by Tracy Tappan
Armbruster smiled broadly. “Hey, thanks, fella, it’s always nice to meet a fan.” The tall, built athlete stepped inside, limping only slightly from the knee he’d strained over two weeks ago. He clapped Dev on the shoulder as he passed into the room. “You look like you could do some damage yourself. You ever play?”
“Nah, nah, not really,” Dev lied. “Just spend a lot of time in the gym.”
“Ah, well, not everyone can toss the pigskin around, right?” Armbruster chuckled, the sound filled with arrogance.
Dev sliced a look at Sedge.
Yeah, fucking poser. The guy was going to make this even easier than it already was.
“Not as good as you, at least,” Dev drawled.
Sedge stepped forward. “Mr. Armbruster, I’m Bob Haywood.” He shook Armbruster’s hand, gritting his back molars together to keep from pulverizing the man’s bones right then and there. This hand had committed unspeakable acts of violence against Kimberly. “And you’ve just met my cameraman, Chip Landon.” He gestured to Dev, dressed in chinos and a polo shirt, lucky bastard. “Thanks for coming out to do this segment on running backs. As I mentioned in my email, I’m a brand new broadcaster at ESPN, and having a man like you on the show will really help give me a leg up.”
Armbruster chuckled that obnoxious chuckle again. “Hey, an all-expenses paid trip to the Hotel del Coronado, Bob? Who can say no to that? “
Sedge bared his teeth in what he hoped was something close to a smile. Bob. Did I say you could call me Bob, asswipe?
Armbruster glanced around. “So….” He sniffed. “Who else you got coming in?”
“Chris Johnson from the Tennessee Titans is lined up for tomorrow. Right, Chip?”
“Day after.”
“Ah.”
Armbruster crossed his arms, some of his arrogance slipping. “Johnson’s good. Top of his game right now.”
Better than you, loser. “We only picked the best for this segment,” Sedge said smoothly, amazed the words didn’t sound as gritted as they felt.
“Yeah….” Armbruster nodded, puffing up again. “Makes sense.”
The muscles in Sedge’s hands tightened into preemptive fists. “Why don’t you come on in and get settled.” He led the football player past the large camera on its tripod, set up just for show, although it was tempting to record what was really going to go down. Sedge wouldn’t mind having it for posterity. “We’ll discuss how this is going to run.”
“Jesus,” Armbruster exclaimed as he spotted the array of photos laid out on a rectangular table across the room. “Look at all this.” He stopped at the long side of the table and inspected the pictures. Some were action shots, others of him at parties or events.
Sedge took up position at the short end of the table, kitty corner to Armbruster. “Great, huh? We’re going to use these for publicity.”
“Some go back to my Huskies days at the University of Washington.”
Sedge checked for reaction on Armbruster’s face. The man’s gaze passed dismissively over the photo of himself and Kimberly leaving some after-game party, her in a beaded gown, young and so pretty, her yellow hair long. It was if she was nothing. Less than nothing. Sedge wrapped his fingers around the edge of the table.
Dev came to stand at the other short end, across from Sedge. “Wow, man.” He whistled under his breath. “You never lacked for some serious beauties on your arm, did you?”
Armbruster chuckled again, the sound making Sedge grip the table harder. “I’ve never suffered in that department, fella, that’s for sure. And they weren’t always on my arm, but generally on their knees, if you get what I mean.” He winked at Dev, the gesture dripping with superiority.
Dev smiled, just short of showing his fangs. “Ho, yeah.” Anyone who didn’t know the warrior wouldn’t notice the I-can’t-wait-to-see-your-face-get-fucking-ripped-off in the expression, but Sedge did.
Sedge nodded subtly at Dev. Let’s do this thing before I snap the table in two.
Eyes glinting, Dev’s smile took on a nasty edge. “Actually, I think Bob knows one of these women.” He gestured at the photos. “Don’t you, Bob?”
“In fact I do, Chip.” Sedge moved to the long side of the table, directly across from Armbruster. “Her.” He pointed to the picture of Kimberly. “Do you remember this woman, Tim?”
The football player went still, a tic of muscle pulsing in his jaw as he surely felt the hostility Sedge was allowing to seethe off him now.
