“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. Keep your doors locked, stay away from the windows. Be ready to go when Jasper arrives.” The call ended abruptly.
Thane dropped his phone on the counter, then let his head fall into his hands. Time was ticking and he needed to get moving, get things into motion so he could keep Connie safe. But he had to take a moment to wonder why this shitstorm had come down on his head now. After three years of reorganizing his life, rebuilding the fucking thing, why was this happening now?
Because Guthrie had failed in his first attempt, his second?
Because Stevens had let his dog loose again?
Thane hated not knowing what lies were being spread about him, from one snake to another. He needed intel, so he knew how to handle whatever was coming for him.
Like which asshole wanted him dead more.
Scrubbing his hands over his face briskly, Thane let them fall to his sides and sighed. Reasons didn't matter. Once Atticus's team contained the threat, none of it would matter. It would cease to exist, if the big guy's temper was anything to go by. Thane got the impression no one fucked with someone Atticus loved, and Atticus loved Connie in a way that bypassed sexual intimacy and catapulted straight into familial connections.
As he limped out of the kitchen, Thane really hoped his former associates pissed themselves when faced with the consequences of their actions.
*
Connie woke as her legs were pushed into a pair of loose jeans. Confused, she looked down to see Thane wrestling the material up her thighs, noting she was missing a pair of panties. Her uncooperative limbs weren't helping him in his quest to dress her, and she wasn't inclined to change that until she knew what the hell was happening. “Thane?”
“Good morning, sugar. Need you to get your ass up and finish getting dressed.” His tone was grim, his eyes dark and shadowed. “I'll explain everything soon but, here and now, I need you to trust me and do what I tell you.”
She blinked twice, frowning as she studied him sleepily. Her lover was dressed in black—sweater, jeans, boots—and looked fucking amazing, truth be told. It accented the breadth of his shoulders, the width of his hips, and gave him a rakish look. Especially with those amber eyes almost glowing with determination. “What time is it?”
“Too fucking early,” he told her with a mocking laugh, but she sensed it wasn't directed at her. “Come on, Connie. Listen to me. Up and dressed, now. This is important; I wouldn't ask you to do it otherwise.”
“O-kay…” Deciding to humor him because her brain wasn't fully awake, she pushed herself into sitting up and brushed his hands away. If she had to wear clothes before she knew what day it was, she could damn well dress herself. Her gaze landed on a duffle bag by the door that was big enough to fold a body into. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Little trip.” Thane picked up a shirt and bundled her into it, his movements brisk and efficient. He handed her a hoody that smelled of him. “Put that on. Your socks are in your boots, which are just here.” He nudged them with his foot, then checked his watch and scowled.
“You're making me nervous, Thane.”
His hands grasped her face and his eyes drilled into hers. “I know, I'm sorry. Don't be worried. I will never let anything happen to you. This is just a precaution, everything is under control.” He bent and rested his forehead against hers. “I've asked you for your trust a lot over the past few weeks, sugar. This is the one time I'll ask for it blind.”
Fuck, it was bad. She could see the turmoil bubbling in the amber, feel it seeping out of his pores. Whatever it was, it had the potential to destroy. When Thane eased away, she nodded slowly. If he was asking for her blind trust, she would close her eyes and give it.
“Good girl.”
The next few minutes were a blur of activity. She donned the hoody, her socks and boots. Darted to the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth. Her mouth felt better once the evidence of last night was scrubbed away. He was waiting for her when she came out, his hand latching tightly onto hers as he towed her from the bedroom, pausing briefly to heft the duffle over his shoulder.
She didn't question him again. The vibes he exuded were making her antsy, and the feeling that something was terribly wrong wouldn't stop plucking her nerves. As they hurried down the stairs, the atmosphere altered subtly enough for her to stop, jerking Thane to a halt on the bottom step. He turned, his eyes on hers with a coaxing expression.
A shot rang out, obscenely loud, and blood splattered over her face.
