my heart. “It won’t be long before I’m in here, too.”

  “I will never feel anything for you but hatred,” I ground out.

  “Hatred is a strong emotion. All-consuming. It’s not as difficult as you would think to twist it into love.”

  “You want someone to love you? Is that your damage?” I said it like an accusation.

  “I already have someone who loves me,” he replied calmly. “I want you to love me because it’s what you fear most. You were so arrogant when I first met you. You thought you could ruin me. Well, I’m going to ruin you, little Dominatrix. I’m going to take everything from you and make you into what I want you to be.”

  “And what is that? A slave? You can’t handle being faced by a powerful woman, so you’ve decided to put me in my place. Is that it?”

  I had hoped to rouse him to anger, for him to show some emotion other than the smug satisfaction that made my blood run cold. But his genial smile remained. “Something like that, yes.”

  “Make up your mind, you sick fuck. Are you keeping me or letting me go?”

  “Tonight? Your body will return to Agent Sullivan. But I promise you, your mind will remain with me. I’ll own you.”

  Ice crystallized in my veins. “You’re going to rape me.”

  “No. I won’t fuck you. That would just make you angry. I’m going to make you hurt.”

  “Trust me, hurting me will only piss me off.”

  His palm pressed against the center of my chest. I knew he would be able to feel my heart pounding against my ribcage.

  “There are ways to damage the soul,” he told me. “I intend to leave my mark on yours.” His fingers trailed over my pebbled skin. “Roman,” he called out. “Our guest is cold.”

  Roman grimaced and gestured at his bloodied hand. He barked at one of the other guards, and the man jolted to do his bidding, crossing the room to the woodstove. I watched in confusion as he opened the door. Heat poured out, warming my skin.

  But that wasn’t Dimitri’s intention. Of course it wasn’t. Roman had handed him a long metal poker. Dimitri held it up to my face to show it to me. The end of the iron had been wrought into two overlapping letters: DA.

  I recoiled, only to find I had nowhere to go. My weight fell on my wrists again, but my shriek wasn’t one of pain; I was terrified.

  Dimitri was holding a branding iron.

  He watched my reaction with rapt fascination. My hatred surged, and I clung to it. Adrenaline kicked in hard, helping me find my balance on my toes again. I stared directly into his black eyes.

  “That won’t break me,” I declared, radiating defiance.

  He cocked his head at me, considering. “We’ll see.”

  He stepped away from me and plunged the iron into the fire. Sparks rose from the disturbed coals, and my eyes followed them as they danced into the air. I remained transfixed by the leaping flames until Dimitri entered my sight line again. I registered his nearness just as he slipped a padded blindfold over my eyes. I shook my head, but the elasticated band at the back held it firmly in place.

  With my sense of sight stolen once again, everything else sharpened. I could hear Dimitri breathing beside me, could feel the heat of the flames that flickered in the woodstove.

  My fear heighted along with my senses.

  “If you were a real man, you’d fight me,” I shouted into the darkness.

  His hand skimmed down my back. I tried to arch away, but I couldn’t move without falling.

  “Then I might accidentally break something. And I like the way you look. Your face is too pretty to destroy with my fists.” His knuckles rolled across my spine.

  “And what makes you so sure you’d win?” I seethed. “I could take you down.”

  “If you tried, I might accidentally kill you. And I definitely don’t want that. Besides, I like seeing you in bondage. It’s one of my kinks.”

  “You’re not into kink!” I burst out. “Nothing you do is remotely related to BDSM. So don’t try to sell me your I’m a Master bullshit. What you practice is abuse. Torture. Not kink.”

  “Are you finished?” he asked, his voice low in my ear.

  I swallowed hard. Now that my tirade had run its course, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Call it whatever you like, I am a Master,” he said softly. “I will be your Master. Would you like me to demonstrate my skills? I’d be happy to give you a taste. I’m interested to find out how masochistic you are.”

  “Not at all.” I tried to say it flatly, but my voice shook.

  “We’ll see.”

  Several seconds of unnerving silence stretched between us. Without his voice to guide me, I had no idea where he was or what he might be about to do.

  The whip whispered through the air. I recognized the sound just before the pain licked across my left shoulder. I screamed in shock more than agony, although the hit did sting like a bitch.

  He laughed, and another landed just below the first. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and bit down to keep my scream locked in.

  It took five more hits before I finally cried out again, unleashing the sound of my pain.

  “Now you have some nice marks to show Agent Sullivan,” he said with satisfaction. “And that was a very pretty scream.” He was back at my side again, his warm breath fanning across my neck. “I want another.”

  A concentrated point of heat pulsed against my bare skin, hovering over my right ass cheek.

  The branding iron.

  Fear clogged my throat.

  “I’m going to give you a new mark now,” he told me. “After this, you’ll belong to me.”

  “A mark on my skin doesn’t make me yours,” I managed to force through chattering teeth.

  He tapped the center of my chest, just above my heart. “I’m marking you here. All the fear you’re feeling right now, all the rage. It’s burning through your soul. That is my mark.”

