Hell Bent

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “Yes, it’s clear,” Annabelle said.

  “Good. When I want you to turn over, I’ll gently tap your shoulder and hold the blanket for you. Got it?”

  Annabelle nodded again.

  “I’m going to put this in the player,” Victoria said, gesturing toward the built-in speakers in the ceiling. The stereo system’s controls were hidden in a closet in the hall joining the weight room and the bedroom. Albrecht most likely knew this already from having attended to Jack and, possibly, his employees.

  “While I do, why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the table. We’ll start with your back, so lay face down. The blankets are heated and you’ll be sure to let me know if you’re uncomfortable with the temperature at any time, right?”

  Annabelle nodded. “Okay.”

  Victoria disappeared and Annabelle shrugged off the robe. She pulled the folded blanket down on the massage table and then lay on the table, facing down, just as Victoria had told her to. She deftly nudged the sheet back up when she was finished.

  As she tucked her arms under the blanket, she listened to the fire crackling in the hearth and the soft sounds of ocean waves and rain that were now playing over the speaker system. Slowly, she began to relax. It was hard not to. The combination of the warm blanket on her naked flesh and the sound of the fire and the rain were like a sedative cocktail.

  She closed her eyes. Above and behind her, she heard the cap of an oil bottle being unscrewed. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to let the calm steal over her entire body.

  The first touch was instantly soothing. The hands on her back were warm – almost hot – and that heat spread across her skin and into her muscles as they began to work out Annabelle’s knots. The ministrations were incredibly deft; her massage therapist seemed to know exactly when to touch what part of Annabelle’s body, and exactly how hard – and in what way – to rub.

  Annabelle simply couldn’t help the moan of pleasure that escaped her lips as, bit by bit, her body seemed to slip into another plane. On this plane, there was no pain. No tension. Her headache was gone and the fear that had been riding her about the inevitable upcoming fight with Jack began to float away.

  I can handle Jack, she thought. I can do this.

  She felt stronger, more capable.

  There was a gentle tap on her shoulder and Annabelle remembered that she was supposed to turn over. Her arms felt a little like jelly at this point. She smiled to herself as she slowly pushed herself up and rolled over, keeping her eyes closed against the sudden light above her.

  The blanket was repositioned over her and she tucked her arms underneath.

  And then something cold, hard, and decidedly sharp was pressed against the side of her neck.

  Annabelle’s eyes flew open and light flooded her vision. She blinked repeatedly as a face came into focus. It was a man’s face, handsome but cold, with eyes like blue ice, and it was framed by a mass of hair as blue-black as the darkest night.

  “Need a ride, mate?” Avery asked. He’d come up beside Jack, his stance rigid, as if he were prepared to move fast at any given moment.

  Jack was about to answer when the phone in Alex’s front pocket rang. Everyone looked at him. He hesitated and then swallowed, almost audibly in the sudden silence surrounding them.

  Then he reached into his pocket and extracted the phone. With a wary glance at his boss, he flipped it open and placed it to his ear.

  “Jackson.”

  His expression went from one of stressed wariness to one of terrified shock in a matter of short seconds.

  He looked back up at Jack, his eyes wide.

  Jack didn’t think twice. He immediately jerked the phone out of Alex’s hands and placed it to his own ear. “It’s Thane. What’s going on?”

  On the other end of the line, someone coughed. It was a wet sound, full of pain and probably blood. “Sir… Drake is alone in… her room…”

  Jack’s gut clenched.

  “… With Night.”

  “Adam.” Annabelle barely managed the whisper. Her breath was caught in her throat. She swallowed, and the blade of Adam’s knife threatened, cold and hard.

  “Aye, luv.” Adam smiled, flashing those perfect white teeth. “Feel better?” He stood over her straight and tall, his body angled so that the knife he held was out at arm’s length, pressed almost casually against her neck.

  Annabelle’s pulse raced wildly. She felt dizzy with it. She blinked, and stars swam in her vision when she re-opened her eyes.

