Crystal Mac: A prologue novella to Captive Series Book 3 HELL'S HILLTOP

by Dennam, J. A.

  The ghost who’d been keeping him company went to the door and closed it. “I’ll stay.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” Crystal’s voice dripped with annoyance.

  The obscurity of her statement wasn’t lost on Mac, who suffered the exchange in complete darkness.

  “I like watching you work, Crystal,” the other ghost answered with finality. “Don’t begrudge me this rare opportunity.”

  Plastic rustled. Something ripped. “Fine,” she conceded through gritted teeth. “Get his pants off while I plug this thing in.”

  Mac’s nostrils flared as he fought to adjust his vision. There was a tug near his crotch. No fucking way was he giving up his balls without a fight. With renewed vigor, he threw his weight to the side and tipped the chair over, landing with a muted thud.

  “Hit him with the baton again,” Crystal snapped.

  Without the ability to function, Mac braced himself, waited for it. Electric noise sizzled in the air followed by a thump and a swishing sound.

  All was quiet for the span of a heartbeat. Then Crystal’s voice filled the void.

  “You are the most predictable jackass idiot I ever met.”

  Mac opened his eyes to the darkness. More plastic rustled. The chair-back had slammed into his triceps upon impact and he groaned in pain as he rolled onto his knees. The light came on. He blanched against the assault to his pupils, but through the narrow slit of his eyelids, he saw lots of blood.

  Just a hint of it made his stomach churn, a weakness he’d fought since the unfortunate beating in Port-au-Prince that left him in an eternal sea of red.

  But, this wasn’t the blood of a child, nor was it his own. A black uniform shone through the clear plastic, confirming it was that of the other ghost.

  Crystal sheathed her bloody knife then stood, a noticeable tremble to her shoulders.

  Mac blinked, shook his head to clear it. “What just happened?”

  “Shut up,” she snapped, her back still to him. “Just… shut up.”

  Keys fell from her other hand and she scrambled to pick them up. Within seconds, his ankle bonds were cut and the handcuffs removed. “Lana’s waiting in your van. We have to hurry.”

  Mac staggered to his feet, shirt open and swaying with him. “You… you were acting the whole time?”

  “I chose the only game you could walk away from, so don’t crawl up my ass for it.” She shoved her hood back and put her ear to the door.

  He worked on closing his snaps, but couldn’t quite control his fingers yet. “A little warning would have been nice,” he grumbled, closing his eyes to the crimson that loomed in his peripheral vision.

  “Shhh.”

  “A wink or something. Anything! But nooo, you had to go for the Oscar.”

  “I’ll apologize later, now be quiet.”

  “I thought you were really gonna go through with it. Neuter me like some hump-happy St. Bernard.”

  She shot him an exasperated frown. When she noticed him struggling, her shoulders relaxed and she came at him with a pert frown. “Your snaps are crooked.”

  As his shirt came open again, her frown deepened. Small fingertips skimmed over the stitches on his left shoulder. “This is one of ours, too,” she murmured. “Was it Rafferty?”

  He chose not to answer that. Apparently the wounds they inflicted came with initials.

  Crystal’s hand lowered to the fresh burn marks on his fur-covered chest, leaving a jolt of electricity in its wake. Her eyes immediately lowered as if she actually heard his dick rise.

  “Ah,” she crooned, “the truth comes out.” When her eyes traveled upward again, they met his with a mischievous twinkle. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you?”

  Christ, Mac, reel in your shit. Of all the muscles in his body, that one had to come alive first. He wasn’t ready to forgive her yet, let alone entertain salacious thoughts of ripping her clothes off.

  But, yeah… he wanted to fuck the hell out of her.

  “It’s the adrenaline,” she continued, placing her ear against the door once again. “I could seriously use it myself, but it’ll have to wait.”

  “Now, I didn’t say… I don’t want…” Mac blustered, putting distance between them. “Jesus, Crystal, there’s a dead guy on the floor,” he finally managed.