  The heat intensified, and I knew the iron couldn’t be more than a few inches from my skin. He was going to leave a permanent scar. Even if I someday managed to kill him, it would always be there, reminding me of him.

  “Don’t.” The word left my lips before I could stop it.

  I won’t beg. I won’t beg.

  His initials would be burned into my flesh forever. How could I ever forget him if he did this to me? He really would live inside my soul.

  My skin was beginning to smart just from the nearness of the hot iron.

  “Please.”

  Searing pain ripped through my system when he pressed the burning brand into my flesh. His soft laugh danced over my anguished scream. Agony and terror hit me hard enough to make stars burst across the inside of my closed eyelids. The horror was too visceral for my mind to face. I fell down into the blackness that surrounded me.

  Unconsciousness was a merciful release.

  * * * * *

  I hit the ground hard, and I jolted awake. My eyes opened to a night-dark room. It took a few seconds for my vision to adjust to the streetlight that filtered in through the curtains. I could see a pair of heavy black boots walking away from me where I lay sprawled out on the carpet. Roman glanced back at me, smirked, and then stepped out into the night.

  Confusion clouded my mind as I struggled to recall where I was. I flinched at the memory of the basement, of the heat of the brand…

  Don’t go there. Not now.

  I wasn’t in the basement any longer. And the Russians were gone. Dimitri had said
he planned to let me go, and he had followed through on his promise.

  I pushed myself up and studied my surroundings. I was back in Finlay’s flat, where we had tortured Roman. Spots of blood dotted the carpet where his fingers had fallen, and bullet holes riddled the overturned couch.

  My eyes fell on my red trench coat, still hanging from the coatrack by the door. I forced my shaking knees to support me and went to retrieve it. I had to cover my nakedness.

  The woolen material scratched uncomfortably against the raw marks on my back where Dimitri had whipped me. Oddly, I felt no pain when the material whispered across the brand. All I could assume was my brain was refusing to acknowledge its existence.

  Don’t think about that. Move forward. Get help.

  But I couldn’t go to Hugh. Dimitri wanted to kill him, and he knew I was Hugh’s weak spot. I wouldn’t put him in danger by getting close to him.

  I stuffed my hand in my coat pocket, checking for cash. My wallet and phone were long gone, but I still had sixty pounds on me. Enough to get a cab… Where? Where was I going to go?

  I couldn’t go to the safe house, and I couldn’t stay here. Maybe I could afford a hostel somewhere nearby. I would have to skip the cab and save my cash.

  Gathering my resolve, I opened the front door and stepped out into the street. I had no idea what time it was, but it must be close to dawn. The overcast sky didn’t help with my time estimate, but it had been nearly midnight when Dimitri took me. How long had I been out?

  Again, I shied away from thoughts of the basement. I gritted my teeth.

  Not now.

  All I could do was keep moving. The sidewalk was frigid under my bare feet, and chill wind gusted through my coat to freeze my skin.

  “Clara!” Hugh called out behind me.

  I kept walking. I couldn’t go back to him, no matter how much my heart ached at the sound of his voice.

  His running footsteps echoed through the street. I rounded on him.

  “Go away! You can’t be near me, Hugh,” I shouted.

  He scowled and didn’t slow his progress. He was on me in seconds, grabbing my arm to keep me from fleeing. I didn’t try to run. I was too drained to get far. Instead, I pleaded with him.

  “Dimitri is going to kill you. You have to stay away from me. You need to take cover. He could be watching right now.”

  He looked me up and down, worry twisting his features. “Where are your shoes?”

  I stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. Just get away from me.”

  “Not bloody likely.” A frown tugged at his lips. “Weren’t you wearing jeans?”

  “I’m leaving now,” I announced. “Let me go.”

  Understanding sparked in his eyes, and he pulled me closer. “What did he do to you?” he snarled. “Did he-”

  “No!” I cut him off before he could ask me any more. “He didn’t touch me.”

  Not sexually, I amended in my mind.

  The anger in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me. “How did you get away?”

  “He let me go,” I said, desperate to make him understand. “He let me go so he could get to you through me. That’s why you have to get away from me. Please.”

  A car pulled up beside us. I recognized it as Hugh’s black Mercedes. The back door was flung open, and Dex’s concerned face appeared.

  “Come on,” he urged. “We can’t stay here.”

  Hugh hauled me toward the car. I started to struggle.

  “God damn it! Why aren’t you listening to me?”

  “Either you get in this car, or I stand out here in the open with you,” Hugh threatened. “Your choice.”

  All the fight drained out of me. I knew I was too weakened to physically resist him, and I wasn’t willing to keep him exposed out on the open street. I slid in beside Dex, wincing when the movement made my coat scratch across the welts on my back.

  Hugh got in the front seat, and Finlay drove off.

  “Where are your jeans?” Dex asked sharply.

  “Just leave me alone,” I muttered, not looking at him.

  His expression hardened. “What are you wearing under your coat?” he demanded.

  “I told you to leave me alone!” All the fear and self-loathing I had been trying to suppress burst forth, and I lashed out at him. My hand cracked across his cheek.