  “Where…” Her voice trailed off, and she had to start over. “Where is Victoria?” She asked softly. She really did sound as if she was about to faint.

  Something dark flashed in Adam’s icy gaze. His smile disappeared. “She was bought and paid for, luv,” he told her. “Osborne got to her before Jackson did.”

  Annabelle watched him through tunneling vision. She blinked, knowing her expression must reflect the confusion she felt at that moment.

  Adam’s gaze slid from Annabelle’s eyes to her lips and then down to the knife at her throat. He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he slowly removed the blade.

  Annabelle knew better than to sigh with relief. If Jack was telling the truth, Adam was unpredictable, at best. He might only be pulling the blade away so that he could swipe it back across her throat with more momentum.

  But she did at least find that she could breathe a little easier. The spots in her vision began to recede.

  Adam deftly slid the blade into a sheath wrapped around his left bicep, all the while not taking his eyes off of Annabelle. “She was sent to kill you,” he told her, almost matter-of-factly. “The oil’s poisoned.” He turned slightly and retrieved a bottle from the table behind him. Then he held it out above Annabelle, allowing her to stare up at it.

  “Kills on contact. Would have hurt like a bugger, too.”

  Annabelle found herself swallowing audibly once more. She stared up at the small bottle, her mind spinning wildly out of control. It was Adam all along. Touching her, easing her pain… Victoria had never laid a hand on her. Annabelle wondered, in fact, where the dead woman was at this moment.

  Adam put the bottle back down behind him and turned fully toward Annabelle once more.

  Before she could blink, he was leaning over her, bracing himself above her with a hand on either side of the massage table. His face was mere inches from hers, his eyes boring into her own.

  She could feel his breath across her lips when he spoke next. “Here you are,” he whispered, “holed up with arseholes too stupid to properly check for weapons, and you don’t even know what the man looks like who wants you dead.”

  Annabelle gazed up at Adam and found herself lost in the blue of his eyes. Something about his words, about his presence, at that very moment, had the strangest effect upon her. She found herself warming beneath him. She felt… light headed. And she wasn’t certain it was all from fear.

  She wanted to speak, but her mouth had gone a little dry. She licked her lips, and Adam’s gaze flickered to her mouth.

  “What does he look like?” She found herself asking. Of all the things she wanted to know, that was the one she chose? She couldn’t explain it. But what was said was said.

  Adam slowly cocked his head to one side, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. He straightened, moving away from her and taking a step back from the table.

  Annabelle took the opportunity to sit up. She did so slowly, propping herself up on her elbow with one arm and holding the blanket to her chest with the other. Her long hair spilled all around her, a few wavy strands cascading in front of her face as she turned onto her side to face Adam.

  He watched her as if fascinated by her every move.

  She shivered.

  Adam noticed. His smile broadened, but he chose not to comment. Instead, he turned his back on her and walked to a set of shelves against one wall. “Got something for you, angel.” As he moved, Annabelle had a chance to study h
im.

  He was dressed in black from head to toe, and the color blended in with his hair, making him appear almost ethereal. Like a vampire or a ghost. But whereas Jack normally dressed to ride, Adam was more of the SWAT persuasion.

  He looked lean and hard but his build was not as large as Jack’s. It was like the difference between a wolf and a coyote. Jack was a wolf, but Adam was fast and sneaky. And in the Business, that was far more deadly than a good set of fangs.

  She noticed, now that she had a moment to look, that his hair was not touched by any gray as Jack’s was. She would place him in his late thirties, maybe. Or, he just had amazingly good hair.

  Laying atop the shelves against the wall was a manila folder. Adam retrieved the folder and then turned back around to face Annabelle. She found herself gripping the blanket tighter as she quickly got down from the table and stood on somewhat wobbly legs on the other side, the table between her and her dark visitor.

  Adam watched her for a moment and then slowly strode back across the room toward her. Annabelle surprised herself by not stepping back as he approached.