Armbruster’s eyelashes flickered, as if he’d involuntarily conducted a searching glance of the room. Not gonna find any friends here, pal.
“Or,” Sedge went on, his voice a low drawl of menace, “have you just abused too many women during your days as an asshole to keep count of them all at this point?”
Sedge could almost see the cogs and wheels in Armbruster’s brain turning as he contemplated his next move. The running back finally lifted his head, meeting Sedge’s cold stare with a frosty one of his own. “What the hell is this?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“You’re not an ESPN newscaster, are you?”
“Quick of you.”
Armbruster stepped back from the table, tension visibly tightening his muscles. “You’ve wasted a lot of time and money then, big guy. I remember Kim, yeah. She’s a crazy bitch, if you haven’t already figured that out. Whatever she said about me isn’t true.”
Fury seared the back of Sedge’s throat and hazed his vision. “Excuse me, but did you just call my wife a bitch?”
Dev crossed his arms over his chest. “That kind of confirms a lot about this schmuck, doesn’t it, Bob?”
“You scumbags don’t know shit,” Armbruster snapped back. “You only know her side of the story. Betcha she told you I killed her unborn baby, right? That’s total crap. She miscarried, all on her own, but she never got over it, that’s the problem. She went completely loopy, talking smack about me and shit. I finally had to break up with her, me, and now she’s feeding you the same pile of bull.”
Sedge ducked his chin, his nostrils flaring. In his own kitchen, he’d witnessed Kimberly confess the story of her relationship with this monster. He’d sooner believe the sun was going to rise from beneath his scrotum tomorrow than what Armbruster had just said—even without the additional evidence that hacker god, Alex Parthen, had unearthed for him. “A guy like you doesn’t have any balls at all, you know that. You have to beat on and terrorize someone smaller and weaker than you to feel like a man. It’s pathetic.”
“Right,” Armbruster sneered. “You’re going to believe that little cunt over me because she’s your source of pussy. Not surprising, but it doesn’t make it right.”
“Jay-sus,” Dev flared, “the way this guy talks about women is really starting to bug me. How ’bout you, Bob?”
Sedge narrowed his eyes on the football player. “Definitely.”
Dev lifted a manila folder off the edge of the table. “Yo, douche-nozzle, what’s your explanation for what happened to your other girlfriends, then, huh? This file here is filled with hospital reports about at least half a dozen other women you dated.”
Armbruster didn’t react. His silence was really fucking telling, though.
Scenting the kill, Dev laughed low in his chest, the sound hair-raising. “Do you know what it’s like to feel helpless, Armbruster?”
“He’s going to find out,” Sedge promised darkly.
“Yeah, all right. Whatever.” The running back squared his shoulders. “So how we doing this? Both of you at once? One at a time? Whatever it is, bring it, fudge-packers. I’ve handled worse.”
Dev settled his hip on the edge of the table. “I’m just here to enjoy the show, fella. This is totally Bob’s deal.”
“Just one of you?” Armbruster laughed scornfully. “Why, this is almost going to be too easy.”
“I’m thinking, not so much.” Dev smirked. “How’s that knee, anyway?”
Sedge was over the table lightning quick
.
Chapter Forty-two
Tonĩ’s pulse was nearly pounding out of her mouth by the time Spike Boy pulled his car up in front of a sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion. She flexed her bound hands behind her back and shivered. Jesus, what was this? Blazing porch lights chased back the night to reveal a red tile roof, terracotta walls, white-slatted shutters, and subtropical landscaping. She’d thought she was going to be brought to a “crib.”
Inside, the house was just as stunning. She was led through a domed foyer to a spacious living room done in blond wood with cathedral ceilings, then down a long hallway floored in Spanish tiles. The place reeked of quality and class and money.
Whose house was this?
Spike Boy headed to the last door on the left in the hallway, pulling her inside a large bedroom. Intricately paned windows were strung across the opposite wall, the outside shutters currently closed, and there was a large skylight above, displaying a panorama of twinkling stars. The furniture was expansive and beautiful, but the place was disordered, the bed half-made, clothes strewn about, its occupant clearly sloppy.
Something low in Tonĩ’s stomach pulsed. This was Spike Boy’s bedroom.
