Broken Angel

by S W Vaughn

  Wouldn’t it?

  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Almost immediately, someone collided with him from behind.

  “Hey, move it, asshole!”

  Startled, he backed toward the nearest building and muttered, “Sorry.” A man in a windbreaker and a blue baseball cap glared at him and stalked past. He leaned against a wall, shaking, repulsed by his own thoughts.

  He didn’t want to leave the organization.

  After the initial shock passed, he tried to make sense of the notion. He sure as hell didn’t want to stay Slade’s prisoner. The problem was, he still wanted to fight. Damn it, he was good at it. He’d never been good at anything, except taking a beating. He laughed. That particular talent did lend itself to the ability to fight.

  But he’d taken the beatings to spare Lillith...and she was still out there, under Slade’s thumb.

  She was an adult. She’d gotten herself into this.

  He shook his head. If he didn’t know better, he would swear someone else’s thoughts had invaded his mind. True, Lillith had made a mistake. A stupid one. But she didn’t deserve to die for it. Doc had warned him that Slade wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of anyone who proved useless to him, and he didn’t doubt that.

  He drew a deep breath, released it slowly. Closed his eyes. Lillith needs me. He recognized what had become a ritual he’d used to steel himself before his father punished him, and took bitter comfort in thinking this time he had a chance to escape the invariably painful ending.

  One last breath. One final moment that belonged to him. He tried to capture it, savor it. The memory might have to sustain him forever...and forever might not last long. He smelled faint exhaust, impending rain on the air, a mélange of breakfast food from the open door of a nearby diner. Horns bleated, engines grumbled, a cooing and fluttering threesome of pigeons burst from the eaves above. A cool breeze teased the hairs erect on his skin, stole the sting that formed in his eyes. At last he straightened, and his feet carried him toward fate.

  He was still half a mile from the hotel when the clouds opened up and drenched him.

  Undaunted, he advanced through the downpour. A sea of umbrellas emerged around him to protect the early risers on the sidewalks. The hotel came into view, and he slowed his pace and searched the area for any face he recognized. He estimated the time at around eight in the morning, which meant business inside would be winding down. He didn’t expect to encounter anyone who knew him here and now, but it didn’t hurt to be safe.

  The moment he decided he’d be all right, a lone figure crossed the street and headed for him. He froze, watched, and breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Lonzo jogging toward the back of the building.

  The fighter disappeared into the mouth of the alley. He followed. This was his best chance of getting in unnoticed.

  “Lonzo,” he called softly after him. “Hey, Lonzo!”

  Lonzo spun around, eyes snapping, fists at the ready. An instant later, he smiled. “Hey, Angel,” he said with a laugh. “I thought you were downtown, mijo. How’d you spring out?”

  “Long story.” He glanced up the alley, and back toward Lonzo. “Where you headed?”

  “Downstairs. Wanna join me?”

  “Sure.”

  They rounded the corner, and Lonzo heaved open a door leading to a vestibule and two sets of stairs—one headed up, the other down. Inside, he hesitated on the landing.

  Lonzo descended three steps, stopped, and half-turned.

  “Hey, you comin’ or what?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Well...” Now or never. Aloud he said, “I’d better tell Slade I’m here. I’ll be down in a while.”

  “Suit yourself.” Lonzo shrugged and tossed a grin up at him. “I’m glad you’re back, Angel. You make us look good out there.”

  A cynical laugh burst from him at the fighter’s unintended irony. “Right,” he said. “See you around.”

  Before he could change his mind, he forced his feet to carry him up the stairs and into the heart of hell.

  Chapter 31

  Gabriel didn’t meet a soul. He slunk down dim hallways, headed toward Slade’s first-floor office, still unsure what he intended to do. Outside of the attic, Doc’s rooms, and the basement, he barely knew where anything was.

  But he knew where to find the monitors.

