She also didn’t appear terribly surprised to find them on her doorstep, which had caught Derrick off guard. She’d ushered them into her small house in Queens, offered them hot tea with honey and some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
Dianna struck Derrick as warm and friendly, not at all skittish or fearful. Though diminutive in size, she possessed a commanding personality—as evidenced by what happened next.
When they told Dianna that Martine was missing, and the story of Escobar, she’d surprised them both by pulling on her coat and ordering them to take her to this address.
Neither he nor Max had questioned how she knew where they’d find Martine. They were both still in too much shock that Dianna had agreed to help at all, after Martine’s description of her childhood, coupled with the fear she’d described was so deeply ingrained in her mother. But neither of them said a word as she marched out of her house, her face full of angry determination.
“So Martine’s here?” Derrick hollered, yanking Dianna out of the way and shielding her when a spray of hot embers rained down on them.
Dianna, no more than all of five feet tall, and as dark haired as Martine, shoved him aside with impressive force, her lips thinning, her green eyes fiery. “I’d know the scent of my daughter anywhere, and she’s here!”
In a flash, she tore up the steps, her conservative purse balanced in the crook of her arm by its strap, swinging wildly.
He and Max followed, racing behind her, dodging falling sheetrock and flaming balls of fire. Derrick didn’t question what was going on—he didn’t have time to. All he had time to do was trust Dianna knew her business, and she’d help find Martine.
She stopped at the top of the third flight, holding up her hand, cocking her head.
“Where the hell are we?” Max muttered under his breath.
Dianna turned to them, her eyes narrowed, her heart-shaped face hard. “Escobar’s—and he has my daughter. And now I’m going to kill the bastard!”
Max and Derrick passed each other the “look.” The one filled with more unexpected surprise that Dianna was so damn fierce.
Derrick hissed into Max’s ear, “If she gets herself killed, Martine’s gonna kill me. We have to stay close.”
Max began to charge after her again, his last comment ringing in Derrick’s ears. “I’ve got Dianna’s back. No matter what, find Martine!”
And then an entire wall collapsed on top of his brother.
* * *
Escobar raced down the stairs just as she made a leap for the landing above to scurry away from him. Avoiding his grasp by mere inches but putting her right back on Escobar’s floor.
The hair on Martine’s back lifted, shivering along her spine as he tore after her, stomping back up the stairs, hurling flaming balls of fire, pieces of the roof falling around her feet in loud, crashing chunks as snow fell through the holes in wet splotches, making visibility low.
She zigzagged, swooshing down the long hallway, trying to remember the numbers on doors to keep track of where she was, skipping over hot metal and debris.
“Martine!” Escobar bellowed—before everything went quiet.
Painfully, deadly quiet.
Stopping short, her heart crashing against her ribs, Martine paused to listen.
Silence. There was only silence.
That meant one of two things. Escobar was planning a different course of action.
Or all hell was going to break loose.
Something made her turn around then, demanded she do so. Something premonitory and cold, painful and terrifying.
Pivoting on her paws, she peered down the hallway, past the blue-gray clouds of smoke mixed with wet snow and debris, to see Escobar.
Holding a person.
As the smoke began to clear, so did the big picture.
Escobar stalked down the long hallway, his bright shirt now covered in ash, his face smug as he dangled her mother from his fist like a pair of dice from the rearview mirror. “So, what’s new Pussycat?” he taunted on a gurgling chuckle.
Score one for all hell breaking loose.
* * *
Derrick hauled hunks of sheetrock off Max’s back, wrapping a hand around his wrist and hauling him up.
Max huffed, clearing his throat of the sheetrock dust with a hacking cough. He wiped his forearm over his mouth and asked, “Where’s Dianna?”
Derrick’s head swiveled around as he listened and sniffed the air. “Up. Martine’s upstairs! You okay?”
“Go! I’m right behind you!” Max urged, following his brother, taking the steps three at a time.
“Martine!” Derrick bellowed into the long hallway, squinting to see past the smoke and snow just as everything went from total chaos to eerily still.
