by J. R. Ward
Butch glanced over as someone else came into the room.
Unfortunately, Phury’s twin had decided to show up on time, but at least Zsadist went to the far corner and stayed away from everyone. This was just fine with Butch, because that bastard made him jumpy.
Z’s scarred face and glossy black eyes were just the tip of the iceberg for freakiness. The skull-trimmed hair, the tats around his neck and wrists, the piercings: He was a total package of menace and had the high-octane hatred to back up the impression he made. In law enforcement slang, he was a triple threat, that one. Stone cold. Mean as a snake. And unpredictable as hell.
Apparently Zsadist had been abducted from his family as an infant and sold into some kind of slavery. The hundred or so years he’d spent in captivity had sucked out anything even remotely human—er, vampire—in him. He was nothing but dark emotions trapped in a ruined skin now. And if you knew what was good for you, you stayed the hell out of his way.
From out in the hall there was the sound of heavy footfalls. The brothers got quiet, and a moment later Wrath filled the doorway.
Wrath was a huge, dark-haired, cruel-lipped nightmare of a guy. He wore black wraparound shades all the time, lots of leather, and was about the last person on the planet anyone would want to screw with.
The hard-ass also happened to be the first on Butch’s list of men to have at his back. He and Wrath had forged a bond on the night Wrath had been shot getting his wife back from the lessers. Butch had helped out, and that was that. They were tight.
Wrath entered the room like he owned the whole world. The brother was total emperor material, which made sense, because that was what he was. The Blind King. The last pure-bred vampire left on the planet. The ruler of his race.
Wrath glanced in Butch’s direction. “You took good care of Rhage tonight. I appreciate it.”
“He’d have done the same for me.”
“Yeah, he would’ve.” Wrath went behind the desk and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. “Here’s what we got. Havers had a trauma case come in tonight. Civilian male. Beat to shit, barely conscious. Before he died, he told Havers that he’d been worked over by the lessers. They wanted to know about the Brotherhood, where we lived, what he knew about us.”
“Another one,” Tohr murmured.
“Yeah. I think we’re seeing a shift in the Lessening Society’s strategy. The male described a place specifically set up for rough interrogation. Unfortunately, he died before he could give a location.” Wrath pegged Vishous with a stare. “V, I want you to go to the civilian’s family and tell them that the death will be avenged. Phury, get over to Havers’s and talk to the nurse who caught most of what the male said. See if you can get a bead on where they had him and how he escaped. I’m not going to have those bastards using my civilians as scratching posts.”
“They’re working over their own kind, too,” V interjected. “We found a lesser being strung up in a tree on the way home. Surrounded by his friends.”
“What did they do to the guy?”
Butch spoke up. “Plenty. He wasn’t breathing anymore and then some. Do they take out their own a lot?”
“No. They don’t.”
“Then it’s a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think? Civilian gets free of a torture camp tonight. Lesser shows up looking like a pincushion.”
“I’m with you there, cop.” Wrath turned to V. “You get any info off those lessers? Or did Rhage clean house?”
V shook his head. “Everything was gone.”
“Not exactly.” Butch reached into his pocket and took out the wallet he’d removed from the treed lesser. “I got this off the one they turned on.” He riffled through and found the driver’s license. “Gary Essen. Hey, he lived in my old building. Just goes to show, you never know about your neighbors.”
“I’ll search the apartment,” Tohr said.
As Butch tossed the wallet over, the brothers got up, ready to leave.
Tohr spoke before anyone took off. “There’s one other thing. Got a phone call tonight. Civilian female found a young male out on his own. He had the name Tehrror on him. I told her to bring him to the training center tomorrow night.”
“Interesting,” Wrath said.
“He doesn’t speak, and his translator’s coming with him. It’s a human, by the way.” Tohr smiled and put the lesser’s wallet in the back pocket of his leathers. “But don’t worry about it. We’ll scrub her memories.”
As Mr. X opened up his cabin’s front door, his mood was not improved by Mr. O’s affect. The lesser on the other side was looking steady, unflappable. Humility would have gotten him further, but any form of weakness or submission was not in the man’s nature. Yet.
Mr. X motioned his subordinate in. “You know something, this confession-of-failure thing we’ve got going on is not working for me. And I should have known not to trust you. You mind explaining why you killed your squadron?”
Mr. O pivoted around. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t try to hide behind lies, it’s annoying.” Mr. X shut the door.
“I didn’t kill them.”
“But a creature did? Please, Mr. O. You could at least be more original. Better yet, blame it on the Brotherhood. That would be more plausible.”
Mr. X walked across the cabin’s main room, keeping quiet for a while so his subordinate could get good and worked up. He idly checked his laptop and then glanced around his private quarters. The place was rustic, the furniture sparse, the seventy-five surrounding acres a good buffer. The toilet didn’t work, but as lessers didn’t eat, that kind of facility was unnecessary. The shower ran just fine, however.
And until they settled on another recruitment center, this humble outpost was the society’s headquarters.
“I told you exactly what I saw,” Mr. O said, breaking the silence tightly. “Why would I lie?”