  The light was extinguished just before the door opened and closed again behind them. They made their way down the hall. Mac strongly suspected she’d killed the other two ghosts, which was a good thing, because recovery was slow coming. What he couldn’t run into, he tripped over, leaving a trail of noise in their wake.

  “There was your first mistake,” Crystal whispered as they passed a security camera nestled high in the ceiling of the hallway he’d taken earlier.

  “I was wearing a paper suit,” he argued as she maneuvered him in a different direction. “Just like everyone else.”

  “Nobody here fills it out quite like you do,” she explained patiently.

  Was she calling him fat? He glared at her slender backside with rancor. He’d lost quite a bit of weight over the last two years. May not be ripped like Austin or Derek, but one of his daycare mothers had called him, what was it? Beefy?

  Not that he cared what Crystal thought. She was a dozen years younger than him and erotic… shit… erratic to a fault. His idea of a good match was someone sweet. Comfortable. Non-lethal.

  As they worked their way through another darkened wing of private offices, Crystal abruptly stopped. She whirled around, flicked long bangs from her face. “In here,” she whispered, shoving him through the closest door. It was a small conference room, very visible to all behind a wall of clear glass. Six leather chairs flanked an oblong table, all barely discernible in the meager light from down the hall.

  Soon Mac heard the footsteps Crystal must have picked up on earlier.

  She held a slim finger to her lips. He nodded in understanding. Somewhere, another light came on and they heard whistling. It was only office personnel, but someone who could still raise alarms. A warm hum sounded in the distance and soon the mechanical tempo of a copy machine. Crystal’s shoulders slumped and she pulled him down by the sleeve.

  “You might as well sit until they leave,” she whispered, her warm breath bathing his ear. “You need to get your shit back together.”

  Even though it ate up too much time, Mac agreed. In his current state, he’d get them both caught and killed. He sank down into one of the leather chairs, stretched out the achy fatigue in his limbs. If Luke were even still around, the man would be pissed. A good twenty minutes had passed since Mac left him simmering in the boiler room. Even worse, Lana waited for them in the van. Too much time and Rafferty’s assistant would be discovered.

  The copy machine continued to rack out pages. Angst made him fidgety. Maybe they could make a break for it? Put the poor overworked soul in a deep sleep and shove him in an office? Maybe Crystal knew a way to…

  All thought was struck from his mind when her hand found the opening of his shirt, flattened against his bare chest. His eyes popped open. Kneeling between his legs, Crystal put a finger to her lips and slowly unzipped his jeans. Mac jerked, grabbed her wrist. Again, she put her finger to her lips indicating the necessity of complete silence. He shook his head, scowled darkly. Then her palm cupped his balls through the thick barriers and stroked.

  Desire flooded his core, leveling all wisdom in one shot. After what he’d just learned about her unique brand of torture, the woman had no business down there, but he hadn’t had sex in almost a year. That was the only reason her touch felt so. Fucking. Incredible.

  As Mac distracted himself with justifications, she’d managed to open his fly. Cool air hit the most sensitive parts of him when she pulled him out, closed warm fingers around his girth.

  What the hell… did she… think she was… doing?

  Her hot mouth closed around him. Blood thumped in his groin, but he instinctively pushed at her shoulders, begging her to stop before it was t
oo late. Instead of adding distance, however, his traitorous hands held her in place, moved upward to lace through her short hair.

  “Christ,” he mouthed without producing a sound. She was holding him captive, blowing him in their not-so-secret hiding place while Joe Schmo made fifty million freaking copies ten feet down the hall. Never before had he found himself in quite a position. It was dangerous. Stupid. The timing couldn’t be worse. And it only made his balls grind with lust beneath the expert handling of her touch.

  Somehow, she managed to suck and stroke his length, yet not produce a single wet noise. While her hand pumped at the base, her pharynx constricted unmercifully around his sensitive head.

  That’s it. My God. Not yet. Not yet!

  But despite his inner plea, he unloaded directly down her throat. His torso curled with the force of it as he fought to keep quiet. She didn’t gag, struggle, or pull away, instead held him tight and deep until he’d expelled every drop. His head fell back, and a groan escaped.

