by J. R. Ward
He was stepping over to the third when the captive yelled, "No! Th-that one's booby-trapped!"
Z froze. "How?"
Through chattering teeth, the civilian said, "I d-don't know. I just heard the l-lesser warn one of his m-men about it."
Before Z could ask, Rhage started walking the room. "Got a gun over here. Business end pointed in that direction." There were the sounds of metal clicks and shifting. "It's not armed. Anymore."
Z looked above the hole. Mounted on the exposed rafters of the roof, about fifteen feet from the floor, there was a small device. "V, what have we got up there?"
"Laser eye. You break it, it probably triggers the—"
"Hold up," Rhage said. "I got another gun to empty out here."
V stroked his goatee. "There must be a remote-control activator, although the guy probably took it with him. That's what I would do." He squinted up at the ceiling. "That particular model runs on lithium batteries. So it's not like we could kill the generator to turn it off. And they're tricky to disarm."
Z glanced around for something he could use to push the plate off and thought of the bathroom. He went inside, whipped the shower curtain down, and brought the pole it had hung from back.
"Everyone clear out."
Rhage spoke sharply. "Z, man, I don't know that I've found all the—"
"Take the civilian with you." When no one moved, he cursed. "We don't have time to fuck around, and if someone's getting shot it's going to be me. Jesus Christ, will you brothers leave?"
When the place was cleared out, Z approached the hole. Standing with his back to one of the guns that had been removed, so that he would have been in its line of fire, he nudged the cover off with the pole. A gunshot rang out with a popping sound.
Z caught the slug in his left calf. The searing impact brought him down on one knee, but he ignored it and dragged himself to the neck of the pipe. He took hold of the ropes that led down into the earth and began to pull.
The first thing he saw was her hair. Bella's long, beautiful mahogany hair was all around her, a veil over her face and shoulders.
He sagged and lost his vision, partly passing out, but even through the full-body wobble, he kept pulling. Abruptly the effort became easier… because there were hands helping him… other hands on the rope, other hands laying her gently on the floor.
Dressed in a sheer nightgown that was stained with her blood, she wasn't moving, but she was breathing. He carefully pushed her hair back from her face…
Zsadist's blood pressure took a nosedive. "Oh, sweet Jesus… oh, sweet Jesus… oh, sweet—"
"What did they do…" Whoever had spoken couldn't find the words to finish.
Throats cleared. A couple of coughs were smothered. Or maybe they were gags.
Z gathered her in his arms and just… hugged her. He had to get her out, but he couldn't move for what had been done to her. Blinking, dizzy, screaming inside, he rocked her gently back and forth. Words fell from his mouth, lamentations for her in the Old Language.
Phury sank down to his knees. "Zsadist? We have to take her away from here."
Focus came to Z in a rush, and suddenly all he could think about was moving her to the mansion. He sliced the harness off her torso, then struggled to his feet with her in his arms. When he tried to walk, his left leg gave out and he stumbled. For a split second he couldn't think of why.
"Let me take her," Phury said, putting out his hands. "You've been shot."
Zsadist shook his head and brushed by his twin, limping.
He took Bella out to the Taurus that was still parked in front of the building. Holding her against his chest, he broke the driver's-side window with his fist, then craned his arm inside and unlocked everything while the alarm went crazy. Opening the rear door, he leaned down and put her on the seat. When he bent her legs slightly to make them fit, the nightgown rode up and he winced. She had bruises. A lot of them.
As the alarm ran out of steam, he said, "Someone give me a jacket."
The second he held his hand out behind him, leather hit his palm. He draped her carefully in what he realized was Phury's coat, and then he shut her in and got behind the wheel.
The last thing he heard was a command from Wrath. "V, get out that hand of yours. This place needs to be torched."
Reaching under the dash, Z hot-wired the sedan and sped from the scene like a bat out of hell.
O pulled his truck over to the curb on a dark section of Tenth Street. "I still don't get why you lied."