“The why is irrelevant to me.” Mr. X casually opened the door to the bedroom. The hinges creaked. “You should know that I sent a squadron to the scene while you were driving out here. They reported that there was nothing left of the bodies, so I assume you stabbed them into the great unknown. And they confirmed that there had been one hell of fight, a lot of blood. I can imagine how your squadron fought against you. You must have been spectacular to win.”
“If I’d killed them like that, why are my clothes mostly clean?”
“You changed before coming here. You’re not stupid.” Mr. X positioned himself in the bedroom’s doorway. “So here’s where we are, Mr. O. You are a pain in the ass, and the question I need to ask myself is whether you’re worth all this aggravation. Those were Primes you killed out there. Seasoned lessers. Do you know how long—”
“I didn’t kill them—”
Mr. X took two easy steps forward and coldcocked Mr. O in the jaw. The other man went down to the floor.
Mr. X put his boot on the side Mr. O’s face, pinning him. “Let’s quit it with that, okay? What I was saying was, do you have any idea how long it takes to make a Prime? Decades, centuries. You managed to wipe out three of them in one night. Which brings you to a total of four, counting Mr. M, who you sliced without my permission. And then there were the Betas you slayed tonight, as well.”
Mr. O was spitting mad, his eyes glaring up from around the Timberland’s sole. Mr. X leaned into his foot until those lids were wide, no longer narrow.
“So, again, I have to ask myself, are you worth it? You’re only three years into the society. You’re strong, you’re effective, but you’re proving impossible to control. I put you with Primes because I assumed you’d fall in line with their level of excellence and temper yourself. Instead, you killed them.”
Mr. X felt his blood rise and reminded himself that anger was not appropriate for a leader. Calm, levelheaded domination worked best. He took a deep breath before speaking again.
“You took out some of our best assets tonight. And it is going to stop, Mr. O. Right now.”
Mr. X lifted h
is boot. The other lesser immediately sprang up from the floor.
Just as Mr. O was about to speak, an odd, discordant hum weaved through the night. He looked toward the sound.
Mr. X smiled. “Now if you don’t mind, get the hell into that bedroom.”
Mr. O crouched into an attack pose. “What’s that?”
“It’s time for a little behavior modification. A little punishment, too. So get into the bedroom.”
By now the sound was so loud it was more a vibration of the air than something ears could register.
Mr. O shouted, “I told you the truth.”
“Into the bedroom. The time for talking’s passed.” Mr. X glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the hum. “Oh, for chrissakes.”
He froze the large muscles in the other lesser’s body and manhandled Mr. O into the other room, shoving him down on the bed.
The front door burst wide open.
Mr. O’s eyes bulged as he took in the Omega. “Oh…God…no…”
Mr. X tidied up the man’s clothes, straightening the jacket and the shirt. For good measure, he smoothed all that dark brown hair down and kissed Mr. O’s forehead, as if he were a child.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. X murmured, “I’m going to leave the two of you alone.”
Mr. X took the back door out of the cabin. He was just getting into his car when the screams started.
Chapter Eight
“Ah, Bella, I think our ride is here.” Mary let the curtain fall back into place. “Either that or a third-world dictator is lost in Caldwell.”
John headed for the window. Wow, he signed. Check out that Mercedes. Those blackened windows look bulletproof.
The three of them left Bella’s house and walked over to the sedan. A little old man, dressed in black livery, got out of the driver’s side and came around to greet them. Incongruously, he was a cheery sort, all smiles. With the loose skin on his face, his long earlobes, and all those jowls, he looked like he was melting, though his radiant happiness suggested disintegration was a fine state to be in.
“I am Fritz,” he said, bowing low. “Please allow me to drive you.”
He opened the rear door and Bella slid inside first. John was next, and when Mary was settled back against the seat, Fritz closed the door. A second later they were on the road.
As the Mercedes glided along, Mary tried to see where they were going, except the windows were too dark. She assumed they were headed north, but who knew?
“Where is this place, Bella?” she asked.
“It’s not far.” But the woman didn’t sound all that confident. In fact, she’d been on edge since Mary and John had shown up.
“Do you know where we’re being taken?”
“Oh, sure.” The woman smiled and looked at John. “We’re going to meet some of the most amazing males you’ve ever seen.”
Mary’s instincts knocked around in her chest, sending all kinds of tread-carefully signals. God, she wished she’d taken her own car.
Twenty minutes later, the Mercedes slowed to a stop. Inched forward. Stopped again. This happened at regular intervals a number of times. Then Fritz put down his window and spoke into some kind of intercom. They cruised along a little farther, then came to a stop. The engine was turned off.
Mary reached for the door. It was locked.
America’s Most Wanted, here we come, she thought. She could just imagine their pictures on the TV, victims of violent crime.
But the driver let them out immediately, still with that smile on his face. “Won’t you follow me?”
As Mary got out, she looked around. They were in some kind of underground parking lot, except there were no other cars. Just two small buses, like the kind you took around an airport.
