Awakened (The Belladonna Agency Book 2)

by Virna DePaul

  Vladimir made no comment. Gil sauntered out, sticking the earbuds back in before he was over the threshold.

  “Wait,” Vladimir said loudly. “Murphy.”

  Gil turned around. “What?”

  “Tim Murphy. When does he arrive?”

  “Oh, him. He’s supposed to get here this afternoon.”

  “Notify me as soon as the truck comes in,” Vladimir said. “Now bring me the girl.”

  “What do you think?”

  Jane had been studying the art on her captor’s office walls when he spoke. She jerked at the sound of his voice, but couldn’t take her eyes off the gleaming white plastic panels that were essentially three-dimensional molds of girls.

  The panels were different in some ways and the same in others. Each girl was unique but each was slender and short like her. And about her age.

  “What are those things?” she asked, still staring at the panels.

  “The series is called Runaways. Do you like it?”

  Jane gave another start when she felt his breath against her face. She hadn’t realized that he was so close to her.

  “No. But I get it,” she muttered.

  “Very clever of you, Jane. You might have guessed that is now your official designation. Certified by your guardians. Including the one who gave you to us. I believe his name is Malcolm. Can’t blame him really. Knowing you were a virgin. He actually wanted you for himself, but given how much we’d pay for you … How could he resist?”

  Malcolm Prescott.

  Jane’s stomach roiled at the thought of him.

  He’d known how she felt about staying a virgin until she was married. He’d pretended to respect her decision even as he’d used it as a bargaining tool to sell her for the highest price possible. Just like he’d pretended to respect her relationship with Dante—

  Jane closed her eyes for a moment as grief for her friend overwhelmed her. Dante had been dark. Troubled. She’d known that. And sometimes how dark he was, how he liked to bite her, scared her. But he’d been smart. And despite being into all that was vampire, he’d been kind. She’d known they’d never last for the long haul, but she’d cared about him. He’d tried to help her when this guy’s goons had grabbed her, but …

  Jane nodded toward the molded art. “So these are a warning or something?”

  “Everyone has their own interpretation. That is the purpose of fine art. To make us think.”

  Christ. He was more pompous than Malcolm.

  “Who are they?”

  He only shrugged. “They don’t have names anymore. They were street girls, not like you.”

  Jane turned around and met his unreadable dark gaze.

  “You killed them.”

  He smiled thinly. “They were immortalized at the moment of their last breath. I would rather not explain how. I assure you that they felt no pain. And now they will live forever.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit down.”

  Jane glanced back toward the door they’d entered by. A silent man with a scarred face stood just outside it, his thick hands clasped in front of him. He held rope and manacles.

  Vladimir went to the door and shut it with a nod to him. She wondered what had happened to the other guard.

  “I have no wish to force you to do anything, Jane.” His tone held chilly courtesy. “And if you are imagining that I will, think again. You are a valuable commodity as long as your virginity can be verified. After that—well, your buyer will determine what happens to you.”

  She moved toward the chair and sat, forcing her thighs together until the muscles hurt.

  “You’re going to sell me?”

  He remained standing, looming over her. A long lock of roughly combed black hair fell over his chiseled jaw, shadowing his eyes. He was much too big for her to attack. She was puny by comparison, a stray kitten facing a vicious monster superior to her in every way. Including intelligence.

  “To be precise, you will be auctioned off. Your purchaser will determine your ultimate worth. Connoisseurs are flying in from all over.”

  She hesitated, then asked an audacious question.

  “Why don’t you keep me for yourself?”

  He looked at her with curiosity. “Are you bargaining with me, Jane?”

  Why not? She had never been as innocent as a lot of people seemed to think and she couldn’t help it if she had a baby face. Though she really was a virgin. Maybe that was why she had hung on to that useless bit of flesh. Just to keep herself to herself as long as possible.

  But time was running out.

  This guy was like no criminal she’d ever imagined or seen on TV. Well groomed. Cultivated. And cruel in a sophisticated way.

  He’d mocked her helplessness.

  Yet when the journey here was over and Vladimir had come to get her, she’d stayed in a corner of the cell, numb and silent and staring at the door when he opened it. At that moment, she’d actually felt grateful. Which was so weird she didn’t want to think about it.

  She’d kept her emotions on lockdown and stayed in survival mode. Better the devil you knew than the one you didn’t. For some reason, he seemed to be intrigued by her.

  If she could find a phone or use a laptop—there was one on his desk—she had a chance. Slim, but still a chance. She’d caught a few glimpses of a suburban-type development with spindly trees during her transfer from one cell to another. She had made eye contact with a few of the furtive women who’d bathed her and dressed her. If they were captives, too, maybe she could persuade one or two to escape with her. They hadn’t been shackled.

  There had to be a way out. She’d always been good at finding one.

  How long had the girls in those panels been allowed to live?

  “Did any of them sit in this chair and look at you?” Jane bit her lip. “Never mind. It’s not like you’re going to tell me the truth.”

  “But I will.” Vladimir followed her gaze to the art. “And no, to answer your question. It was clear from the beginning of their captivity that they were unsuitable for auction.” He looked at her again. “We prefer docile girls. It would be best if you cooperate.”