"If you got yourself sent home to the Omega, where would that leave us? You're one of the strongest slayers we've got."
O glanced over with distaste. "You're such a company man, aren't you?"
"I take pride in our work."
"How nineteen-fifties, Howdy Doody of you."
"Yeah, and that shit saved your ass, so be grateful."
Whatever. He had better things to worry about than U's gung ho pep rally crap.
He and U got out of the truck. ZeroSum and Screamer's and Snuff'd were down a couple blocks, and though it was cold, there were lines waiting to get into the clubs. Some of the shivering masses were undoubtedly vampires, and even if they weren't, the night would be busy. There were always fights with the Brothers to get down with.
O hit the security alarm, stuffed the keys into his pocket… and stopped dead in the middle of Tenth Street. He literally couldn't move.
His wife… Jesus, his wife really hadn't looked well when he'd left with U.
O grabbed the front of his black turtleneck, feeling like he couldn't breathe. He didn't care about the pain she was enduring; she'd brought that on herself. But he couldn't bear it if she died, if she left him… What if she was dying right now?
"What's the matter?" U asked.
O fished around for the car keys, anxiety sizzling in his veins. "I've got to go."
"You're bailing? We missed quota last night—"
"I just have to go back to the center for a sec. L's over on Fifth Street hunting. Hang with him. I'll find you in thirty."
O didn't wait for an answer. He hopped in the truck and sped out of town, taking Route 22 through Caldwell's rural sprawl. He was about fifteen minutes away from the persuasion center when he saw the flashing tangle of a cop car convention up ahead. He cursed and hit the brakes, hoping it was just an accident.
But no, in the intervening time since he'd left, the goddamned police had set up another one of their intoxication checkpoints. Two squad cars were parked on either side of Route 22, and orange cones and flares ran up the middle of the road. On the right, there was a reflective sign announcing the Caldwell Police Department's Safety First program.
Holy Christ, like they had to do this here? In the middle of nowhere? Why weren't they downtown, near the bars? Then again, people from the shit burg next to Caldwell did have to drive home after club-hopping in the big city…
There was one car in front of him, a minivan, and O drummed his fingers on top of the steering wheel. He had half a mind to pull out his Smith & Wesson and pop both the cop and the driver to their royal reward. Just for slowing him up.
A car approached from the opposite direction, and O looked across the road. The unremarkable Ford Taurus stopped with a little squeak of the brakes, its headlights milky and dim.
Man, those lame-ass cars were a dime a dozen, but that was why U had chosen the make and model for his own ride. Fitting in with the general human population was critical to keeping the war with the vampires secret.
As the policeman approached the POS, O thought it was weird that the driver's window was already down on a cold night like this. Then he got a gander at the guy behind the wheel. Holy shit. Bastard had a scar as thick as a finger running down his face. And a gauge in his earlobe. Maybe the car was stolen.
The cop obviously had the same idea, because his hand was on the butt of his gun as he bent over to address the driver. And the shit really went down when the badge trained his flashlight into the backseat.
Abruptly his body jerked like he'd been nailed between the eyes, and he reached for his shoulder, going for what was probably his transmitter. Except the driver stuck his head out the window and stared up at the officer. There was a frozen moment between them.
Then the policeman dropped his arm and casually waved the Taurus through without even checking the driver's ID.
O glared at the cop doing duty on O's side of the road. The fucker was still detaining the soccer-mom special in front like the minivan was full of drug dealers. Meanwhile, the guy's buddy across the way was letting what looked like a serial killer go through without so much as a hi-how-are-ya. It was like getting in the wrong lane at a tollbooth.
Finally O pulled up. He was as civil as he could be, and a couple minutes later he was hitting the gas. He'd gone about five miles when a brilliant flash of light broke out over the landscape to the right. About where the persuasion center was.
He thought of the kerosene heater. The one that leaked.
