Promises in the Dark

by Stephanie Tyler

  “It’s okay.”

  “Vivi, you should seriously consider the FBI’s offer,” he told her.

  “I was waiting for you to bring that up.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but with this … I can’t be here to protect you all the time. And letting you just sit around wasting your gift with computers is a fucking crime,” he said fiercely, enough to make her start. “If you join the FBI, they can protect you and you can help them. I know you have a problem with trust, I get that. But I think it’s time you let go of the past a little, for your own good. For our own good. Trust and loyalty can be a really good thing.”

  “I can’t promise, Cael. But I’ll think about it.” Because deep in her heart, she knew he was right.

  He motioned for her to come closer. She did, wrapped her arms around him, wanted to say so much, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, “You’ll come back for me when it’s over, right?”

  His voice was tight when he said, “Try to stop me, Vivi.”

  She wanted to make him swear to it, as ridiculous as that sounded. “It—this—might never be over.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll help you any way I can, make sure DMH can’t touch you.” He paused. “It’s like this a lot, you know. Me having to leave suddenly. I can’t get in touch with you. It could be a while.”

  Translation: Secret missions would happen often and she’d need to decide if she could deal with it. Long absences where she wouldn’t even know how he was could easily break a woman.

  He was digging in his pockets. Handing her keys. “For the apartment. Check the mail for me. Bills are paid online automatically, so you’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure about this? About letting me stay here?”

  “Yes. Because I want to come home to you. And trust me, that’s never happened. I’ve never said it to any woman.”

  She believed him. And so she palmed the keys and held them tight.

  “I’m coming home to you, okay?”

  He would. His eyes held a promise that made her sure enough to let go of his shirt and touch his cheek instead. “Go, Cael. Go now.”

  A fierce kiss and then he walked away, without looking back. The way it had to be. The only way it could be.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Elijah had both of them now, right where he wanted them. He’d carried out his part of the deal, even though Ace couldn’t be damned to carry out his, since Vivienne Clare was still alive and well. Granted, so were Dr. Olivia Strohm and Zane Scott, but that wouldn’t be the case for long.

  No, not long now at all, at least for Zane. Olivia … maybe she deserved another chance, although this time it would be under his total manipulation. He fingered the syringe that held the second dosing of drugs he would administer to her shortly, watched her sleeping at his feet on the floor.

  So beautiful. He’d let her run, and run she had … but she could never escape him. He’d told her that before, but now she’d truly know.

  She’s in love with the SEAL, Ace had told him earlier, after they’d made the trip to dump the man off. Ace had given him an idea for Zane, and Elijah was beginning to learn how truly effective torture was as a method to instill madness.

  She’ll forget him soon enough, he thought to himself, looked down at her and smiled. Sooner than she’d think.

  Olivia cursed the fact that the drugs made her hands shake, pressed her palms together hard as she pushed herself off the cold cement floor in a dizzying attempt to get the medication out of her system quickly.

  She wasn’t tied down, but she was locked in. Once she was steady enough, she moved around, trying the door and then simply pacing and jumping around a little. Sweating it out had helped her escape the first time. Her naturally quick metabolism and non-addictive personality had helped as well.

  She knew how lucky she was.

  Lucky. She laughed, the sound a harsh echo in her ears.

  God, she wanted Zane to have the same kind of luck. She knew that, no matter what, neither of them would ever be the same if they survived all of this.

  Then again, both of them had lived through worse.

  Trouble. Most definitely.

  When she’d woken earlier, she was confused, but she’d still known it wasn’t Zane touching her, not the way the fat hand mauled her breasts while a sweaty, smelly palm clamped over her mouth, holding the chloroformed cloth in place until she’d slumped forward, unable to remain conscious from sheer will alone.

  She hadn’t been out long—she knew that. The sun had still beat down on her in the back of the moving car where she had been tied and was recently yanked from to be put into this dark room … unless a full twenty-four hours had passed.

  Frantically, she checked her arms for needle marks and found only one.

  Good. Now she had to figure a way out of this.

  “You called for him in your sleep.”

  The voice, so familiar, made her snap to attention. Her blood ran cold when she looked across the room and saw him—Elijah, the man responsible for all this, the one who’d had her on the run.

  He would not win. “How did you find me?

  Elijah laughed. “You’re assuming we ever lost you.”

  She chilled at the thought that she’d never been truly free of them. That DMH was both vicious and patient, and now they’d taken the man she’d fallen in love with from her. And would maybe even keep her alive, to do God knows what for them.

  She thought back to the predictions made when she was still a child—predictions from another madman—wondered when she’d realize she wasn’t in charge of her own fate. Never had been.

  What Zane would say to that she might never know. But he would never forgive her for refusing to fight, for giving up.

  Without him though, she didn’t think she had the strength to try.

  Elijah knew who she was thinking about, if not what. But he wasn’t stupid.

  She wished she’d kept Zane’s gun closer, or one of his knives … wished so many things. “What do you want from me?”