  She said nothing.

  “Unbutton the top of your dress, Jane. This will be only a visual inspection,” he added calmly.

  She hesitated but did as he asked. So what. Let him look at her tits. But he didn’t.

  “Now spread your legs,” he said firmly.

  His dark eyes bored into hers. Compelled by the aggressive intensity in their depths—and suddenly afraid—she obeyed.

  “Wider.” His tone was cool and professional.

  Again she obeyed, inwardly amazed that he never looked down. His eyes held hers. Jane realized that he probably got off on humiliation more than anything else.

  “Thank you. I have no need to perform a physical examination,” he said. “I merely wanted to see if you would do as you were told.”

  “Oh. Then may I—” She rested her hands on her bared thighs, playing along, loathing him. If she didn’t escape, she would find a way to kill Vladimir Ouspensky.

  He smiled benevolently. “Very good. I see that you comprehend the fact that you must ask permission for everything. Your modesty only makes you more desirable, you know. You may close your legs and fasten your dress.”

  Jane looked down so he wouldn’t see the burning hatred in her eyes, tugging at the hem of the short dress as she brought her knees together, buttoning herself up but awkwardly.

  “Keep in mind, Jane, that you will be required to expose yourself completely upon the auction block.”

  No dress. No nothing. She could survive that. She knew how to retreat inside her mind and stay there.

  “Can you imagine it?” he asked in a silky voice. “You cannot hide. Every man present will see you naked. Some will request additional views and poses, of course. Our female attendants will help you display yourself. But no one will be permitted to touch you intimately. Only to look as often and as closely as they wish until the bidding begi
ns. Your air of innocence ought to fetch a high price.”

  Jane fought to subdue the fury that seethed inside her. If she tried to physically fight with him or anyone else, she would be damaged goods. And God only knew what would happen to her then.

  She had to stay calm. To do that she would have to accept that she was fucking terrified. The shell around her soul was cracking into a thousand places.

  “You don’t have to sit there,” he said after a while. “Feel free to walk around.”

  Jane waited for a few seconds. Something in her screamed at her not to jump up to do his bidding. And she suspected that he liked a bit of fight in his victims.

  But if she got up, she could look around and see more. She rose slowly. Her gaze strayed to the panels on the walls, drawn inexorably to the frozen girls.

  Vladimir smiled. “Get a closer look, Jane. The detail is remarkable.”

  He took a step to her and reached out a hand. Jane pretended not to see it. Vladimir shrugged, moving her toward the panels by the simple expedient of coming even closer. She had to go toward them to avoid his touching her.

  She stared at them.

  Each face was different. Most had closed eyes. Two had met their death with their eyes wide open. What had they seen at that moment? The man beside her? Other men? How had they died? They seemed unharmed.

  He was right about the detail. The tender curve of their cheeks, the soft lips—everything about them conveyed their vulnerability. Down to the delicate eyelashes, the girls looked almost alive. Now that Jane was this close, she realized that at least two had been younger than she was.

  All were barefoot. One wore an ankle bracelet, the tiny links of the chain barely visible.

  Their short dresses were unbuttoned, as hers had just been, the light material perfectly captured by the mold-making process, the folds pulled halfway up over their thighs.

  Vladimir was right behind her again. His arm reached past her, touching the flowing hair of the youngest girl. It was then that Jane noticed another similarity.

  Their heads were at different angles but all were tipped slightly back, revealing their necks.

  Vladimir’s hand traced downward—and stopped at two small indentations in the hard plastic skin, riveting Jane’s gaze on them. Scars? Wounds? Some of her friends were into cutting. She’d threatened to do it once, just to see Malcolm’s reaction. But it wasn’t her thing.

  She looked at the other molds more closely. They were puncture wounds. Deep ones, that didn’t look self-inflicted. Aligned with a barely perceptible vein.

  Jane shrank back … and stumbled.

  Vladimir caught her, his embrace without warmth. “Now do you understand?” he murmured.

  He turned her around.

  She looked up as he stretched his mouth open in a ghastly imitation of a smile. Revealing fangs as polished and white as the walls of her transport call. As white as the faces of the girls he had probably murdered one by one.

  His hand rose to her neck, nearly encircling it with his exceptionally long fingers.

  “I am a vampire, Jane. And I have a taste for virgin blood. The flavor is exquisite.”

  Jane managed to draw breath despite the tightening grasp of his hand. He was stroking her hair with the other.

  “If only I could turn you without dying,” he murmured. “Then you could taste it yourself someday and experience its intoxicating effects. We could even share a girl to drink from.”

  Some self-preserving instinct made her return the caress in an attempt to distract him. She ran her fingertips lightly over the masculine hand that could very well choke her.

  Vladimir relaxed his hold fractionally. “What are you doing?”

  “Let me go. I bruise easily.”

  He chuckled. “Thank you for the reminder. We do want you in prime condition for the auction. And—getting back to your question—I don’t think it would be a good idea to keep you. For one thing, I doubt that you are strong enough to be turned, no matter who does the honors.”

  “What does that mean, anyway?”