She didn't scream. Couldn't. Her throat was locked in a spasm of fear as Thane's eyes went wide and blank before his body dropped. Just dropped like a stone, ripping his hand from hers as he tumbled off the step in a heap. A shocked whimper broke free as red, so much red, pooled around him like a hellish halo.
“Aren't you a pretty picture?” A low, unfamiliar voice rasped from the shadows in the living room. The curtains in there were still closed, shutting out the daylight signaling a new day. A lighter clicked, and in the glow of the flame, a gaunt face leered at her before a cigarette flared red on the tip. “Isaacson upgraded, didn't he? Fucker gets the money, the woman, the fucking dream.”
Was she still asleep? Wandering through a nightmare where the man she loved bled out on the floor while she was held at gunpoint by a stranger? It didn't feel like a dream. She could smell Thane's blood, and the noxious pungency of the cigarette. Her face was wet. She could taste the copper tang of terror on her tongue.
“Quiet one, huh? That's okay. I've got time to loosen that tongue.” The owner of the voice stalked forward into the light, dragging heavily on the cigarette as he trained a shiny black gun at her chest. “Why don't you come on down, baby? If you want to live through today, you need to start making nice.”
Shock. She was in shock. It was the only reason she wasn't throwing herself down the last couple of steps to check on Thane, to see whether he was still alive. He needed medical attention, a hospital. Even with the gun aimed at her, she was frozen. Thoughts ticked past like the minute hand of a clock, everything slowed down to a crawl.
Another shot rang out, compounding the damage to her eardrums. Her head rang with it, her eyes watering with the ferocity of the sound. Between her feet, a hole appeared. Small, neat. But she'd seen Thane's scar, kissed it, stroked the marred skin on the back of his shoulder. She was aware that what went in neatly caused absolute devastation on the other side.
“The next one goes in his head for good measure. I told you to come here.”
That nudged her out of her shock enough to have her feet move of their own accord. Half a dozen steps later, she stood trembling in front of someone she'd never seen before. Someone who obviously knew Thane. “You killed him.”
“Three years late.” The gun jammed under her chin, bruising soft flesh as he used it to jerk her head back. “Stevens thinks he's so smart, setting Thane on me. Thinks I'm stupid, throwing lies at me, giving me ultimatums. I lost my freedom because of him, our mighty leader. Planted lies in my head that festered, so all I could think about was killing Thane when I got out. Nearly succeeded, too.”
He licked his lips as muddy brown eyes drank her in. “They blamed the driver of the semi for that pile-up. Idiots missed the fact the front tire was shot out, didn’t they? I’m not as good a shot as Sergeant Isaacson here, but I hit what I shoot at.”
Nausea rolled in her stomach when comprehension struck her in the gut. Whoever this man was, there was a high possibility he was insane. What else could he be when he’d just shot Thane without warning—oh God, Thane—and was now taking credit for the accident which had almost cost her lover his leg.
“He always was the luckiest sumbitch. I shoot him and he walks away with a flesh wound, nothing but a scar to show for it. I engineer the perfect murder for him, and he hops away with a mangled leg. Not so fucking lucky now, is he? Asshole rats me out to our superiors, lands me with a dishonorable discharge, then carries on with his life, whistli
ng a merry tune.” He laughed and trailed the gun muzzle down her throat. “Turned me into a career criminal while he keeps himself busy fucking pieces of ass like you. And you…oh, I’ve read all sorts of interesting things about you, baby. Kinky shit.” He poked his cigarette into the cuff on her left wrist, burning into the leather. “Ended up in the hospital, didn't you? Don't worry, you won't end up there today. By the time I'm through sating my needs, you'll be on an adjoining slab next to your boyfriend in the morgue.”
Connie swallowed, fighting to break through the heavy fog suffocating her. She was useless like this, disassociated from reality in an effort to protect herself. Where the hell was her phone? She ignored the comment about her past because she couldn't afford to think about Evan and what he'd done to her. “If you broke in here, you've triggered the alarm,” she told him haltingly, her tongue numb. “Security will be here any minute.”