They stuck close to Fritz and went through a pair of thick metal doors that opened into a maze of fluorescent-lit corridors. Thank God the guy seemed to know where he was going. There were branches splitting off in all directions with no rational plan, as if the place had been designed to get people lost and keep them that way.
Except someone would always know where you were, she thought. Every ten yards there was a pod set into the ceiling. She’d seen them before in malls, and the hospital had them, too. Surveillance cameras.
Finally they were shown into a small room with a two-sided mirror, a metal table, and five metal chairs. A small camera was mounted in the corner opposite the door. It was exactly like a police interrogation room, or what one must be like according to the sets on NYPD Blue.
“You will not have to wait long,” Fritz said with a little bow. As he ducked out, the door eased shut of its own volition.
Mary went over and tried the handle, surprised to find it released easily. Then again, whoever was in charge here clearly didn’t have to worry about losing track of their visitors.
She looked over at Bella. “You mind telling me what this place is?”
“It’s a facility.”
“A facility.”
“You know, for training.”
Yeah, but for what kind of training? “Are these folks of yours with the government or something?”
“Oh, no. No.”
John signed, This doesn’t look like a martial-arts academy.
Yeah, no kidding.
“What did he say?” Bella asked.
“He’s as curious as I am.”
Mary turned back to the door, opened it, and stuck her head out into the hall. When she heard a rhythmic sound, she stepped from the room, but didn’t wander.
Footsteps. No, a shuffling. What the—
A tall blond man dressed in a black muscle shirt and leather pants lurched around a corner. He was unsteady on his bare feet, with one hand on the wall and his eyes focused downward. He seemed to be watching the floor carefully, as if he were relying on his depth perception to balance himself.
He looked drunk or maybe sick, but…good lord, he was beautiful. In fact, his face was so dazzling she had to blink a couple of times. Perfectly square jaw. Full lips. High cheekbones. Broad forehead. Hair was thick and wavy, lighter in the front, darker in the back where it was cut short.
And his body was just as spectacular as his head. Big-boned. Thickly muscled. No fat. His skin was golden even under the fluorescent lights.
Suddenly he looked at her. His eyes were an electric teal blue, so bright, so vivid, they were almost neon. And they stared right through her.
Mary sank back just the same and thought the lack of response wasn’t a surprise. Men like him didn’t notice women like her. It was a fact of nature.
She should just go back into the room. There was no sense in watching him not acknowledge her as he passed. Trouble was, the closer he got, the more mesmerized she became.
God, he really was…beautiful.
Rhage felt like holy hell as he weaved down the corridor. Every time the beast came out of him and his vision headed off for a little vacation, his eyes took their own sweet time in getting back to work. The body didn’t want to play, either, his legs and arms hanging like heavy weights off his torso, not exactly useless, but damn close.
And his stomach was still off. The very idea of food made him nauseous.
But he’d had it with being stuck in his room. Twelve hours flat on his back was enough wasted time. He was determined to get to the training center’s gym, hop on a recumbent bike, and loosen himself up a little—
He stopped, tensing. He couldn’t see much, but he knew for sure he was not alone in the hall. Whoever it was stood close beside him, to his left. And it was a stranger.
He spun around and yanked the figure out of a doorway, grabbing it by the throat, forcing the body into the opposite wall. Too late he realized it was a female, and the high-pitched gasp shamed him. He quickly eased up on his grip, but he did not let go.
The slender neck under his palm was warm, soft. Her pulse was frantic, blood racing through the veins that came up from her heart. He leaned down and drew a breath through his nose. Only
to jerk back.
Jesus Christ, she was a human. And she was sick, maybe dying.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “How did you get in here?”
There was no answer, just quick breathing. She was utterly terrified of him, the smell of her fear like wood smoke in his nose.
He softened his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. But you don’t belong here, and I want to know who you are.”
Her throat undulated under his hand, as if she were swallowing “My name…my name is Mary. I’m here with a friend.”
Rhage stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat and then slowed.
“Say that again,” he whispered.
“Ah, my name is Mary Luce. I’m a friend of Bella’s…. We came here with a boy, with John Matthew. We were invited.”
Rhage shivered, a balmy rush blooming out all over his skin. The musical lilt of her voice, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her words, it all spread through him, calming him, comforting him. Chaining him sweetly.
He closed his eyes. “Say something else.”
“What?” she asked, baffled.
“Talk. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice again.”
She was silent, and he was about to demand that she speak when she said, “You don’t look well. Do you need a doctor?”
He found himself swaying. The words didn’t matter. It was her sound: low, soft, a quiet brushing in his ears. He felt as if he were being stroked on the inside of his skin.
“More,” he said, twisting his palm around to the front of her neck so he could feel the vibrations in her throat better.
“Could you…could you please let go of me?”
“No.” He brought his other arm up. She was wearing some kind of fleece, and he moved the collar aside, putting his hand on her shoulder so she couldn’t get away from him. “Talk.”
She started to struggle. “You’re crowding me.”
“I know. Talk.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, what do you want me to say?”
Even exasperated, her voice was beautiful. “Anything.”