In the Heart of Darkness

by Reinke, Sara

  “Bullshit! I can’t just sit by and watch you get the shit beaten out of you over and over…watch you wearing down, wearing out—you’re exhausted, Julien.”

  Julien shook his head again. “I’m fine.”

  “You weren’t fine to begin with—and you’re sure as hell not now. What’s Nikolić got on you to make you do this? Is it money?”

  That old, familiar, stubborn crimp formed between Julien’s brows. “What? No, it’s not money. Jesus Christ, Mason, two hundred years go by, and you still think all of my goddamn problems revolve around money.”

  “Considering it wasn’t until after you’d left Boston that I found out the kind of lengths you’d go to for money if it meant helping someone you cared about, I wouldn’t…” Mason began hotly, but then his voice faltered and his eyes widened.

  “Me,” he whispered in realization as Julien turned his face away again, looking down at the floor. The son of a bitch had cameras in my room, Julien had told him of Nikolić. He knows.

  “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” he said softly. “Holy God, Julien, are you…are you doing this for me?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Julien murmured, drawing his knees toward his chest.

  “Did Nikolić say he’d let me go if you fought for him?” Mason asked. “Julien, look at me. What did he promise you? What did he say?”

  He’d touched Julien’s shoulder as he spoke, only to have Julien shrug him away. With a frown, Mason tried again. “What did Nikolić say? Talk to me, goddamn it. I can’t help you if you don’t—”

  “You can’t help me anyway,” Julien snapped, his brows furrowed as he pushed Mason’s hand away. “He didn’t promise anything, didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I know the drill, believe me. I’ve lived it my whole goddamn life.”

  Mason blinked, caught off-guard. “What are you talking about?”

  Julien shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said again.

  Mason pressed his hand against Julien’s cheek, drawing his gaze. “It matters to me.”

  Julien stared at him, his eyes round and pleading. “You don’t know,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Mason, you have no idea…the things I’ve done…the god-awful things…”

  “For Nikolić?” Mason asked in confusion, but Julien shook his head. Closing his eyes, he turned his face into Mason’s palm. A shudder went through him. “For who, then, Julien? Talk to me. Please.”

  “Dr. Morin,” Nikolić said from the doorway, his voice low and stern. When Mason turned, he found the big man standing with his phone still in hand, his brows crimped, his mouth turned in a disagreeable frown. “Time is up,” he said. “Let’s go. He needs to get ready for his next match.”

  * * *

  “How many more times are you going to make Julien fight?” Mason demanded of Nikolić as they returned to the upper tiers.

  Nikolić didn’t answer; he seemed surly and distracted as he tromped ahead of Mason, and with a frown, Mason caught him by the arm.

  “He’s had enough,” he snapped. “Whatever you’re trying to prove here—you’ve done it. You’ve won. Let him stop now. Let him rest. He’s had enough.”

  Nikolić whirled on Mason, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him back into the nearest wall. His face was twisted with murderous rage, his pupils wide and dilated. He’d apparently been hitting the juice and it had kicked in full-force, the bloodlust surging through his veins.

  “He’s had enough when I say he has,” Nikolić seethed through clenched teeth, spittle spraying Mason’s face. “I want him broken—I want him crawling on his belly like a goddamn worm. I want him to weep like a goddamn woman and beg me to keep from getting in the ring. And I say he’ll fight until he does.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Mason gasped as Nikolić turned him loose, leaving him to stagger, clutching at his throat. “What the hell was his crime? Why do you hate him so much?”

  Nikolić opened his mouth to snarl in reply, but someone stumbled into him in the crowd. He swung around, the tendons in his neck stretched taut and straining with menace, and Mason caught sight of Sofiya backpedaling away from him, her eyes flown wide.

  What is she doing here? he thought stupidly. He heard Miloš shouting out from the throng as he shoved his way toward him and realized. With him and Nikolić gone, she’d been relatively unguarded; she would have only needed to get past Miloš and the two goons behind the booth. She’s trying to escape. I’ll be goddamned—Sofiya’s making a break for it.

  Nikolić must have realized this, too, because his face twisted with all new rage. “You little bitch…!” he snapped, grabbing for her.