He heard her then. Heard her as clear as day. Heard the plea in her voice. Heard the fear, the helpless request she made. “Please, Escobar! Just take me. Let my mother go!”
Fuck. The warlock had Dianna and Martine.
Max pulled up short behind him.
“He’s got Dianna and Martine,” Derrick whispered, barely spitting the words out. “I’ll kill the fuck.”
Max grabbed his arm with iron-like fingers. “Stop,” he demanded, harsh and low. “Let’s think before we go rushing in.”
Think? He couldn’t think. There was no thinking about this. He’d think about it after he’d ripped Escobar’s body in fucking half. “We don’t have time to think, Max!”
Max’s grip grew firmer, more insistent. “Derrick, this Escobar is a warlock. The man can cast spells. We have what to counteract that? Brute strength? Stop and take a deep breath. If we die, we’re no good to Martine and her mother.”
“Escobar!” Martine screeched, her voice hoarse, ragged. “Put her down and I swear I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll go wherever you want me to—no questions asked. Please!”
Derrick stiffened, his body rigid with the need to kill this asshole Escobar. It was the fear in her voice ripping him to shreds, turning him inside out, and he’d do whatever he had to in order to make it stop. The feral half of him, the hunter, needed this man’s blood.
“Do you hear her? She’s petrified. I can’t take it, Max! I have to kill this motherfucker.”
Max held up a hand, his eyes so grim, Derrick almost couldn’t look into them. “I know. I get it. She’s in danger. You want to rip this bastard apart, but let’s at least have some sort of plan, okay? Let’s steamroll the bastard. It’s the only thing I can think to do at this point. I’ll distract, you take his ass out.”
Derrick shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. You get the fuck out of here now. The hell I’m going back home to face JC if something happens to you. Get out!”
“That’s just not gonna happen, brother. We’re all in or we’re nothing. Don’t waste time trying to convince me to leave without you. The fuck I’m letting you take this on yourself. The only thing I ask is that you wait for the right moment to ambush. Now shut up and let’s get up there.” Max squeezed his shoulder to soften his angry words.
“Please, please, please, Escobar,” Martine cried out. “Let her go!”
Derrick looked to Max. “It’s now or never,” he murmured, just before he took the last flight of steps leading to Martine.
* * *
Somehow, in the madness, she’d managed to shift. Whatever had done it—bone-deep fear, anxiety—she now stood in the middle of Escobar’s hallway, stark naked.
But she didn’t care. He had her mother. Her mother, who dangled from his fist, swaying back and forth as he edged closer to his apartment door, stepping over the next-door neighbor who was lying in a heap.
Escobar didn’t look like much to most. Why he chose to keep his true form had always made her curious with all the cloaking spells he had at his disposal, but he had the strength of ten men, and he’d use it to make a point.
Dianna flashed Martine signals with her eyes. Signals she didn’t understand—couldn’t make out. Her heart throbbed hard in her c
hest, threatening to spill right out onto the floor.
She’d forgotten how small her mother was, how fragile she looked. Dianna didn’t fight Escobar, didn’t move a muscle. Instead, she stared straight at Martine—right up until the moment Escobar disappeared inside his apartment with her in his clutches.
Running the length of the hall, she ignored the tear of her flesh when she tripped on the metal banister, now ripped from its steel bolts and scattered along the hall.
The neighbor who’d pounded the door, now sprawled across the hallway, had a sweater on. Without thinking, she tore it off his limp limbs, briefly surprised at her strength and dexterity, and threw it over her head before rounding the corner of the doorway of Escobar’s apartment.
Her eyes flew wildly over the room, searching for her mother until they focused in on the area by the window where she caught movement.
Escobar still had Dianna in his wretched grip, and he was heading for that very window. Terror ripped through her, along with a rush of pure adrenaline. In what could only be called panic mode, she lunged for him, tearing at his back, grabbing her mother’s arm and yanking her away from the warlock.