  “Sadly, nothing. I did, of course, but you’re of no value to me now that you’ve spoken with the CIA.”

  “They’ll never let you get away with this.”

  “With kidnapping you again? They will. They already did. Those agents you met with are dead. The rest is inconsequential. Black market transplants are a small part of our operation.”

  “You’re an evil bastard. Screwing with people’s lives like this—”

  “Save it. Your passion bores me.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “I have a better plan. I can still have you, but without the mouthiness. You had it good with me, Olivia, you just didn’t realize it. Now you will, and it’ll be too late to do anything about it.”

  He stood and walked over to her. She saw the needle, attempted to get up and stop him, but he was too strong, grabbed her and sank the needle into her arm. “This will make you pliable. Before long, you’ll do anything I want. Anything anyone wants.”

  He let her go and she fell like a limp rag doll to the floor. She knew he’d lock her in here again, the way he’d done countless times before when she was his prisoner.

  She could still hear his laugh echoing in her head as he stood over her. He would continue to drug her into submission until she was nothing but a shell, succumbing to his way of controlling her … and she could think of nothing worse.

  It took a great effort, and concentration, but she managed to spit out, “I’d rather die.”

  “That could be arranged.”

  At the sound of that voice, Elijah grabbed her roughly off the floor and turned with her in his arms.

  A tall, handsome blond man with a very large sawed-off rifle pointed at them waited in the doorway.

  “This doesn’t concern you at all,” Elijah said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. All of your mistakes concern me.”

  Elijah’s grip was strong, holding her up because she certain
ly couldn’t stand on her own—the drugs had numbed her so badly she could barely feel her legs.

  She smelled the fear, being this up-close and personal with him—no doubt it was partially hers, but it was also him—he was definitely worried about this other man.

  Granted, so was she, but the loopiness kept the panic down, allowed her to float outside her body, an observer wondering how this one would end.

  “Be reasonable, Ace. DMH is nothing without me,” Elijah said.

  “At one time, maybe so. And it took a while, but now that I’ve finally accessed all your personal files, I know all your secrets.” The blond man smiled and a chill went through her at the dead look in his eyes. “You know what they say, three can keep a secret if two are dead.”

  “You killed Marty?” Elijah asked, his voice shaking slightly.

  The blond man shook his head, said, “Not yet. You’re first,” and came forward with two fast shots—she didn’t even have time to scream. She remained frozen as she felt the heavy hand on her shoulder begin to pull her backward. She shifted, lurched forward to avoid falling and managed to turn in time to see Elijah slump to the ground.

  In his forehead, two perfect entry wounds.

  He was dead but any joy for that was short-lived when the handsome blond man grabbed her roughly by the arm.

  “You’re of no use to me, Doctor.”

  “Where’s Zane?”

  “You’re about to be reunited with him. I promise.”

  It was a promise she wasn’t sure she should want granted.

  Zane woke slowly at first, and then blinked the haze away furiously.

  Rounded walls. Metal floor. Ladder.

  He was in a goddamned holding tank—a silo for water, he thought … and one hand was manacled to the wall in a steel grip above his head. He was shut in this place—and completely alone.

  After a few minutes of being awake, he knew he had to get up and move, in order to get the drugs out of his bloodstream as quickly as possible. He pushed himself to his feet heavily and attempted to get the feeling back in his bound arm.

  It tingled painfully, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as what he figured the future held for him.

  He looked up to see if it was day or night, but the opening at the very top had been closed, so he couldn’t tell, which meant he had no idea how long he’d been out, or if he was very far away from where he and Liv had been staying.

  Fear coursed through him, more fiercely than adrenaline could. He had no choice but to keep it together, because his mental strength was his most important asset right now.

  He would do that for himself. And for Liv. God, had they grabbed her too? She hadn’t been in the car with him—he would’ve known, would’ve seen her. But they’d moved him quickly off the garage floor into the vehicle and they’d sped off within minutes of shooting him with the dart.

  He pulled at the chain, having already realized that was useless but unwilling to give up that easily.

  He’d been stripped down to his boxer briefs and a T-shirt, so there was nothing on him he could use to pick the lock. He searched the ground around him in vain for a loose nail or screw, the walls, found nothing.

  No, they’d swept the place clean.

  So basically, he was screwed. Either they’d keep him here until he died from exposure, or starvation, dehydration, or—the big or that he felt gnaw at his gut—at some point they’d turn the goddamned water on and let him drown in here.

  He eyed the ladder—it was at least fifteen feet away, but he noted that the bottom piece was rusted at the bolts.

  That could come off the wall—how, he didn’t know, unless …

  Jesus, he didn’t want them to bring Liv here, but she was his only shot now. Unless she hadn’t been captured. Even then, it would take her and Dylan and Riley longer to get here and help him.

  He leaned against the wall for a second, forcing himself back to calm. Panic never helped sort anything out, and he wouldn’t succumb to it now. Better to conserve his energy in case one of the men who captured him came close enough to fight.