  “Sofiya—run!” Mason shouted, charging forward and tackling Nikolić, knocking him to the ground. He landed heavily atop the bigger man, and looked up, meeting the girl’s large, terrified eyes. “Run!” he yelled again.

  She took off, jumping over the tangle of their legs and pushing her way through the crowd just as Miloš broke through and into sight. He skittered to an uncertain halt, blinking down at Mason and Nikolić.

  “Get that bitch—go!” Nikolić bellowed at him, and with a furious roar, he threw Mason off him. With the juice infusing his body with preternatural strength, he sent Mason flying backwards, crashing into the wall again with enough force to splinter the plywood, and leave him crumpling to the floor, breathless and stunned.

  Miloš took off again, and Mason groaned, trying to push himself up, his head swimming. He felt Nikolić’s hand close in a tight fist in his hair, jerking his head back, and he bit back a cry as pain seared through his scalp.

  “That…” Nikolić seethed, his voice ragged. “…was a mistake, Dr. Morin. A very big, very foolish mistake.”

  * * *

  Julien looked up at a sudden sound from the hallway outside the bathroom. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but then he heard it again and his heart seized.

  “Julien!”

  Sofiya’s voice, frantic and tear-choked, screaming his name. “Julien! Gde ty?” Where are you?

  “Sofiya!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet and rushing toward the door. He hit the door with his fist once, twice, then for good measure, rammed his shoulder into it to get her attention. “I’m here! Hey!”

  The door flew open and he danced backwards in surprise as Nikolić’s guard charged into the bathroom, his rifle unslung from his shoulder and between his hands. Julien grabbed the barrel in his left hand, pushing it away, and simultaneously snapped his right fist forward, punching the guard in the face. He then hooked the rifle and twisted it loose from the guard’s grasp, swinging the stock around and smashing it into the guard’s temple, knocking him out cold. He moved so quickly, the guard hadn’t even anticipated the attack; he crashed to the floor in a sprawled, motionless heap.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he drew back, leveling the barrel of the Zastava M84 at the doorway. To his surprise, it wasn’t more guards who came rushing into view, but Sofiya. He barely lowered the muzzle of the rifle before she crashed into him, her arms locking around his neck in a fierce embrace. He yelped, staggering back in surprise and then falling on his ass.

  “Julien!” she cried, clinging to him. “Oh…oh, Julien!”

  “Hey,” he said. In Russian, he tried to calm her. “It’s alright. I’m here. It’s okay.” Setting the rifle aside, he used both hands to push her disheveled hair back, to cradle her face. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…I ran away,” she said, her voice warbling, on the verge of tears. “I pretended to be asleep and then I…I just…”

  Julien jerked in surprise when she caught his face between her hands and fell against him, kissing him fiercely on the lips.

  “Sofiya…!” he gasped, his eyes flying wide. “What…what are you…?” When he tried to draw back, she only kissed him harder, tangling her fingers in his hair.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered urgently in Russian, shoving the door closed behind them and st
raddling his hips.

  “Wh-what?” Shock didn’t begin to describe his reaction.

  “Make love to me, Julien,” she said again, reaching between them to fumble with the waistband of his pants, and all the while, she kept kissing him. He tasted champagne on her tongue—and tears.

  “Sofiya, no,” he said, trying to ease her hands away as her lips moved to his cheek, then to his throat. “You’re drunk. Stop…honey, listen to me…”

  “I want you inside of me,” she told him in Russian, looking up to kiss him again.

  “No,” he said again, turning his face away. “Please stop. Please.” Because she paused at this, blinking in confusion, he said it again. “Please.”

  “Don’t you…” she whispered. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

  God, how did he explain this to her? She was fourteen years old, only a child, and he could no more take advantage of her than he could stomach the thought of Nikolić—or anyone else—doing so. But even if she’d been older, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Not to him.

  Although he’d been with women before—and unlike Mason, had found their soft curves to be interesting, if not somewhat enjoyable contrasts—in his heart and mind, Julien preferred the harder, rougher edges of a man’s body. And while he’d had sex countless times in his life, both with women and men, he’d only ever considered the act making love when he’d been with Mason.