“You should be waitin’ for Raymond to get home with Videön and Hütch, Rën,” Skull said, planting himself in the doorway. His nose was still mashed out of shape, but other than that all bruising and white acid were gone. “He doesn’t even know we’ve nicked her, yet.”
Spike Boy—Rën—flung his leather jacket onto a chair. “Raymond wants me to impregnate her, Mürk. I don’t see how the old man would girn about me gettin’ to that task straight away.”
Toni went dry-mouthed with shock and fear. Impregnate! She stumbled sideways, the two emotions colliding within her until she couldn’t tell one from the other, the chaos nearly shutting down her mind. Without thought, she darted for the door.
Amazingly, Mürk stepped aside to let her pass.
Rën seized her by the bound wrists and jerked her backward. Pain screamed through the small bones in her wrists, and she gasped around her ball gag.
“Raymond will spit tacks if you hurt her,” Mürk warned.
“Then she’d best be docile and sweet as a lamb, hadn’t she?” Rën pressed wet lips to her ear. “Hear that, Tonĩ, love? You need to please me, right. Leave me a very satisfied man.” He ripped the cord from her wrists then yanked the ball gag out of her mouth.
She coughed and cried out, sucking in a ragged breath.
Rën tugged his T-shirt over his head, exposing an upper body strewn with scars; Gábor’s knife wound was fresh and red. His eyes took on a venal glitter as he toed off his boots, the way he looked at her making her skin crawl.
She shot a desperate glance at Mürk, her belly knotting into a hard tight ball.
Mürk’s gaze skidded from her to Rën.
“You want to have an ogle at us, mate, while I’m slippin’ her a length, is that why you’re dossin’ about?” Rën crossed to the bedroom door and shoved Mürk out into the hallway. “Right sick of you, old sod.” He slammed the door shut and rounded on her. “Get your kit off, Tonĩ, now.”
A wracking shudder shook her spine. She stood frozen in place, unspeakably terrified. Oh, this situation way out-trumped the day she’d been kidnapped by the Vârcolac. She’d been scared that day, without question, but right from the start, the men of Ţărână had treated her with nothing but absolute respect. She’d quickly learned that no one was going to do her bodily harm.
Not so here.
“I have a brother named Videön.” Rën spoke offhandedly as he unbuckled his belt. “Now he likes it when a girl cries and carries on while he’s fuckin’ her, see. He’s the real radgie one. But me?” Rën shrugged. “Either way’s fine with me. Savvy?” He shoved his pants down, stripping himself naked.
Tonĩ’s pulse beat thundered up into her head, the sight of his large, thick penis slamming another layer of horrible, inescapable reality over this appalling situation. His organ probably wasn’t any bigger than Jaċken’s, but the circumstances made it seem dangerously enormous. In a few short minutes, this man was going to try and shove that thing inside her when she wouldn’t be—couldn’t be—anything but bone dry.
“There’s….” She cleared her tight throat, opening up a channel for speech. “There’s no reason for doing this, Rën. I’m already mated to a Vârcolac, which means I can’t get pregnant by any man other than my husband. That includes Om Rău.”
“I can think of two reasons,” he said, leering at her breasts. “Any road, my brothers and I aren’t like the sheep-shaggin’ Underground Om Rău you’re used to dealin’ with, love. We’re half-Fey.”
“The rule still applies.” Although truth was, she wasn’t sure about that, but it seemed prudent to add it.
“As bang-tidy as you are,” he came back lazily, “it’ll be worth the experiment.”
“Worth incurring this Raymond’s—?”
“Get undressed!” he roared, “now, or I’ll do it for you.”
Jumping at his shout, she jolted backward, her eyes darting around the room. The walls were closing in on her, time running out, options disappearing. “C-can’t…please, can’t we do this with my clothes on? You know, j-just the first time.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts again. “No.”
Her abdominals cramped around a surge of panic. She could feel the forceful, painful rhythm of her heart, pounding beyond her control, heightening her sense of helplessness. Bile swam up her throat and into her mouth, its acrid taste making her eyes water.
Rën planted his hands on his hips. “This can be a doss for you, Tonĩ, or hard as fuck. What’s it going to be?”