  If he could get in unnoticed, he could figure out how to work the system—at least long enough to find Lillith. That bastard Slade had to sleep sometime. He reached the corner leading to the main lobby, risked a glance into the room and discovered a problem in the massive form of Apollo.

  The giant sat behind the front desk, reclined in a leather swivel chair with his feet propped on the desktop surface. His arms lay folded across his chest, and his eyes rested at half-mast as though he would fall asleep at any moment. Even if he did, though, he couldn’t get past him without a fight that would alert everyone in the building to his presence.

  Flattening himself against the wall, he held his breath and tried to think of a solution. A slight cough rebounded through the lobby. Sol stood in the opposite hallway. Staring right at him.

  He swallowed hard. No way he could take both of them.

  Sol glided from the shadows to stop in front of his languid twin. “Apollo,” he said in his usual inflectionless manner.

  Apollo swept his feet off the desk, sat up and scrubbed a meaty hand across his face. “Yeah?”

  “You must come with me.”

  Damn it! He prepared to bolt. If he made it outside he could probably lose them. He’d have to come back another day. Sol glanced his way again, and something in the look made him wait.

  “What for?” Apollo clearly wasn’t in the mood for anything that required physical effort, including rising from the chair. Sol frowned at him, and then glared with palpable anger.

  “I need a ride. Come on.”

  Nothing he said could have shocked him more. Sol was...helping him? Why?

  “Ah Christ. Fine, I’m comin’.” The chair scraped in protest across the floor as Apollo eased his weight from it. Still muttering, he circled to the front of the desk and stalked out the door. With a last intense look at the shadow in which he hid, and an expression that approached a smile, Sol followed him.

  The front door closed. He darted across the lobby and entered the corridor leading to Slade’s office. He didn’t understand why Sol had lured Apollo away. The trainer never gave any indication of liking him. Or hating him, either. In fact, Sol seemed more emotionless than Jenner.

  He had no time to ponder this latest mystery, though. The quiet state of the hotel could change at any moment.

  A glance in the window of Slade’s office confirmed the room’s emptiness. He reached for the handle, and for the first time it occurred to him that the door might be locked. However, the knob turned easily and the door swung open without a sound.

  He crossed the carpeted floor and rounded the barren desk to pull out the tray he’d seen Slade use for the monitors. A keyboard emerged. He looked down and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

  The smug son of a bitch must have never even bothered learning how to use his own damned system. The commands had all been typed out and taped neatly over the corresponding keys.

  Following the printed directions, he opened the wall panel and switched on the system. Images flashed into erratic life. Nine scenes played out on multiple electronic eyes. Three or four screens showed girls, either sleeping or working, none of them Lillith.

  He waited for the images to cycle to the next set of cameras, keeping an eye trained nervously on the door. If it opened, he would either try to overpower whoever came in, or turn and crash through the closed window beside him. A few lacerations were a small price to pay for freedom.

  The moving pictures changed, and he scrutinized each screen in turn, looking for any hint of his sister. He glimpsed the dungeon, and the attic room where he’d spent so much time. A shudder coursed the length of his spin
e at the sight. In the bottom right corner he caught a hint of cascading black hair. Before he could focus on it, the image flickered and changed, resolving on an empty bedroom.

  He had to get it back. Studying the typed commands, he discovered one key labeled PREVIOUS SCREEN. He depressed it and kept his gaze on the lower right monitor.

  There. Long raven curls tumbling to the waist; that had to be Lillith. Her back faced the camera, and she moved back and forth in slow rhythm, as if she were dancing, or...

  No.

  Even as the full impact of the image hit him, his eyes refused to believe it. Lillith—if that was Lillith—naked, writhing above an equally naked form. A man with thick sandy hair slicked with moisture, and piercing blue eyes that danced with lusty abandon. The girl turned her head to the side, and he caught her familiar gut-wrenching features in clear profile, drawn with sensual bliss.

  Lillith. Fucking Slade. Enjoying it.