  He looked a little surprised as well.

  And then he held the folder out and let it drop onto the massage table between them.

  She glanced down at it. It bore no external markings. “What is it?”

  “Osborne’s file,” Adam said. “It was given to Jack.”

  She looked up at him.

  He shrugged. “Thought you might like a look at the man pulling all the strings.” His expression turned more meaningful and something nasty flashed in the depths of his eyes. “I’m not surprised that Jack hasn’t shown it to you, luv. He never was one for egalitarianism.”

  Annabelle gazed warily at him for a moment. And then she swallowed again and decided to ask another question. “Is Simon all right?”

  Adam wasn’t phased. “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re askin’, angel.”

  And that was all she was going to get from him.

  She looked back down at the folder. Ever so slowly, she reached up and opened it, allowing it to spread on the table between them. The first thing Annabelle noticed was the black and white photograph clipped to a bunch of print-outs beneath it.

  It was a black man wearing dark glasses, dressed in an expensive suit.

  “Oh my God,” she said, staring wide-eyed at the picture. “It’s Mackenzie.”

  Chapter Forty

  Adam said nothing. But when she looked back up at him, the expression he wore was one of such knowing, that Annabelle couldn’t help but put the puzzle pieces together.

  “That’s where I’ve seen you before,” she muttered. “At Mackenzie’s office. When Max and I went to meet with him…” She shook her head, images spinning before her mind’s eye. She saw Mackenzie – Godrick Osborne – talking with Max, telling him that he wanted more done on the site, more pictures, more text, more everything. The job had gone on far longer than it should have, but the contract kept Max and Annabelle slaves to whatever Mackenzie wanted… Whatever Osborne wanted.

  And what he’d wanted all along was Teresa’s laptop.

  He’d been waiting for Max to find it. Or, maybe he was trying to get a lay of the land so that he could send someone in after it.

  “Oh my God,” Annabelle repeated, at awe with the truth of the situation. She’d seen Adam, on the sidelines, while at the Mackenzie building. Now that she thought back, she recalled that their eyes met. For just an instant. “It wasn’t ‘the Mackenzie’ building at all. It was the lab…” The secret lab where Brandt’s cure had been created.

  Annabelle hugged the blanket more tightly around her. Her arms were covered in goose bumps. “When I saw you,” she said, “were you there on your own, or had Osborne already hired you?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. It was all she could manage.

  Adam’s ice blue eyes glittered in the firelight. He looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the play of emotion that was crossing Annabelle’s delicate features.

  “You were the only one who saw me that day, angel,” he told her. His own voice had dropped as well. “Osborne never knew I was there.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  Adam laughed. It was actually a very pleasant sound. She’d half expected anything Adam Night did to be maniacal – to remind her of the Joker or something. But Jack had understated much about Adam Night. Including how charming he was.

  “You’d best get dressed, luv.” He moved so fast, she didn’t see it. But he pressed something underneath the massage table, and the entire thing collapsed in on itself, falling to the floor. Annabelle jumped as it hit, and Adam stepped over the table to close the distance between them.

  She took several steps back. Again, he wasn’t phased. He just continued to smile and come forward, effectively backing her into the wall behind her.

  “If you’re going to have any hope in Hell of stopping Osborne before he gets to Brandt, you’ll have to move now,” he told her as she hit the wall and stopped in her tracks, eyeing him apprehensively.

  Annabelle blinked. Her pulse was racing once more. Her brow furrowed. He wanted her to go after Osborne? Her? “What?” She asked.

  The manila folder was in Adam’s hand. He’d picked it up before he dropped the table. He held it out between them now, dangling it like a carrot before a hungry pony. “Take it, angel. Kill Osborne and you’ll be free of Jack’s hold.”

  Annabelle glanced at the folder and then looked back up at Adam.