Dianna fell to the floor hard, crashing into the couch with a grunt, struggling to rise the moment she gathered her wits.
But Escobar was quicker, faster, stronger than Martine would ever be. She might have caught him off guard, but it didn’t take long for him to get his bearings. In seconds, he had his thick arm wrapped around her neck and a shiny knife appeared out of nowhere, which he pointed at her throat.
“Take one more step and I’ll kill her, Dianna. I’ll slice her head off like I’m slicing bread!” Escobar roared.
Dianna crept close, her eyes ablaze. “Let her go, Escobar. Let her go or I’ll kill you!” she screamed, the demand hoarse and raw.
Martine dangled in his grip as her mother had, shrinking when Escobar screamed back, “Aw, you won’t do that, will you, Dianna? You won’t risk losing your daughter’s pretty head!”
Hold the phone. Escobar was talking to her mother as though he knew her, and Dianna was reciprocating.
Curious.
But none of that mattered. He would kill her and her mother if this went too far. She had to stop him somehow. An eerie calm invaded her, one Martine knew was borne of the realization that sometimes the jig was just up.
“Mom,” she begged, her eyes capturing Dianna’s. “Go. Go now. Don’t look back.”
The sharp point pressed to her neck made her legs tremble. Escobar’s words in her ear sent chills racing along her spine. “You know, I didn’t give you enough credit, did I, Martine? Who knew you’d have the chutzpah to escape? But now you’re just mucking up a perfectly good negotiation.”
Negotiation? Martine inhaled, gulping the acrid air as she struggled to think. “But I’m here now. Do whatever you want to me, just let my mother go!” Please.
Yet, rather than retreat, Dianna inched closer still, refusing to back down, utterly astounding Martine. “Let her go, Escobar,” she growled. “Let her go and take me in her place.”
Um, huh? Take her for what? “Mom—get out!”
Escobar clucked his tongue against the shell of her ear. “Now hold on there, my little familiar. I don’t want you anymore, Martine. I thought I made that clear when I brought you back here. But had I known your father was married to this woman—this gem—I’d have skipped his offer to purchase you entirely and insisted he give me your mother instead.”
Her mouth fell open. Purchase her? Everything was one big ball of tangled information she couldn’t parse. But one thing was clear. She’d been sold to Escobar. By her father.
Her pulse bobbled then sped up. What the hell?
But the only thing she managed to squeak out as his grip tightened around her neck was, “My father?”
Escobar’s sigh was put upon, his chest heaving against her back in a theatrical gasp of so-over-it. “Yes, kumquat. Surely you know how I ended up with you, don’t you?”
Martine trembled. Her feet, bloody and raw, ached as she clung to his forearm and shook her head. “No,” she whispered in horror. “I don’t know what you mean…” But she had an idea. A sick, twisted idea.
He sighed again, repositioning the shiny knife. “Your father sold you to me—for a tidy sum, too, I might add. Cost a fortune. And you were worth it. You served your purpose.”
Gavin had sold her to Escobar? Of all the horrible things her father had done, not in a million years would she have guessed even he was capable of something so treacherous—so heinous. “Why?” she husked out, raspy and raw. “Why did he sell me to you?”
His chuckle rumbled against her back, slipping from his throat in a slimy gurgle. “Why does your father do anything, Martine? Because he’s a helpless, useless drunk who actually believed me when I told him I’d help him get his immortality, with you as my guide. That’s why. Of course, your father, always looking for a buck, wanted money for you as part of our deal. Didn’t bat an eye when he offered you up, either. Gave me your exact location, in fact. Everything else was easy. I had someone follow you for a couple of days and then poof—you were mine.”
Tears were streaming down Dianna’s heart-shaped face, but her eyes still latched onto Martine’s, communicating something Martine just couldn’t grasp. Yet, she said nothing.
Martine swallowed the hard lump in her throat, fighting tears, fighting fear. “So if I’m so valuable, why don’t you want me anymore? Why would you want my mother?”