  Because he’s the only one I’ve ever loved.

  “I think you’re beautiful,” he said softly. “God, Sofiya, you…you’re so beautiful, honey. Inside and out. I swear to God. But we can’t do this. Please. I can’t do it.”

  “But if you make love to me…” Her eyes flooded with tears and her bottom lip quivered. “They won’t want me anymore. They’ll let me go. Please, Julien.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked—then realized. “Because you wouldn’t be a virgin anymore. Is that why you’re here? Why Nikolić brought you tonight—he sold you?” When she nodded miserably, his brows furrowed and he clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms suddenly straining through the leather restraints. “That son of a bitch…!”

  “He won’t want me anymore if you make love to me,” she pleaded. “No one will want me, so he…he’ll have to let me go home!” She began to cry, crumpling forward, against his chest. “Please, Julien! I want my grandmother! I just want to go home!”

  Oh, Jesus, he thought, stricken. Closing his eyes, he turned his face toward her. He could have told her that it wouldn’t make a difference, that he and every other man in the goddamn building could have a turn with her, and Nikolić still wouldn’t let her go.

  “I’ll take over from here, Fido.”

  At the sound of the voice from the doorway behind them, Sofiya moaned. Julien looked up and recognized the man pushing the door open wide. Sharply dressed, smartly coiffed, his tan a shade too close to burnt sienna to be anything but sprayed on, he’d been the guy Nikolić had been speaking to upon their arrival at the warehouse: Miloš Selaković. Julien recognized the name—a small fish in the big pond of international sex trafficking. He ran a couple dozen strip bars and sleazy massage parlors up and down the east coast.

  Miloš dropped Julien a wink. “But thanks for warming her up for me, man.”

  As Julien’s hand darted for the assault rifle beside him, three of Nikolić’s goons rushed through the door, locked and loaded. Julien froze without touching the gun, his hand poised and unmoving above it.

  “No, no, no,” Miloš said, waggling his finger. “Bad dog. I’ll take that.” As he strode toward them, reaching down to grab the rifle, Sofiya scrambled behind Julien, clutching desperately at his shoulders. With a smile, Miloš extended his free hand in her direction. “And that, too.”

  “Julien…!” she whimpered, so pitiful, it broke his heart.

  He thought of Aaron’s face the first time he’d ever struck him, that horrible day in November of 1818, in Lamar’s library. He’d seen Aaron’s face reflected in the glass of a mirror before he’d swung the whip for the first time, that terrible tangle of bewilderment and fright in his eyes. Aaron hadn’t understood what was happening, but more importantly—he hadn’t understood why Julien was a part of it. And just before Julien had swung the whip with all of his might, leaving a bright red wheal as it struck Aaron across the spine, he’d heard his brother say his name with the same pleading terror he heard in Sofiya’s voice.

  It had never gotten easier, not in two hundred years—not to deliver the blows, or to live with himself in the aftermath.

  I can’t do this—God help me, never again!

  Julien drove his heel forward like a piston, striking the other man’s knee cap. Miloš uttered a bird-like screech as his leg snapped back in an abrupt, unnatural angle that tore ligaments and muscles, ripping the joint loose. He crashed to the floor and rolled into a fetal coil, howling and clutching at his crippled leg. Before Julien could attack him again, one of the guards snatched a remote control from his pocket and thrust it out at Julien.

  The Vaseline gauze Julien placed as an insulator between the electrodes and his skin had slipped earlier when his mask had been removed, and he was no longer protected from the ruthless, brutal shock. With a sharp cry, he twisted, then collapsed sideways, writhing against his restraints as electricity seared through him. He banged the side of his face hard against the floor and lay there, jerking in pain.

  “Julien!” Sofiya cried as another guard seized her by the arm, hauling her roughly to her feet and dragging her for the door.

  “Leave her…alone,” Julien gasped, and the son of a bitch shocked him again. He arched his back, teeth clenched, his head thrown back as his entire body convulsed. It seemed to go on for an agonizing eternity, the guard’s thumb mashed against the trigger, and when at last he released it, Julien fell limp again, shuddering. “You…bastard…!”

