Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors

by Allison Brennan

  She latched on to the emotion and held it close. Embarrassment would get her nowhere. Anger would give her strength. Strength would give her freedom. Freedom would give her retribution.

  The water fell away. Gooseflesh covered her skin. She’d gone from baking in the sun to freezing under the ascending moon.

  “Put this on,” Kevin ordered.

  She turned to see Kevin holding out a tiny black leotard decorated with orange and yellow flames. She took the thin fabric, careful to avoid contact with his skin. She’d never give him the pleasure of touching him while she was naked. Unlike the fury she’d seen in Thane’s eyes, Kevin’s gaze held unadulterated lust.

  She had to yank the fabric up to get it to slide over her wet legs. Bent over, she knew Thane had a prime view of her bare ass, but there was nothing she could do about that. If she pretended it didn’t matter, didn’t make her want to crawl under a rock, then maybe he wouldn’t think anything of it either.

  Once dressed, Kevin looked her up and down, scrutinizing, fantasizing. Oh, for the love of the Goddess—he was actually drooling.

  Lips pursed, he said, “Not much we can do about that hair. I guess it’ll have to do for now.”

  If she had a fireball for every time she’d heard that, the world would be well on its way to Armageddon by now.

  Kevin reached up and wrapped his finger around one of her curls.

  Bevva slapped his hand away, hissed like a cat. “Do not touch my hair.”

  Eyes squinted, Kevin hooked a leash to the ring on the front of her collar, turned on his heel and jerked until she fell into his back. “It’s showtime, witch. The crowd is going to love you.”

  With no way out of the situation, Bevva trailed behind him, shivering as a very predatory growl followed her all the way into the tent.

  #

  Fire danced from one finger to another, sparking to life as if she’d merely had to flip a switch. Bevva wanted to both kiss and strangle whoever had control over her collar. For the first time in days, she felt like herself. Oh, who was she kidding? She didn’t feel anything like the witch she should be. Her magick was muted at best, a watered-down version of the real thing. Her pride had left the building the moment she’d stepped inside.

  Here she was, playing with fire, performing parlor tricks in a tiny leotard that chafed her skin for a rapt audience who sat on the edges of their seats and applauded even the tiniest of sparks she emitted. This was what they’d captured her for? What a joke.

  She’d like to show them all what she was really capable of, but every time she tried to call for more fire, she felt the zap, zap, zap along her nerves a second before they completely extinguished the flames from the inside out.

  Fine. Whatever. If they wanted a lame show, that’s what she would give them.

  “What you’ve seen so far is only the tip of the iceberg, folks. The Mistress of Fire will now show us more of her marvelous talents.” The announcer swept an arm toward Bevva.

  Marvelous talents? They’d probably want her to juggle fireballs.

  Tonight, the announcer wore satin. Red satin from head to toe. And had he just called her the Mistress of Fire? She’d always wanted a title. Assuredly, she deserved one, but she’d expected something like Princess or Queen. Mistress implied she was beneath others. Like, literally beneath them. On all fours. With her ass in the air. No, she would never be anyone’s mistress. A booty call, perhaps. Maybe even a random hook-up. But definitely not a mistress.

  “You’ll notice the target to my right.”

  Curious, Bevva turned. She had to lock her jaw to keep it from bouncing off the floor. Hell to the no.

  They had a shifter tied to a steel pole. His golden eyes were wide, tinged with fear. He appeared young, under eighteen for sure. He probably hadn’t even gained control over his shifting abilities yet. They’d kidnapped a kid. Things just kept getting worse. She shook her head, but the announcer continued.

  “Mistress of Fire, take your aim.”

  Again, she shook her head, refusing to do something so horrible. Enough voltage to make her knees shake zipped through her veins. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to burn the shifter.

  “Burn him! Burn him! Burn him!” The chant, started by one person, quickly spread through the crowd as they stomped their feet in time to the words.