O floored the accelerator. His woman was stuck in the ground… If there was a fire…
He cut into the forest and sped under the pine trees, bumping up and down, his head smacking the roof while he tried to hang onto the steering wheel. He reassured himself that up ahead there was no orange glow from a blaze. If there had been an explosion, there would be flames, smoke…
His headlights swung around. The persuasion center was gone. Eliminated. Ash.
O punched into the brake to keep the truck from smashing into a tree. Then he looked around the forest to make sure he was in the right place. When it was clear he was, he leaped out and threw himself to the ground.
Grabbing handfuls of dust, he waded around in the residue until the shit got in his nose and his mouth and covered his body like a robe. He found bits of melted metal, but nothing larger than his palm.
Through the roaring in his mind, he remembered seeing this odd ghostly powder before.
O tilted his head back and hurled his voice to the heavens. He had no idea what left his mouth. All he knew was that the Brotherhood had done this. Because the same thing had happened to the lessers' martial-arts academy six months ago.
Dust… ashes… gone. And they had taken his wife.
Oh, God… Had she been alive when they'd found her? Or had they taken her body with them? Was she dead?
This was his fault; this was all his fault. He'd been so hellbent on punishing her, he'd missed the implications of that civilian getting loose. The male had gone to the Brotherhood and told them where she was, and they had come at the first shades of night and taken her away.
O wiped desperate tears out of his eyes. And then he stopped breathing. He swiveled his head around, taking in the landscape. U's silver Ford Taurus was gone.
The checkpoint. The fucking checkpoint. That scary-ass man behind the wheel had in fact been no man at all. He'd been a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. Had to be. And O's wife had been in the back, either barely breathing or dead. That was why the cop had freaked out. He'd seen her as he'd looked into the rear of the car, but the Brother had brainwashed him into letting the Taurus through.
O lurched into the truck and hammered the accelerator, driving east, heading for U's place.
The Taurus had a LoJack system.
Which meant with the right computer equipment, he could find that POS anywhere.
CHAPTER 7
Bella had some vague thought that she was in a car. Except how was that possible? She must be hallucinating.
No… it really sounded like a car, with that steady hum of an engine. And it felt like a car, a subtle vibration that at times condensed into a bump as something in the road went under the tires.
She tried to open her eyes, found she couldn't, and tried again. As the effort exhausted her, she gave up. God, she was tired… like she had the flu. Ached all over, too, especially at her head and stomach. And she was nauseated. She tried to remember what had happened, how she'd gotten free, if she was free. But all she had was an image of the lesser who loved her coming through the door, covered in black blood. The rest was fog.
Patting her hand around, she found something covering her shoulders and pulled it closer. Leather. And it smelled… not at all like the cloying sweetness of a lesser. It was the scent of a male of her race. She took more breaths in through her nose. When she caught the baby-powder scent of the slayers, she was confused until she pressed her nose into the seat. Yes, in the upholstery. This was a lesser's car. But then why was a male vampire's sweat on what she was wearing? And there was something else, another smell… a dark musk with an evergreen spice.
Bella started to tremble. She remembered the scent well, remembered it from the first time she had gone to the Brotherhood's training compound, remembered it from later, when she had been to their mansion.
Zsadist. Zsadist was in the car with her.
Her heart pounded. She struggled to open her eyes, but either her lids refused to obey or maybe they were already open and it was just too dark for her to see.
Am I rescued? she asked. Did you come for me, Zsadist?
Except no sound came out of her mouth, though she moved her lips. She formed the words again, forcing air through her voice box. A hoarse groan was released, nothing more.
Why weren't her eyes working?
She started to thrash around and then heard the sweetest sound that had ever reached her ears.
"I got you, Bella." Zsadist's voice. Low. Full of strength. "You're safe. You're out of there. And you're never going back."
He had come for her. He had come for her…
She started to sob. The car seemed to slow, but then their speed redoubled.
Her relief was so great, she slid into blackness.