  The thought was a good one, because the door across from him opened about twenty minutes later, by his calculations—trying to keep track of time was one of the methods they utilized in training to remain calm and in control.

  All control was nearly lost when he saw the man who’d stood over him earlier, now carrying an unconscious Liv in his arms.

  He moved as if his body could follow through to her, ended up at the end of the chain growling like a rabid dog.

  It made the man jump a little and he was glad to have some modicum of success. And then he laid Liv down on the ground, about nine feet away, just frustratingly out of Zane’s reach if he stretched all the way.

  “She wanted to see you again,” the man said. “Hope she wakes up in time.”

  “There are people tracking you,” Zane told him.

  “Not fast enough.” Then the man was gone, slamming the door behind him.

  “Liv—Olivia—you need to wake up,” Zane told her, his voice loud and firm. A few seconds later, he repeated his request, even as he heard the squeak of metal being turned and the sound of pipes rattling against one another.

  The water came in slowly at first, from a pipe close to the door. And then it started gushing from several others.

  Zane looked around and realized with a sickening clarity what the man’s plans were.

  He had to wake Olivia if there was any chance of getting either of them out of here alive.

  Olivia …”

  She heard her name, over and over. He always did that, called to her and then giggled as she squirmed closer to the wall in an attempt to escape the sounds. Another way to torment her, to make her hate the sound of her own name.

  And she was cold, so cold all the time. She wanted to curl up in a ball, to try to get warmer, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. He must have put something in her water—and she’d had to drink it, because she’d been feeling weaker.

  “Olivia, wake the hell up.”

  The man with the eerie voice never used the word hell, only forced her to live in his own personal one. She was shivering now, teeth chattering … floating.

  The freezing cold surrounded her, so frigid it hurt.

  “Olivia.”

  The voice … it wasn’t his … wasn’t the man with the tarot cards … but it was familiar.

  “Olivia, wake the hell up.”

  Zane!

  She turned and nearly breathed in a lungful of water. Sat up, coughing, and realized she’d almost drowned in less than four inches of water.

  But more was rushing in. She looked at the pipes across the way, with water rushing from them at an alarmingly fast rate. She would drown, she thought, wrapped her arms around herself in a ridiculous attempt to warm up, because she was already soaked to the skin. The water from the pipes above splashed her and she moved away, nearly tripping over her own two feet.

  “Olivia, focus on me.”

  Zane.

  She turned and saw him, standing against the wall, one wrist shackled to it, so he was helpless to do anything but talk to her.

  “Are you okay?” She sloshed through the water toward him. Put her hands to his face.

  “I’m fine. But we’re not going to be for long. So listen to me—do exactly as I say.”

  She was staring at him. The drug haze was hard to fight, despite the dash of hard, cold reality.

  “Olivia, listen up—you need to do what I tell you to. Understand?” His eyes met hers, and in that horrifying moment, she realized exactly what would happen if she didn’t.

  And still, she couldn’t move. There was no way …

  I won’t survive this a third time. I told him I would break …

  “Can’t, Zane … can’t …”

  When he spoke to her again, his voice was hard, almost unrecognizable. “I guess Elijah was right. He told me you’d never be able to do this, to save me. That you were weak.”

&nb
sp; She felt weak, but the words made her angry. “Shut up.”

  “Truth hurts, right? So was the I won’t leave you behind speech a bunch of crap? Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to save yourself.”

  She stared at him—his eyes were hard, unforgiving … cruel even. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and help us get out of here. If you can’t do that, then I hope you’re prepared to watch me die. Because you can get out—climb up the damned ladder and get out of here.”

  The ladder. She looked at it and back to Zane, and then realized his wrist was shackled. “None of this is good.”

  “No shit,” Zane said through gritted teeth. “Can you climb to the top and open it? Quickly? Look for something that can break this cuff?”

  She went all the way up, her muscles protesting. When she got to the top, she pushed the hatch. It gave, enough to let her know it wasn’t locked, but she was nowhere near strong enough to push it open herself.

  “Come back,” he called. “And don’t look down—concentrate on putting your hands in the right place, feel for the rungs with your feet.”

  When she reached the bottom, before she jumped into the water that was more than puddling on the floor now, he said, “The ladder—some of the bolts are rusted.”

  “But then how will we get out of here?”

  “Let’s worry about one thing at a time.”

  “Good point,” she muttered. They’d worry about the but then after she’d freed Zane.

  She jumped down into the now calf-deep water, noted that the ladder was really two separate pieces, the one closest to the bottom was the one that was rusting.

  With the water rising rapidly, she’d have to work fast while she still had leverage.

  She gripped the rusted metal with both hands and pulled, put all her weight into it. Shook the damned metal so hard it made her teeth knock together … and nothing, nothing was happening. “This won’t work,” she called out.

  “Then DMH wins. If you’re comfortable with that, I guess I’ll have to be too,” he responded.

  His goading made her want to punch him, but instead she pulled harder at the ladder.