  He went on. “What does he have over you now? Money? Protection?” He laughed then, and it was just as mirthless and empty as Jack’s laugh had been two days ago. “Fat lot of good it did you, eh, luv?” His smile disappeared as his ice blue gaze flicked across her face, to her lips, to the curve of her chin and collarbone and back up again. And then he grew serious. “You’ll never have freedom again, angel, to live your life, to do so much as step foot outside and get on a bike.” His smiled returned for just a moment. “Which I know you so love to do. Nah,” he continued. “He’ll always be there, lording over you.” He shook his head. “Unless…”

  Annabelle gazed into Adam’s blue eyes and considered his words. The crazy as hell thing was, he was right. If she had her own money, her own way of hiring people to protect her, she would be able to leave Jack’s shelter. Especially if Osborne was dead. And, if she killed Osborne… It would take care of the proverbial two birds with one lead slug.

  “Christ,” she said aloud, as she realized that it was a way out. It just wasn’t the one she’d been expecting.

  She licked her lips, her gaze now having settled on the folder that Adam held. “Are you telling me that Godrick Osborne is now on his way to kill Craig Brandt?” She asked. Might as well get the facts straight.

  “Aye, luv. That, he is.”

  Annabelle took the folder. She straightened and squared her shoulders. “Where are they?”

  Adam Night grinned.

  Jack floored the gas pedal, deftly steering around cars and pedestrians as he made his way through the streets of London. Beside him, in the passenger seat, Alex gripped the oh-shit bar for all he was worth. He wasn’t sure that terrifying news could literally sober a person up when they were loaded, but he was willing to bet that, despite Thane’s penchant for hell bent driving maneuvers, he probably wasn’t feeling very inebriated at the moment. More like angry as hell.

  And scared. Alex could feel waves of the strange emotion coming off of Thane. It wasn’t something he’d witnessed before. It was actually quite frightening, in and of itself.

  Several more intense minutes passed and Jack pulled up in front of the apartment building. He threw open the door just as the doorman came forward to greet him. When the doorman saw the look on Jack’s face and the speed with which he was moving, he simply amended his actions to step to the side and let Jack by without pause.

  Alex followed on his employer’s heels as they raced to the stairwell and began taking the stairs three at a
time. It was a long climb up, but they managed it in short time, both barely breaking a sweat with the effort.

  At the top, Jack inserted his key into the lock leading to his flat, and turned it. Two more doors and he was rushing into his foyer. And Simon Jeremiah was sitting against the wall, one leg bent, one straightened out in front of him. He had one hand pressed to his stomach and his other arm lay useless at his side.

  Jack scanned the room with practiced eyes and then bent beside his employee. “What happened, Simon?”

  Simon blinked up at Jack and licked his lips. His nose was bleeding, but there seemed to be no signs of struggle anywhere on his body.

  “Night drugged us, sir. Then he killed Mrs. Albrecht and left with Miss Drake.”

  Jack processed the information, noting the name Albrecht and remembering that it was the name of his massage therapist.

  “I called Victoria for Miss Drake, sir,” Alex said from behind him.

  Jack placed his fingertips to Simon’s neck and felt the pulse there. It was erratic and faint. His mind scanned the knowledge he had of different poisons until he had the right one and then he stood.

  “Alex, get the antidotes. They’re in the vault.” He took off his watch, which appeared to be an ordinary, if not gorgeous, Ulysse-Nardin, and handed it to Alex. “Take the date to eighteen and turn on its light; the vault will open. You want the green metal syringes marked ‘66’.”

  Alex nodded, took the watch, and disappeared. Jack knelt back down beside Simon, pressing his fingers to the man’s neck once more. The pulse raced at what had to be more than one hundred and thirty to one hundred and forty beats per minute and was rising. Jack took a deep, calming breath and grabbed Simon under the arms, lifting the man until his legs were under him.

  Simon moaned and pulled them both toward the wall, where Jack braced his arms to keep them up. He looked around as he did so. He could see outlines of two other men laying in the room beyond the foyer. They were unconscious.