“Because you’re all used up, pretty girl. You don’t have anything I want anymore, and I can’t afford to take a chance you’ll tell anyone what I’ve done with you all these months. Stealing magic is a no-no in our world, sunshine. But you have a bargaining chip. Your mother. She ensures not just your life, but your everlasting silence, and if she doesn’t come with me, I will kill you.”
Perfect. Bargaining chip officially useless. Fear threatened to swallow her whole, yet she tried to stay calm.
Twisting her neck around to look up at him, she asked, “But what does any of this have to do with my mother? Why not just kill me to shut me up and let her go?”
Escobar paused a moment, his eyes narrowing, changing the entirety of his cherubic face to an ugly mask of evil. “Let her go? After she so selflessly offered herself up in return for your life? Offered to do my bidding for eternity if I let you live? Why, that would be like throwing away a winning lottery ticket. But I’ll do it if you come any closer, Dianna. Make any attempt to trick me to save your daughter, and I’ll slit her throat!”
A lottery ticket? He’d gone mad. Surely he was as drunk on his quest for power as her father was on a bottle of Jack.
Escobar waved the shiny knife under his nose, his scoff ironic. “After all these years, all this time, I can’t believe I didn’t know, Dianna. You hid well, dear. But none of that matters now. So let’s do this amicably. We make the swap and Martine lives. Do we understand each other?”
Dianna nodded, taking a step closer, but Martine cried out. “Wait!” What did “after all these years” mean?
Her mother paused, shooting more signals to her with her eyes, but Martine wasn’t letting Escobar take her mother. So she stalled by using her complete confusion as a tactic.
She held up a shaky hand covered in scratches, her voice trembling. “Explain something to me. You owe me that much after all this time, Escobar. Why me? I know nothing about magic—I don’t know the first thing about being a familiar. Obviously you know that, as evidenced by the way I always return from the realm like some drunk. What did I bring to the table that any other familiar couldn’t?”
His smile was doting now, almost fond as he wrinkled his nose. “You are precious. I mean utterly adorable. How can you not at least know the laws of the familiar? You’re more in the dark than even I realized.”
She shivered, fighting the desire to pass out from his tight grip on her neck, the way he bore holes into her as he glared down at her. Sweat beaded
on her upper lip, her hands were cold and clammy, but still she pushed. “Meaning?
“Meaning this,” he grumbled. “Do you know how often a familiar is willing to steal magic from others for someone? Never. That almost never happens. It goes against everything we’re taught as familiars. It’s against our laws, in fact. But when your father offered you up in his desperation for some cold hard cash, I poked around and found out something very interesting. You hadn’t cultivated your abilities. That, in and of itself, can be useful to someone like me. You were weak, but in your weakness, you were also malleable. I knew with a spell or two, I could turn you into my little puppet. So I nipped and took Gavin’s bait.
“That you came back from the realm with some very useful magic was a pleasant surprise, and led me to believe your father was misguided all these years about just how powerful you really are. He had no idea what he’d sold me, which is par for the course with your drunken sod of a father.”
Her chest heaved as she gasped for air. No matter how horrible her father had been, hearing Escobar lay it all out on the table made him so much worse.
Forcing herself to focus, trying to contain the quiver in her voice, she asked, “So I brought back powerful magic. Why wouldn’t you want me to keep bringing you powerful magic? What does my mother have to do with this?”
He clucked his tongue before directing his next question to Dianna. “She has no idea, does she? How can it be that she’s been kept out of the familiar loop all this time? Maybe because you kept her that way?”
Martine watched her mother stiffen then for the first time, flinch, and she knew whatever she was “out of the loop” about was bad.
Martine’s heart thumped in her ears. She was afraid to ask, but she was going to anyway. “No idea about what?” What? What? What?
“It’s not just any old witch magic you collect, Martine. Your familiar abilities allowed you to steal from some of the most powerful witches in the realm just by virtue of your lineage. You’re one of the strongest conduits alive today. That made you very valuable to a warlock like me, who’s unsavory and greedy and willing to do whatever it takes to claw his way to the top.”
What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2) Page 17