  Shit! No noise!

  Crystal laughed quietly, released him and stood. “If you haven’t noticed,” she whispered, “our office nerd is gone.”

  Not that he’d be able to answer her until oxygen was restored.

  “Tuck that bad boy back in your pants and let’s go.”

  Had she really just blown him? The cooling moisture on his dick said yes, but the woman left him hanging out to recoup alone.

  Unaccustomed to putting himself away on the run, Mac caught up with her and zipped his pants. “What the hell was that?” he whispered as she put her ear to the door. A red exit sign glowed above them like mistletoe.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a BJ before,” she said casually then pushed it open.

  They found themselves in a concrete hallway that reeked of something off. Cooked chemicals? “Of course I have,” Mac shot back defensively. “Just never been ambushed with one.”

  “Shhh. You feel better, don’t you?”

  Strangely—or not so strangely—he did feel better. His focus was back. Mobility was restored. Aside from the need of a good nap, things were incredibly clear, as if he’d been given a dose of uppers.

  They peeked through another door and slipped into a hallway Mac was more familiar with. The boiler room was now in sight. “Come on,” he said, pulling Crystal along.

  “Mac!”

  That was Luke’s voice. They approached the windowed door where a red-faced repairman waited.

  “Sorry about that,” Mac murmured. “Ran into trouble.” And the five-foot-nothing behind him came with a capital ‘T’.

  Luke leaned in with a heavy scowl. “If you’re done here we were supposed to leave about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Yep. The guy was pissed, but Mac still felt pretty good.

  Boiler room heat met cool night air as they moved outside and took the concrete steps two at a time.

  Luke yanked on the driver’s side door of his utility truck. “Tell your boss I’m out of favors.”

  Suddenly, Mac was relieved he’d left the demolition business. Kids were a lot easier to work with. He opened the rear doors of the service van and found it completely empty.

  Crystal vaulted into the back. “You okay to drive?”

  “Where’s Lana?” he growled.

  “I got what we need, just drive!”

  He hoped to shit she was right, because there was no time to argue. Once the engine started, Mac felt better, but there was still about a hundred yards between him and freedom.

  The guard stood outside by the gate. Mac grabbed the ball cap from the dash and pulled it low over his face.

  “Was there a problem?” the guard asked gruffly, taking back the visitor’s badge. Apparently he’d kept his eye on the time.

  “Just trying to avoid one,” Mac evaded. As he held out his hand for the necessary papers, Luke’s horn beeped twice behind him.

  Startled, Mac watched in the side mirror as the guard talked in length to the other Repair Care driver. Was Luke so pissed he’d rat him out?

  The gate was before him, just a measly spike of wood that held no chance against a charging van. As his hand curled around the column shift, the guard began to walk back.

  With a smile on his face.

  “I’ll log your time,” was all he said before waving him off.

  Mac’s heart started pumping again, but he didn’t fully relax until the highway was in sight. They rode in silence. Not a peep came from the woman curled up in the back.

  “You asleep?” he asked over his shoulder. No answer, which was no big surprise. Crystal had to be exhausted, and he’d let her sleep for now. She’d need her strength for Derek’s interrogation.

  When he pulled into the Repair Care parking lot, Luke followed him in. The tires rolled to a stop in the empty space among the other vans. Mac put his in park, cut the engine.

  “Time to go, Crystal.”

  All was quiet except for the tick of a cooling engine. “Hey.” Mac twisted, squinted into the dark interior. Unease crept under his skin. He exited the van, rounded toward the back and swung open both doors.

  Completely empty. His heart plummeted down to his toes.

  “No fucking way.”

  Mac had come back to the Cahill’s home empty handed. No Lana. No Crystal. No information about the basement chemist, which was most likely the reason for Crystal’s disappearance. But was it all as underhanded as Derek thought? He’d survived an impossible situation tonight thanks to her quick thinking. Her fellow ghosts had missed her after all. He’d been caught. Plans had changed. He got it.