Every atom of stubborn pride inside her rebelled against being docile and sweet as a lamb, but as she passed her eyes over Rën’s body, she knew she didn’t have a hope in hell of fighting him off. She’d seen a lot of large physiques during her time in Ţărână, but Rën’s was one of the more brutally masculine bodies out there. With his massive muscles carved into curving rock, he looked to be somewhere between Jaċken and Lørke.
If she was really clever—and lucky—maybe she could hold him off for a short time, but to what purpose? Ţărână’s warriors were unconscious, for God knew how long, and even if they should awaken, they had no way of finding her. No eleventh-hour rescue was on the way.
Rën stepped toward her.
It was such a casual step, it left her totally unprepared for his hard slap. Her head whipped sideways and her bottom lip split open, blood rushing onto her tongue and chin, her ears ringing from the pain. She had only a moment to shake the fog from her brain before a powerful arm closed around her waist and hauled her off her feet. She screamed as she was tossed onto the bed, landing in a loose-jointed sprawl.
Rën followed her onto the mattress, one hand snapping shut around her throat, the other tearing at her clothes.
Wheezing and choking, she clawed at the vise-grip around her neck, her throat pumping frantically against Rën’s fist. She tried twisting and bucking, but the Om Rău, at least a hundred pounds heavier than she, skilled at fighting, and totally unaffected by feelings of morality, had her stripped in seconds.
Terror consumed her. She forgot to breathe, her throat going dry and gritty. Her eyesight grayed at the corners.
Rën let go of her throat—but only to grab her legs and jack her knees back to her ears, tilting her core upward.
The intolerable vulnerability of the position ignited a strange, savage electricity in her. It whirred and whipped, an awesome force. She grappled for control over it, but the power remained just outside of her ability to manage. Please, somebody, help me! Mürk, that Raymond person, someone! She inhaled a huge breath and screamed for as long and as loud as she could.
“Shut your face now, girl. It’s not as wretched as all that.” Rën grabbed his blood-engorged penis and poked around for entrance into her body.
Teeth gritted, she fought like a madwoman, but with her
legs hooked over Rën’s broad shoulders and the weight of his muscled body easily keeping her folded in half, she couldn’t do much more than get her calves swinging furiously. She was utterly helpless. Tears streamed down her face and pooled in her ears. Icy sweat broke out all over her skin, everything inside her cringing against the imminent violation. As a last-ditch effort, she reached between her legs and grabbed Rën’s hand, pulling his member aside.
Rën gaped down at their joined hands, an expression of abject shock on his face. “How the buggerin’ shite are you touchin’ that?”
Touching…? Dear God, she was touching his ring—his immortality ring—and it wasn’t shocking her!
She wrestled with his hand, gouging her fingernails into his palm to force his hand to open. He was stronger than she was, and started to make a fist—then one of her nails nicked his penis, and in the moment his hand spasmed, she yanked off his ring.
“Bloody hell!” Rën snarled. “Give that back, you fuckin’ scut.”
She shoved the ring in her mouth, but before she could swallow it, Rën slapped her again, the hard edge of his palm catching the side of her eye. Stars blinked to life in front of her, and she gasped in pain.
Rën jammed his fingers into her mouth and—
The skylight overhead shattered, glass raining down, and one, two, three, Jaċken, Sedge, and Dev smashing down with the prism-like shards. Suddenly Rën was no longer on top of her, but driven to the floor by the juggernaut that was her husband.
Her head spinning, Tonĩ teetered to a sitting position and clawed through the glass on the bedspread for a sheet. Wrapping it around her naked body, she stumbled off the mattress and rushed to the nightstand, wedging herself between it and the wall. She watched through tear-blurred eyes as Jaċken roared above his victim, his eyes flashing the hellfire of Rău red. He punched Rën with a blow that sounded like a plumber’s wrench meeting a side of beef. And again. And again.
“Jaċken,” she called to him. “I-I removed his immortality ring.”
Jaċken paused long enough to notice that, yes, Rën was bleeding normal red blood, not white acid. He had two long knives slicked from his belt in a heartbeat, one in each fist. Fangs bared and dripping, Jaċken stabbed the blades into either side of Rën’s throat, then crosscut his arms, slicing Rën’s head off with a sickening crunch. More red blood gouted from the ragged stump.