  Bevva glared at the announcer. He smiled, nodded his head. No. She wouldn’t do it. A massive shock had her grabbing her head, squeezing in an attempt to combat the pressure. Electricity crackled through her hair, slithered down her arms.

  A howl sounded. The crowd gasped. Head throbbing, vision blurred, Bevva could barely see what all the commotion was about. She blinked through the pain and saw the shifter had morphed into half-form. His lower body was still that of a human, but the top half was all wolf.

  Beautiful black fur covered his arms—now legs—slid over the elongated snout, a stark contrast to the white of his sharp teeth. The eyes remained gold and held more fear than she’d ever seen. He shook his head, clawed at the collar around his neck. They were zapping him too.

  He needed help.

  “Take your aim,” the announcer repeated.

  The crowd stood.

  If she could control her magick, she could launch a fireball that looked impressive but held little heat. Just enough to scorch the shifter. But that was a big “if.” As it were, she could barely remain upright. She swayed, tried to form coherent thoughts.

  Another jolt.

  Bevva fell, landed on all fours. She had to get out of here. Inch by agonizing inch, she crawled toward the exit. The crowd booed, the sound so loud she felt as if her brain would explode.

  Another sound drifted through the tent, faint, as if it were meant for her ears only. That sound brought her to a dead stop. Calliope music. A warning. For her.

  Swallowing back bile, she pushed off the ground and turned toward the shifter. She summoned the fire, did what she could to manipulate it the way she wanted… Lots of impact, minimal damage. She hoped her eyes conveyed her apologies to the shifter. The calliope music grew louder, rivaling the cheers of the crowd.

  Bevva cocked her arm and let a fireball fly. Before it made contact, darkness clouded her vision and this time she fell hard, smacking the side of her head on the ground. She couldn’t see, but she heard the pain-filled howls.

  The crowd roared.

  What had she done?

  She welcomed the unconsciousness that reached for her, pulling her under.

  Anything to escape the pain and guilt.

  #

  “Bevva, wake up.” Thane flicked his gaze toward the back of the tent. He still couldn’t believe they’d actually locked Bevva in the cage next to his. That had to be the first thing that had gone his way in a week. According to the vampire who had previously resided there, they rotated the prisoners every other day or so. Thane understood that. He’d have done the same thing. Couldn’t have anyone get too close, devise a plan.

  Bevva’s head had stopped bleeding, yet she remained unconscious. Thane inched closer to the bars, reached his arm through, stretching as far as he could. He couldn’t reach her. “Bevva,” he said again, keeping his voice low.

  An idea struck him. Bevva responded better to heat than kindness. Maybe that had something to do with her fire magick. Whatever the reason, a change of technique was in order. “Damn, girl. I thought you were supposed to be all kinds of strong. Shame they’ve defeated you already.”

  He turned his head, picked at the dirt. “I mean Kevin’s about as tough as a geriatric human.”

  “Not… human.”

  Thane smiled to himself and breathed a sigh of relief. “I kinda’ feel bad for you. This is gonna’ wreak havoc on your street cred.”

  “Blow yourself, guardian.”

  Ah, that was the witch he remembered. Her voice was weak, but at least he had her talking. Thane threw a cocky grin her way. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you crawl on over here and do it for me?”
<
br />   She narrowed her eyes. “Never gonna’ happen.”

  He’d expected that answer, but disappointment nailed him anyway. And something else. He’d always liked a challenge. “We’ll see.”

  “From what I hear,” Bevva said, sitting up, “you’d nail a corpse. Pretty sure I’m way out of your league.”

  Thane lifted a brow. “A corpse, huh? Not really my style. I like my ladies with a little more… fire.”

  “The only way you’re getting a taste of my fire will be when I set your tongue ablaze to get you to shut up.”

  The overwhelming urge to know exactly how she would taste hit him hard. Thane adjusted himself. When had a funky attitude turned into an aphrodisiac?

  “I think—”

  “Is he dead?”

  Thane attempted to follow the direction of her topic change, not to mention her gaze, but it seemed to bounce all over the place, searching for someone. “Who?”