  Fury formed ice in his veins. He couldn’t look away. He watched her...him...both of them, twisting in carnal heat. A small, catlike smile of satisfaction curled her lips as she raised herself, slid her body down the length of him and took him in her mouth.

  At once the background features of the room they occupied leapt out at him with crystal clarity, and he knew where they were.

  Right behind him.

  With a roar of animal fury, he pivoted and launched himself at the other door in the office. The one Slade told him Lillith had been behind for her “punishment.” He rammed it with his shoulder, barely noticing the flare of pain. The thin wood cracked beneath his weight. Bellowing incoherently, he drew back and hurled himself into it again.

  The door flew open on the third blow.

  He stepped through, clenching both jaw and fists. The two of them, Slade and Lillith, perched warily on the double bed she’d been allegedly taken on. Lillith, trembling and white as the sheet she bunched tight in front of her, gaped at him in terror.

  Slade hadn’t bothered to conceal himself. Instead, he reached for the drawer of the small table beside him, opened it and extracted his cellphone. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here, but you aren’t—”

  “You. Don’t. Dare.” He was incapable of stringing two words together.

  Slade regarded him with mild interest and slowly replaced the phone. “All right, boy. I won’t. For now. You look like you have something to say. I’ll hear you out first.”

  Lillith stirred and sat forward cautiously. “Gabriel, wait,” she said in a voice devoid of strength. “This isn’t what you think—”

  “Don’t!” he roared, whirling on her. “Just shut up.”

  Her mouth snapped closed, and he returned his attention to Slade.

  “How long?”

  Slade gave an exasperated snort. “I beg your pardon?”

  “How long have you and L-Lillith—”

  “Oh.” A slow grin stretched his lips. “Since the beginning, of course.”

  “Since...” Anguish consumed him with the full extent of Lillith’s betrayal. He looked at her, at her tear-filled eyes and trembling lips—and a wave of nausea threatened to drop him as he recalled where those lips had been just minutes ago.

  Rage returned, leaving no room for pain.

  He turned away from her and stepped toward Slade’s side of the bed. After several breaths deep enough to burn his lungs, he could finally trust his voice.

  “I want my money.”

  “What was that?”

  “I. Want. My. Money. Ten million dollars.”

  Slade uttered an incredulous laugh. “Your money?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Slade said after a lengthy pause. “I’ll give you a break. Even though you’ve only earned me nine and a half, you and your sister are free to go. Walk out that door and freedom is yours.”

  “No.”

  The single word carried months of bitterness and anguish. Enraged, Slade jumped to the floor, still naked, circled the bed and faced him.

  “No?” he said in a voice that promised swift retribution.

  “No,” he repeated. “I don’t want her. I want my money. The way I see it, you stole a year of my life. I’ll spare you the details of how I arrived at the amount—” He paused, savoring the look on Slade’s face as he threw the bastard’s words back at him. “—but you owe me ten million dollars.”

  Slade’s features flushed brick red. He seemed ready to strike out. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

  “All right, boy,” he said after he’d regained control. “You have a deal, under one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You have to win one more fight.”

  “With who?”

  Slade’s eyes bore into him. “Me.”

  Stunned, he opened his mouth, and closed it. “You?” he whispered at last.

  “That’s right.” Slade held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  He hesitated, then reached out and took the hand without a word.

  “Tomorrow night,” Slade told him without releasing his grip. “In my arena.”

  “Fine.”

  He pulled his hand free and managed not to wipe it on his thigh in disgust. With a final, wrathful glance at Lillith, still huddled on the bed, he spun and stalked from the room.

  * * * *

  In his blind flight down the corridor outside Slade’s office, he collided with something, or someone, that failed to get out of his way. Jenner.

  Reeling, he halted and took a stumbling step backward. Ragged gulps of air entered his throat and heaved back out. His swollen eyes skittered in every direction, seeing nothing. His lips moved soundlessly, senselessly.