It was a lie, a brazen one. There was no one coming, because no one knew they needed to. No one knew Thane was bleeding all over the floor, dead or alive. No one knew she was screaming for help inside a mind perilously close to shattering.
Pain exploded across her right cheekbone and temple, splintering into her eye and teeth. She cried out, spinning with the force of the blow. She heard a faint sizzle, smelled the cigarette up close, then the acrid scent of her hair burning.
“If you can’t tell, I hate liars. Thane did a very bad thing, and now he’s paid the price. Stevens is next on my list, but I can make room for you if you utter one more goddamn lie. I'll leave you here, ass up in the air, cum leaking from every hole. They can see what a slut you were, being fucked just feet away from your dead boyfriend, before I do some pretty nasty shit to your insides with a bullet or two.”
Connie cringed, taking a step back toward Thane. If a crazy person was going to kill her, she'd rather just take the bullet to the head and skip the rape. She inched back as the monster followed her, then stopped when the deadly weapon poked her between the eyes. “Who are you?”
“Oh, where are my manners? Corporal Mikhail Guthrie, former. Ex-convict, bringer of justice.” He took one last drag on the cigarette, then dropped it to the hardwood floor and ground it under the heel of his battered boot. “I'll be the man fucking you up so good, your mother won't recognize you.”
Asshole. Connie rolled her shoulders. Her parents had been dead for years. It was just one small blessing that they wouldn't have to see what their daughter was reduced to in the hands of a madman. She hoped none of her friends would have to bear witness to what the promise of violence in Guthrie's eyes did to her.
“Get in there and strip,” he ordered, using a couple of twitches of the gun to indicate the living room. “I haven’t got long to play, and I intend to make the most of every minute. You hesitate, you make one wrong move, and I empty this clip into the Sergeant’s head. Won't make him any deader, but he sure as fuck won't be having an open casket funeral.”
She refused to believe he was dead, even as a snapshot of his wide, dull eyes filled her head. She wouldn't believe it until she felt for herself that he had no pulse, no heartbeat. “Let me help him and I'll cooperate. I won't fight.”
“Can't help a corpse, and I'm done being nice.”
The gun lashed against her face, the butt slamming into the side of her head. Pain flared, then her legs gave out on her as consciousness wavered. A boot slammed into her stomach, doubling her over and making her retch, then another kick sent her sprawling on her back. Groaning pitifully, she tried to curl into a ball, but a heavy hand landed on her head, fisting her hair and dragging her away from Thane.
She thrashed weakly when he released her in the living room, cried out a sobbing breath when he kicked her again, this time in the side. He fell onto his knees, straddling her. He knelt on her forearms, then reached into his back pocket and yanked a switch knife free, snapping the hypnotically sharp blade into position.
“I like it when they fight.” Guthrie hacked through her clothes, not caring that the tip of blade caught her skin multiple times. Blood trickled as he spread the material wide over her chest, eyes lighting up with a perverted glow. “These are nice tits.” Hard fingertips gripped her nipples and pinched them until the tips turned white. “You're gonna scream sooner rather than later, might as well make me happy.”
She swore on her life she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Guthrie belted her again, his fist connecting with her jaw this time. When she went limp, stunned, she felt him fumble with her jeans, popping open the button and wrenching the zipper down before he flipped her belly down on the living room carpet. Her boots disappeared, tossed aside, then he yanked her last defense down her legs and left her naked on the floor.
His chuckle of lewd delight was enough to have her shutting herself away, locking herself into her head. Her body was useless, swimming in pain, unresponsive to commands. She heard the thunk of something heavy beside her, felt him kick her legs apart before rough fingers skimmed over her pussy.
It had been more than ten years since she'd been exposed to viciousness, and her formerly impenetrable barriers were rooted in place. Her body was accustomed to a peaceful existence now, aside from when it submitted to Thane. This level of infliction wasn't the worst she'd lived through, but by God, it hit her hard.