  “The shifter. The young one. Is he dead?”

  The tone of her voice worried him. Bevva was normally cool and seemingly unaffected by all things, good or bad. He’d never seen this side of her. The desire to taste her was replaced by the urge to comfort. “What happened?”

  Bevva closed her eyes. When they opened again, her eyes seemed clearer, more focused. “We need to get out of here. They’re threatening Calliope.”

  “I agree. But you’re bouncing all over the place. I need you to fill me in on what’s going on here.” Thane lowered his head, feigned sleep. Though he couldn’t see, his other senses were on high alert. Without looking, he could tell when Bevva laid down again and angled her head closer to his side.

  “How much do you know?” she asked.

  “Assume I know nothing.”

  “Not a hard assumption to make.”

  “Remember, witch. Our confinement is temporary.”

  She snorted. “That a threat? I can hardly wait.”

  They could spar later. Right now, he needed information. The vampire hadn’t been very forthcoming, so he had to sink all his hope into Bevva. “Details, please.”

  “Well, since you said please.”

  #

  Bevva relayed everything she knew to Thane, everything that had happened since the moment Eron and his men had captured her. She watched him through narrowed eyes. He was forming a plan. She had no doubt Thane could get them out of here. And soon.

  This should have thrilled her, but she held her excitement in check as her mind replayed scenes over and over. Tiny Grier and her doe eyes, the shifter and his gut-wrenching howls, the vampire who should have turned to ash with the rising of the sun.

  She sat up, let her gaze sweep over cage after cage. “I’m not leaving without destroying this place.”

  “What? There’s no time for that. I can get us out of here—you and me.”

  She didn’t doubt him for a second, nor did she ask him how. Didn’t that speak volumes about the guardian she’d dismissed time and time again? “No.”

  “Bevva, think about it. I can get you back to Calliope.”

  Which was exactly what she had wanted. Still did, but right was right. “No. All the prisoners leave or no one does. Except you. I can’t make you stay.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine? What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll help you.”

  She snorted. “As if I need your help.”

  Thane lifted a solitary brow.

  Bevva took in the cages once again, took in the grief, the anger, the fear within the captives. She released a long breath. “Fine.”

  “Fine? What does that mean?” Thane asked in an exact imitation of her.

  She rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. “It means, at this point, I’ll take all the help I can get, even if it means I have to work with you.” Bevva felt a fire start to burn. Not her witch fire, but a fire within. A fire—a passion to stand up for others, to worry less about herself.

  Yes, the pendulum was swinging in a new direction and Eron and his carnival cronies would never see this fire coming.

  The battle would be bloody, no doubt. Some might not make it out alive. But if Bevva had to go to war, there was no one better than this mighty guardian to fight by her side. She met his gaze and smiled.

  “Witch,” he said, shaking his head, “you will be the death of me.”

  Bevva cranked her smile to killer wattage. “Then you, Thane Adamo, will die a happy man.”

  # # #

  THROUGH THE TEARS OF LOVE

  By DB Jones

  “Nadine, I’m Doctor Bentti. If you can, I want you to squeeze my hand.”

  #

  Nadine Branson’s battered body lay unconscious on life support in the intensive care unit. Her mother and father never left her side as their daughter drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Nadine’s mother, Sharon, sat next to the bed with a tear-stained face and swollen eyes from crying all night as she watched the doctors tend to her daughter’s wounds.

  Her father, Rex, paced the room, beating his fist into his hand and cursing beneath his breath. “I could kill that son-of-a-bitch.” He turned to see his little girl’s tattered body attached to tubes and monitors that wrapped around her bed. Her badly beaten and swollen face was nearly unrecognizable.

  Doctor Bentti, along with his nurse, lifted the sheets, exposing a raised welt across her belly. The nurse gently dabbed away the dried blood. Sharon caught a glimpse of her daughter’s wound, slapped her hand over her mouth, and gasped. “Oh, dear Lord. My poor baby.