  * * *

  He wasn’t the least bit surprised when, less than ten minutes later, Nikolić came storming into the bathroom. His clothes were rumpled, his hair askew, his face flushed and greasy with a sheen of sweat. He snorted for breath, his fists clenched as he glared at Julien.

  “Do your worst, Nikolić,” Julien said, limping to his feet. Squaring off against the bigger man, he turned his head to spit. “Come on. I’m right here. Do it to me, not Mason or Sofiya, you chickenshit fuck. Do it to me.”

  Instead of replying, or even matching Julien’s fighting stance, Nikolić simply held out his hand, his fingers wrapped around his remote control device. When his thumb settled firmly against one of the buttons, a surge of electrical current through Julien’s collar knocked him back to the floor.

  He writhed, choking and convulsing uncontrollably, every muscle in his body seeming to clench and unclench over and over again in violent, agonizing succession. When it was over, he continued to twitch reflexively, and groaned when Nikolić squatted beside him, planting a hand heavily against his shoulder and rolling him over onto his back.

  “This…how you get your kicks, you son of a bitch?” Julien groaned. “Or…or do you get off buying and selling a poor kid’s innocence…raping little girls?”

  “You disappoint me, mišiću,” Nikolić said. “I could’ve sworn we were past this, that we had an understanding.”

  “Sorry…to disappoint you,” Julien growled. “But hey…thanks for the hand job.”

  He heard a scuffle of footsteps from behind Nikolić, just as Anna stepped into view, shoving Edith ahead of her into the bathroom. Edith stumbled and nearly fell, catching herself with a soft cry against the edge of the sink basin. When she saw Julien lying on the floor, her eyes widened.

  “Ah, good.” Nikolić’s smile stretched all the wider. “Right on time, Anna.”

  “Let’s get this over with.” Anna slammed the door behind her. “I’m ready for some champagne.”

  “I have a bottle on ice waiting for you, ljubavi.” Nikolić wrapped his arm around the slim measure of her waist and drew her near, kissing he
r hungrily. When they broke apart, he glanced down at Julien, wiping the corner of his mouth. “So while you were busy attacking my man, Miloš, it seems Dr. Averay took a mind to try and flush my serum down the drain. Fortunately, Anna caught her just in time…and was able to save it.”

  He held out his hand and Anna dropped a vial into his palm.

  “Listen to me, Nikolić.” Edith balled her fists and stormed forward. “It’s not what you think. Phillip duplicated the wrong—”

  Nikolić slapped her in the face, striking with enough force to knock her off her feet and send her slamming into the bathroom wall. She fell to the floor with a breathless cry.

  “Edith!” Julien cried. Brows furrowed, he struggled to sit up. “Leave her alone, you—”

  This time Anna shocked him, and she looked like she enjoyed the hell out of watching him convulse, his voice ripping up into a strangled cry. He flopped on the ground like a hooked fish hauled ashore until she grew bored of the game and released the trigger.

  “Give me your belt.” Anna squatted beside Julien and held her hand out to Nikolić, who obligingly began unbuckling. “Wrap it around his arm. Here, let me do it.”

  Julien grimaced as he felt the strap of leather cinch tightly just beneath the curve of his bicep muscle. “What…are you doing?” he groaned. His head swam, his vision blurry, and he tried to pull away.

  “Hold him, Vlad,” Anna said, cutting her lover a glance. As Nikolić clamped a hand against each of Julien’s shoulders, pinning him to the floor, Julien saw a glint of light against metal—a syringe in Anna’s hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked again in mounting alarm, and when she leaned over, he winced, feeling the needle slide into one of the veins at the inner delta of his elbow. “No…!” Gritting his teeth, he again tried to squirm, but he was weak from the electrical shock. Nikolić held him easily. “No, goddamn it…no…!”

  Anna pulled the belt loose from his arm, and as blood flow restored, he felt the rush of something warm shooting through his vein. The heat spread fast, coursing up his arm and into his chest, splaying out in molten fingertips from there to engulf his entire body. Julien twisted against Nikolić’s grasp, his brows knitting in pain.