  Jenner backhanded him.

  His vision cleared and his twitching body stilled. His gaze focused on the figure in front of him.

  “Ah,” Jenner said softly. “You know about your sister.”

  Jenner’s dizzying leaps of intuition had long ago ceased to amaze him. He simply nodded in confirmation.

  “So now what are you going to do, little angel?”

  His jaw clenching, he stared into Jenner’s smoke-swirled eyes and spoke the words he learned from Shiro, the words he had intended to direct at the sadistic lieutenant, but now applied only to Slade. “Setsujokuwateikurimashitadesu.”

  I will take my revenge.

  Astonishment infused Jenner’s face. A full minute passed before his familiar smirk resurfaced, and lengthened to become a genuine, if sardonic, grin. A guttural sound rattled in his throat and burst through his lips with a force that shook his body.

  His eyes widened in witness to an event he suspected no one else had ever seen.

  Jenner was laughing.

  The outburst ended quickly as it had begun. Jenner flashed a look at him that might have been approval. “Come with me...Angel.”

  He followed without question.

  Jenner led him to the third floor. Eerie silence permeated the corridors, as though the entire hotel sensed the events that had just occurred and demanded hushed respect for his grief. Every step jarred him. He had been emptied, and stuffed full with things broken and splintering. Trust no one. Not himself, not his perceptions of duty, or obligation, or love.

  Not Lillith.

  The lieutenant stopped before a door identical to the dozen others lining the hall. He placed a hand on the knob and faced him. “I do not suppose Marcus has offered you restitution.”

  He laughed. The splinters inside lodged in his throat. “He offered to let me leave. With her. I demanded my money. All ten million.”

  “Did you?” Jenner raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. He said I could have it, on one condition. I have to fight him. Tomorrow night.”

  Jenner’s expression sobered. “You realize Marcus has won three tournaments, and still trains regularly.”

  He nodded. “Doc told me. I don’t give a shit if he can beat up Superman. I will win.”

  “I am certain you will, Angel.” The lieu
tenant smirked. He opened the door on a room containing a bed and a dresser, and nothing more. “I do not live here, but I stay on occasion. I will not tonight. You may use this room, and I will ensure Marcus does not object.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. Exhaustion seized him with unseen teeth and shook him like a carnivore tearing flesh from a kill. At Jenner’s nod, he stumbled inside. The lieutenant started to close the door.

  “Jenner, wait.”

  He paused, cast him a quizzical glance.

  “Got a few minutes?”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “Good.” He forced a smile. “I have an idea, and I think you’re going to like it.”

  Chapter 32

  “Come to gloat?”

  Slade spoke to the shadowed figure in the doorway of the training room without breaking his reps on the butterfly bar, without even looking in his direction.

  “Perhaps.” Jenner entered the room and let the door swing closed behind him. “And if I have?”

  Halting in mid-lift, he eased the weights down, sat forward, and fixed his lieutenant with an angry glare. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Jenner shook his head. “Temper, temper,” he said. “Really, Marcus, you must learn to control yourself.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, Jenner said, “I assume you believe you knew what you were doing, then, when you challenged the boy to a fight?”

  “Yes, I did,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Have you not yet realized that you cannot bend this one to your will?”

  Fury engulfed him. Smug fucking bastard. “Yes I can,” he said. “I can control anyone.”

  “So this is what your ridiculous condition is about?” Anger simmered beneath the placid surface of Jenner’s voice. “You simply must prove that you are the one giving the orders.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have never controlled anyone without me, Marcus.”

  “I own you!” he exploded. He gained his feet, fists clenched at his sides. He strode across the floor, approaching Jenner with injurious intent—and stopped short at the sight of the glittering gray eyes, the sadistic, soul-shriveling stare Jenner had honed to perfection. Knowing full well what his lieutenant was capable of, he swallowed with an audible click and stepped back.