Zsadist kicked open the door to his room, busting the lock mechanism clean off. The crack of sound was loud, and Bella stirred in his arms, moaning. He froze as her head turned from side to side in the crook of his arm.
This was good, he thought. This was very good.
"Come on, Bella, come back to me. Wake up." But she didn't regain consciousness.
He went over to his pallet and laid her down where he slept. When he glanced up, Wrath and Phury were in his doorway, the two huge males blocking out most of the light from the hall.
"She needs to go to Havers's," Wrath said. "She needs to be treated."
"Havers can do what he has to here. She's not leaving this room."
Z ignored the long silence that followed, totally caught up in watching Bella breathe. Her chest was going up and down in a regular pump, but it seemed so shallow.
Phury's sigh was one he'd know anywhere. "Zsadist—"
"Forget it. He'll see her here. And no one is touching her without my permission or my presence." When he glared up at his brothers, Wrath and Phury seemed totally dumbfounded. "For chrissakes, you want me to say it in the Old Language in case you two forgot English? She goes nowhere."
With a curse, Wrath flipped open his cell phone and spoke fast and hard.
When he closed the thing, he said, "Fritz is already in town, and he's going to pick the doctor up. They'll be here in twenty."
Z nodded and looked at Bella's eyelids. He wished he could be the one to take care of what had been done to them. He wanted her to be relieved now. Oh, God… How she must have suffered.
He became aware that Phury had come over, and he didn't like it as the brother knelt down. Z's instinct was to barricade Bella's body with his own, preventing his twin, Wrath, the doctor, any male from seeing her. He didn't understand the impulse, didn't know its origin, but it was so strong he nearly launched himself at Phury's neck.
And then his twin reached out his hand as if to touch her ankle. Z's lips peeled off his fangs, a growl launching out of his mouth.
Phury's head snapped up. "Why are you acting like this?"
She's mine, Z thought.
Except the instant the conviction came to him, he pushed it aside. What the fuck was he doing?
"Sh
e's hurt," he muttered. "Just don't mess with her, okay?"
Havers arrived fifteen minutes later. The tall, thin doctor had a black leather suitcase in his hand and looked like he was ready to do his business. But as he came forward, Z sprang up and intercepted the male into the wall. Havers's pale eyes popped wide behind his tortoiseshell glasses, and his case clattered to the floor.
Wrath cursed. "Jesus Christ—"
Z ignored the hands trying to pull him off and pegged the doctor with a glare. "You treat her better than you would your own blood. She suffers one unnecessary flinch and I will take it out of your hide a hundred times over."
Havers's slender body trembled, his mouth working silently.
Phury gave a good pull and got nowhere. "Z, go easy—"
"Stay out of this," he snapped. "We clear. Doctor?"
"Yes… yes, sire." When Z released him, Havers coughed and pulled at his bow tie. Then frowned. "Sire…? You bleed. Your leg—"
"You don't worry about me. You worry about her. Now."
The male nodded, fumbled with his suitcase, and went over to the pallet. As he got down on his knees beside Bella, Z willed lights on in the room.
Havers's harsh inhalation was probably as close to a curse as the refined male could get. Under his breath he murmured in the Old Language, "To do this to a female… merciful Fade."
"Take the stitches out," Z demanded, looming over the physician.
"First the exam. I have to see if there are more serious injuries."
Havers opened up his case and pulled out a stethoscope, a blood-pressure cuff, and a penlight. He checked her heart rate and breathing, looked into her ears and nose, took her BP. When he opened her mouth she winced a little, but then he lifted her head and she began to struggle in earnest.
Just as Zsadist lunged at the doctor, Phury's heavy arm clamped around Z's chest and jerked him back. "He's not hurting her and you know it."
Z fought the hold, hating the sensation of Phury's body against him. But when his twin didn't let up, he knew it was for the best. He was on a hair trigger, and taking out the doctor would be a stupid move. Hell, he probably shouldn't be armed right now.