  But why did she lie about Lana and ditch him afterward?

  “She knows where the basement chemist is,” Derek fumed as he paced the Cahill’s large kitchen. It was a historic Colonial home built in the late nineteenth century and a soft spot in the original wood flooring creaked repetitively, adding to the angst. “The ball is entirely in her court. If she takes control of Nexifen, the rest of us are jumping through her hoops.”

  From his place at the breakfast nook, Mac stared out the bay windows into the inky black night, reflecting on the solemnity of the situation. Austin and Danny sat across from him, equally somber with just as much at stake as the rest of them. Crystal’s choices would affect them all.

  “Lana must have had more information than we thought,” Melanie added from her place at the island. “She’s probably with the chemist now.”

  “Or she’s still at Lesico,” Mac said thoughtfully. “She must have crawled out as I climbed into the driver’s seat. It’s the only chance she had without me knowing.”

  Danny reached across the table, folded her hands over his. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Fine.” He gave her small hands a squeeze of assurance. She and Austin were his closest friends. The epitome of strength, even more so as a couple than they had been apart. But, it was Derek’s sister who had taken his sorry life and turned it into something positive. He’d still be slinging sledgehammers at minimum wage if it weren’t for her, and her presence always added a certain comfort no one else’s could.

  “It’ll be alright, Mac,” she said, her big brown eyes reflecting doubt in his answer. “If she saved you, I’m sure she’s still on the right track, even if she is operating under her own rules.”

  “But we’ll never know for sure unless we catch up with her again.”

  “I should’ve known better than to let you go with her,” Derek murmured as he leaned against the counter, his back to them all. “It should have been me.”

  “Like you could have done any better with your chest wound,” Austin said in Mac’s defense. “Mac was the right choice. Danny thought Crystal had some kind of thing for him, so she’d naturally want to help him.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Mac said with a sour look.

  Danny slid out of her seat and joined him on his bench. When he continued to stare at his hands, she bumped shoulders. “You’re every girl’s white knight, you big lug. Take it from me.�
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  Of course she’d feel that way. He was her first defender when she came to work at Cahill Salvage, while Austin still had her in his crosshairs. Mac never liked that his boss had targeted her in his revenge attempt against Derek. Eventually, the two men had duked it out in the shower room, and it had taken him and two other guys to pull them apart.

  Things were good between the former enemies, now, but it would be a gross understatement to say Derek had changed since then. If he wanted to kick the shit out of someone, it wouldn’t be any hillbilly brawl this time.

  “Hey.” Danny gave his forearm a pat. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go home? Get some sleep.”

  Sleep? Ha! “What about the ghosts downstairs?”

  “Austin will stand guard. You were lit up more than once tonight and I know how hard that is on the body.”

  Since Danny had been subjected to a few volts once upon a time, any excuse he came up with to put her at ease would be a total load of shit.

  “Yeah,” he conceded with a nod. “Guess I’ll go recharge. Catch some zee’s.”

  When they stood, Mac walked over to the playpen and paid silent homage to the blond toddler asleep inside it. “Night, sport,” he whispered, wishing he could bury his mustache in the kid’s neck as was their nightly bedtime ritual. DJ loved it. Mac missed it.

  But, as of yesterday, nothing would ever be the same again.

  Mac tossed and turned on the living room hide-a-bed he’d called his own for the past year. Lacking a bedroom didn’t bother him as much as sharing one bathroom did, and he’d had to change his habits quickly after moving in with Mel and DJ. Privacy was limited in the tiny one-bedroom apartment.

  Of course, privacy had its advantages. Crystal’s masterful blowjob came to the forefront of his thoughts, giving him instant wood. Great. Not exactly the thing to coax sleep.

  He looked at the microwave clock. 1:00 AM. It was Monday and their assistant would be opening the daycare’s doors in six and a half hours.

  His cell phone woke up with the marimba. He reached over, grabbed it off the end table. It was Danny, which meant something was wrong.