  “Mrs. Branson, we need to address these wounds now. Why don’t you and Mr. Branson get some coffee.”

  “I don’t want my baby to be left alone for one minute.”

  Doctor Bentti placed his hand on her shoulder. “The nurses will be monitoring and watching her every minute. There’s nothing you can do for her right now.”

  “Come on, Sharon. Let the doctor do what he needs to do.” Rex put his arm around her shoulder as they left the room. Tears flooded her eyes as she kept glancing back at her daughter.

  “How did we not see this coming, Rex?”

  “I guess she didn’t want us to know. She knew I would have killed the bastard.”

  She stopped, looked into his jade-green eyes. “What if she doesn’t…?”

  “Don’t think like that. She’s strong like her mother and will pull through this. I have to believe that I need to believe it.” A knot formed in his throat as he struggled to convince his wife. He pulled her to his chest. I didn’t protect my little girl from that monster.

  They ordered coffee, then went outside on the patio. “Rex, she’s been unconscious too long.”

  “Maybe that’s for the best. It could be her body’s way of protecting her from the pain.”

  “What if she doesn’t recover from this?”

  “Sharon, we have to think positive and stay strong for Nadine. It breaks my heart too, to see her like that, but the doctors are doing everything they can.”

  “You’re right, but I’m not leaving here until I know she’s going to be okay. I don’t want her to wake up and not have us there.”

  Rex shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere, even if I have to sleep on the floor.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  They finished their coffee and headed back upstairs. When Rex and Sharon entered the ICU, nurses were running in and out of Nadine’s room.

  Sharon grabbed Rex’s arm and turned to one of the nurses at the desk. “What’s going on with my daughter?”

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait in the waiting room. As soon as we know something, the doctor will come and get you.”

  Sharon squeezed her husband’s arm again. “I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on.”

  “Please, Mrs. Branson.”

  “Sharon.” Rex escorted her through the double doors, but neither could sit and wait. Sharon paced outside the doors as Rex leaned against the wall clenching his fists.


  Suddenly, the door opened, and Doctor Bentti emerged. He lowered his mask and approached them. “I’m not going to lie to you; we had a bit of a scare.”

  Sharon leaned into Rex’s chest. “Please. Is Nadine okay?”

  Doctor Bentti motioned them to the empty waiting room. “Please, have a seat.”

  They sat on the edge of the couch, clutching each other’s hand.

  “Nadine went into cardiac arrest. We were able to revive her, and she’s resting well now.”

  Rex leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “As I told you, Nadine’s injuries are extensive, but she’s fighting. There’s one more thing.”

  Sharon bit down so hard on her lower lip, she felt the warmth of the blood in her mouth. She turned to Rex then back to Doctor Bentti.

  Doctor Bentti drew in a breath of air. “Nadine suffered a heart attack, and we had to put her on a ventilator. That being said, we’ve induced a coma to minimize bodily functions so her system can focus on her recovery.”

  Sharon’s voice began to tremble. “Can she hear us?”

  “Nadine may not remember anything while in a coma, but that’s not to say she doesn’t hear you or feel your touch. I tell family members to maintain talking with their loved ones. My belief is that on a subconscious level they can hear. Some patients have reported remembering hearing and a touch. I strongly encourage you both to keep talking to her and holding her hand.”

  “How long will she remain that way?”

  “After she regains normal bodily functions on her own and we see an improvement, we’ll begin to reduce the drugs until she regains consciousness. She may not wake up alert right away. Sometimes it can take a day or two.”

  Sharon reached over and took Doctor Bentti’s hand. “I want you to be honest with us, Doctor. What are her chances of recovery?”

  He patted her hand. “I have a lot of hope. Let’s give her a day or two of rest. We’ll be monitoring her the entire time, so if there is any change, you’ll be the first to know.”

  He stood and tightened his lips. “Nadine is in a deep coma right now and on medication to address her heart. As she improves, she’ll need your strength, but in the meantime, I suggest you both get some rest.”