  “Humans can be turned into vampires. Sometimes the process is forced.” He smiled without letting go. “Some call it vein rape. I would never do such a thing.”

  As if he could be trusted. Jane was afraid all over again.

  And even more determined to survive. She had to. And if she could, she would avenge those girls who’d entered this nightmare and never left it.

  They’d had names and someone knew who they were. Their families had never found out whether they were dead or alive, or who was responsible. Back at home, Ginny Prescott had to be waiting to find out what had happened to her. For very different reasons, so was Malcolm.

  Jane vowed not to go down without a fight.

  “You can fight all you want, girl. It won’t do you any good.”

  Jane jerked, finally understanding how powerful her captor was.

  He smiled. “I suppose I should not toy with you,” Vladimir sighed. “I haven’t held an auction since I started building Club Red and I do need the money. Cash flow is a constant problem.”

  His hand dropped but he stayed where he was, looming over her.

  “Virgins are my business. The supply is relatively limited, at least in this country, and there is plenty of demand.”

  “Oh.”

  “Especially for you, I should think.” His gaze held an unhealthy glitter as he surveyed her from top to toe. “There is something different about you, Jane, though I cannot define it precisely. But I suspect you would be interesting in bed.”

  Suddenly her fear was gone. Or at least she was willing to talk past it. He could read her mind anyway, so why even bother to control her mouth. “Try me.” Just don’t leave anything sharp where I can get it, Jane thought. Knowing who he was and what he’d done—she’d cut his throat before she’d cut herself. But would that be enough to kill a vampire?

  He studied her for a long moment, his assessing gaze moving over her face. “No.”

  With a deft move, he pulled her right arm behind her back hard enough to hurt. If she fought back, she was likely to dislocate it. He marched her to the door, opening it. The guard stationed there hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “Take her back to room 5 until we have a cell ready for her,” Vladimir commanded him. “And make sure that she is watched at all times. Be very careful. This one thinks for herself. Always a dangerous quality in a female.”

  “Yes, sir.” The guard restrained her and took her away as Vladimir watched in silence.

  Chapter 21

  “Guess who I saw at Club Red?” Barrett said into her cell phone. She’d just pulled into an empty slot at the condo.

  “Just tell me.” Nick’s voice sounded distracted and distant.

  “Gil Mansfield.”

  There was a momentary pause. “What did he look like and what was he doing?”

  “He looked like his mug shot. Maybe a little sleazier. He was wowing the girls at the audition for dancers. I think he may be the second in command.”

  “Good work for your first day.”

  “I didn’t find him. He just appeared on stage, like I said.”

  “I’m giving you full credit, Barrett. But I gotta get inside and do my own recon. First, however, can I come over? I need to know what else you saw inside Club Red.”

  She got out of the car and slammed the door. “At the condo. And yes. But I warn you, I look really different.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Interesting. I think I like it.” Nick studied her hair, walking around Barrett as if she were suddenly untouchable.

  “It was Vlad’s idea. He had the club’s hairdresser do it right then and there.”

  “Worth it if he wants you as the hostess. But what did you have to do to convince him to hire you?”

  “Nothing, smartass. According to Justine, I was a shoo-in for the job. Meaning tall and classy and not into chewing gum.”

  Nick grinned, h
is hands on his jeans-clad hips. “Yeah. My kind of woman.”

  “Oh shut up.” Barrett ran her fingers through her newly white locks, purposely messing up the severe geometry of the cut. “Yikes. I just can’t get used to this. At least I can dye it back to my natural color when this is over.”

  “Whatever you want.” He reached for the laptop he’d brought with him and propped it up on his knees when he sank down into the couch. “So break it down for me. What does the place look like from the inside?”

  “Chaotic. It’s overwhelming. I barely know where to start. It’s totally fabulous and really trashy at the same time.”

  “Specifics, please. But wait.” He held up a hand. “Before we start, was there any sign of Jane or other girls who didn’t seem to belong there?”

  “No.”

  She knew that his quick question was anything but casual and that there would be more. Her answers, no matter how trivial, would be fitted into a mental grid to help him plan strategy. For anything that involved kids or innocent victims, he put his whole heart into it. If his mission was to take out a bad guy, there were no emotions involved whatsoever.

  Unless, she thought, that so-called “bad” guy happened to be his brother.

  He frowned, his expression soberly thoughtful as he looked at her. “Barrett, what is it?”

  She jerked. “I’m sorry. I—I lost my train of thought. Where was I?” Barrett asked.

  He hesitated before saying, “You were about to describe the interior of Club Red.”

  “Right. The main space is big. There’s a runway right down the middle. Lots of seats and little tables. The strippers and dancers are above all that, I guess.”

  “They have to be. There’s always some bozo who tries to grab a girl by the ankles,” Nick commented.

  “Always? And how do you know that?”

  “Believe it or not, I have been to more than one strip club.” He glanced up at her. “Don’t give me that look. I’m a guy. We do a lot of things women don’t like.”

  She gave him that look anyway.

  “Please continue, Miss Miles.”

  Despite the exasperating smirk on his face, she did. “There are wraparound balconies with glass walls for the party people who want to watch from on high.”