Her heart stopped beating for a long moment at the sound of a zipper being lowered. She knew what it meant, and she was powerless to prevent it. The pain pulsing in her head was quickly gathering momentum, the nasty blows to her face and skull acting as a trip switch for a migraine. Stress compounded the reaction, bringing the debilitating pain to the surface faster.
Lips curled in an attempt to appease the agony, Connie twisted her hips, locking her thighs and ankles together. Her muscles tightened, fending off the biting fingers trying to wrench her apart. She yelled when a hand fisted in her hair and slammed her head into the wooden floorboards. Once, twice. The third time, her consciousness wavered in splinters of darkness, then spiraled apart.
Limp, she surrendered.
*
Thane jolted awake to the flames of a thousand suns burning into his shoulder. He grunted harshly, gathering his bearings before he tried to move. He was crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, laid in a pool of his own damn blood. Blood that, at a guess, was still pissing out of the bullet wound beneath his collarbone.
Fuck.
For the rest of his life, he would never forget the scent, or how his clothes were beyond saturated with the contents of his veins. He bared his teeth, not quite believing someone had shot him again, in the same goddamn shoulder.
The sound of the gunshot had triggered something he hadn't even considered would be an issue—it mimicked the sound of his truck hitting the semi before it began crumpling around him, metal folding and stabbing through him. As much as he loathed the idea, the PTSD had knocked him well and truly on his ass. Grimacing, he rolled onto his back, stifling a yelp as the fire streaked untamed down his left arm, across his shoulders…hell, it consumed him.
But he was alive. He wondered if Connie knew she'd saved his life by stopping on the stairs and changing his direction. One more step down and he'd have walked straight into a full-frontal shot, rather than the deadly projectile taking a random route down a familiar path. It was the only explanation why he wasn't dead yet, although the blood pool was rather concerning.
Fear clashed head-on with pain as he realized Connie was no longer standing on the stairs. Had she run upstairs, managed to lock herself into the bathroom before the fucker who shot him caught up to her? He couldn't see any other blood than his own, which he hoped was a good sign.
Moving more slowly than he liked, Thane ground his teeth and forced himself to sit up, almost passing out when his shoulder throbbed, and his blood pressure tried to hit rock bottom. From there, he turned onto his knees, then pushed up onto his feet. Maybe he swayed like a sailor on a storm-battered ship, but he was standing. Right now, that was a fucking vi
ctory.
Something banged. Thudded heavily once, twice…three times. Thane cocked his head and hobbled in the direction of the sound, letting his ear lead him to the living room. He left bloodied handprints smeared over the archway separating the room from the hallway, using the wall to balance himself as his eyes relayed messages to his brain he couldn't quite understand.
Someone huddled in the middle of the living room floor, naked and marred by offensive red marks. Such beautiful skin should never wear the signs of violence. Thane couldn't see a face, but his blurry vision could make out long, tawny hair. He knew that hair, had wrapped it around his fist while he—
A snarl tore into his throat.
He blinked off the haze of disorientation and focused on the man looming over Connie with his back half-facing Thane. The spread of his trousers told Thane they were unfastened, and the slow movement of his forearm from the elbow down indicated the motherfucker was jerking himself off.
Rage was a furled blossom, slowly blooming inside Thane's chest until he thought his heart would burst with the pressure. Hands slick with his own blood, he fisted them as he limped toward Guthrie. He'd recognize his enemy from a mile away, in the dark, while running in the opposite direction.
The disgraced soldier had shorn his hair down to the scalp, and there was a tattoo on his skull, curving around the shell of his ear. He was leaner than he'd been the last time Thane had seen him, but Thane was willing to bet he was fitter than ever. There probably wasn't a great deal of stimulating activities in prison, but gym privileges and personal fitness never went amiss for a man who held physical prowess above all else. Especially when it could save his miserable life.
Guilt and horror gouged chunks from Thane's heart the closer he got to Connie. Through the red haze of his fury, he noted she was out cold, or she'd taken refuge deep in her subconscious. Good. Either way, it meant she wouldn't be a witness to a homicide. She wouldn't have that memory ingrained in her head.
Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3 Page 39