  Shocked silence filled the car. He seemed more stunned than hurt. “Okay,” he said slowly. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

  My gaze broke from his. I fisted my hands in my lap to hide their trembling. I didn’t want to talk about it ever. All I wanted was to forget. I still couldn’t feel the pain of the brand on my skin, but my soul burned from it, just as Dimitri had promised it would. He had marked me as his.

  “I’ll own you,” he had said. In that moment, I feared it was true.

  Chapter 19

  By the time we reached the safe house, the morning sun was just beginning to struggle through the clouds to illuminate the flat.

  “Dimitri said you were supposed to die tonight,” I said. “How did you guys make it through that raid?” I hoped I could postpone the moment when I would be questioned about the night’s events.

  “I saw the flashbang and took cover before it went off,” Hugh said. “I was able to start shooting before they did. They got to you and Roman, but by then these two,” he jerked his chin at Finlay and Dex, “were coming around, and Abramovich’s guys could only use cover fire to get out of there.”

  “How did you figure out where I was, anyway?”

  “We weren’t able to track your cell phone, but then we got a call from it about an hour ago,” Hugh said tightly. “Abramovich told me where to find you.”

  “And you didn’t bring backup?” I demanded. “It could have been a trap!”

  “I didn’t want to risk him hurting you if he found out I brought Special Branch in.”

  I ground my teeth. “This is exactly why I need to get away from you. You’re not thinking rationally. You’re lucky he didn’t have someone kill you when you came to get me. He might have had men waiting. If I hadn’t left Finlay’s flat when I did-”

  “You did leave, and we stopped to pick you up before we got to the flat,” Hugh interrupted me. He stepped in front of me and gently gripped my upper arms so I couldn’t dodge away from him. “No one was hurt, and we weren’t followed back here. You’re safe now.”

  “But you’re not!” I half-shouted, trying to make him understand. “He wants you dead. He knows he can’t take me as long as you’re alive, and he also knows I make you vulnerable. You can’t fight him properly if you’re worried about protecting me. We need to split up.”

  His fingers tightened around my arms. “You’re not leaving my sight. Especially not after tonight. Do you have any idea what he might have done to you? I can’t believe he sent you back in one piece.”

  Finlay had remained silent up to this point, but he had been watching me carefully. “I don’t think he did,” he said. “Take off your coat.”

  My hands fisted in the woolen material, drawing it closer to my body. “No,” I refused, exerting all my willpower to keep my voice steady. “I’m fine. Just leave it.”

  Hugh stared down at me, his blue eyes piercing my heart. “Show me.”

  I swallowed. “It’s nothing. Really, I’ve had worse before.”

  “Either you unbutton that coat, or I will,” he threatened softly. “You have ten seconds to make up your mind.”

  I wavered. “Before I do, I want you to know that despite how it may look, he didn’t touch me. I swear.”

  Hugh softened. “All right. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you. Show me so I can help make it better.”

  “I’m going to make you hurt.” I feared the damage Dimitri had done went more than skin-deep, just as he had promised. If Hugh saw the mark, that would make it real. My fists twisted tighter into my coat.

  “I don’t think you can,” I told him, my voice strained.

  He
touched two fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. “Of course I can help. No matter how bad it is. Trust me.”

  Words stuck in my throat, but I managed a jerky nod. I couldn’t hide from Hugh forever. Not when he refused to leave my side.

  I realized I did trust him.

  My fingers shook so violently that I fumbled at the first button. Hugh gently pushed my hands away, and I let him. His jaw firmed when the coat fell open to show my bare skin, but his touch remained tender as he eased it back down off my arms.

  Dex let out a low growl behind me, and I stiffened. Hugh’s eyes ran a quick inspection of my front, and then he turned me around so he could see what had upset Dex.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, unwilling to look at my friend. He had seen the shameful mark. I had been so weak in the end. I had begged Dimitri not to do it. I remembered the sound of his soft laughter as I screamed.

  “It’ll be okay, love,” Hugh reassured me, his voice tight despite his efforts to soothe me. “The whip marks will fade in a few days.”

  “It’s not the whip marks I’m worried about,” I whispered.

  “Where else did he hurt you?” Hugh asked roughly.

  Was he serious? “The brand,” I choked out.

  “He branded you?” The words came out in a savage snarl.

  “Yes!” I yelled at him, rage suddenly flooding me at having to make the admission. “What are you, blind?”

  “Where?” he asked, sounding more worried than angry now.

  “What do you mean where?” I craned my neck back so I could look down over my shoulder. “Can’t you see-”

  Nothing. There was nothing there. Just smooth, lightly tanned skin.

  My head whipped around to check the other side. Nothing.

  How could there be nothing? Why didn’t I feel the pain of the burn?

  I ran my hands over my bottom. No blistering.

  But I had felt it. The metal seared my skin. I passed out from the pain.

  There’s nothing there.

  The ice, I realized. There had been ice in the cooler. I had heard of that particular mindfuck being used in BDSM: show a sub the brand, let her feel the heat, and then touch her with ice. The fear-flooded mind would equate the burning cold with searing heat.