Light (Beautiful Ashes Series, Book 3)

by Lora Ann

  “Thanks, Doctor?”

  “Barnes,” he said as he tousled Cole’s hair. “You coming with me?”

  Cole nodded and gave Tar a bear hug. “I get to go see the big machine,” he sang.

  “What’s that?” Tar asked him.

  Dr. Barnes explained, “I’m taking him down to show him several pieces of equipment we use, including the CAT scan we did on you.”

  “That’s cool, huh?” Cole tossed a wave over his shoulder, walking out with the doctor.

  “He’s an amazing little boy,” Lacey said with a look in her eye E didn’t miss.

  Tar responded, “That he is. And I have no intention of letting his mother have him.”

  E affirmed, “Let’s hope we find his dad soon.”

  “I pray for that every day, man.”

  Lacey squeezed Tar’s hand. “So do we.”

  Tar sighed. “Any news from the field?”

  “Not a peep. But they’re undercover, so it’s not like they can update us.” E’s concern laced in his voice.

  “Goes with the mission,” Tar affirmed. “You know that.”

  “We do, yes,” He moved Lacey off his lap and stood. “And we need to figure out how we can help, since you want to stay put for a while longer.”

  “Trust me on this. I know I can get what I need from her.” His gaze shifted between them. “But promise me you won’t freak out if I get a little cozy with her, or pretend I don’t remember things.”

  “You got it, brother. I trust you know what you’re doing.” E clapped him on the shoulder.

  Lacey nodded. “So do I.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Now, get well so we can spring you. We have a wedding to plan after all.”

  Tar couldn’t stop the big grin spreading across his face. “That we do, sister dear.”

  *****

  Keeley and Mitch tried to avert their gazes from the disgusting display happening in the seat next to them. It took ménage to a whole different level. She’d seen her fair share of kinky as fuck, sick and disturbed, to full-on torture to bring pleasure. But what was happening with Zak, Lexi, and the slave they purchased combined them all into one depraved horror show. She noticed Mitch shifted, staring out the window. They needed to do something before their behavior tipped off their hosts. Her hand traveled along his thigh, careful not to get too close. She whispered low enough only he could hear her, “Pretend I’m giving you a hand job. Look their way, just over their heads.” With all the screaming going on, she knew they couldn’t overhear their conversation. Still best to be careful.

  Mitch thought he was going to hurl, doing his damnedest not to watch that godawful thing being put up there. Fuck, how could anyone want that? Talk about taking sick to a new level. But those squeals were not from hating it, far from it. He distanced himself, appreciating Keeley’s understanding that they still had a mission and needed to look the part they were playing. He knew she was being respectful of his body and concentrated on faking it for any who may decide to glance over at them. “Mistress, again,” he moaned.

  Her arm was positioned where, unless you moved her aside, no one could see what she wasn’t actually doing to him. “You’ve been a very good boy. Show me how I make you feel.”

  There was a shift, and she felt a gaze on her hand. To keep up the charade and make it look authentic, she slid down, moving her head up and down. Mitch was impressed at her ability to fake the motions of a blow job. Again, she made sure not to violate him in any way. He sought permission, “Mistress, can I pull your hair?”

  “God yes,” she mewled, smacking her lips to mimic the right sounds.

  They continued their act until the limo came to a stop. He gave a forceful grunt and Keeley wiped her mouth to give the allusion she’d swallowed. Zak sidled up next to her. “I want one of those from your pretty little lips.” He traced Keeley’s mouth, and it took nerves of steel to stand there letting the sick maniac touch her in any way.

  She moved his hand away. “I don’t mingle. He’s my sub, which means I stay faithful to him alone.” Her hand in Mitch’s as she flounced away.

  The sneer on Zak’s face gave Lexi concern. She’d seen it only once before and bad things resulted from it. The Domme just invited him to take what he wanted in a very violent way. She’d hoped the slave would cure his needs, but apparently, willing participants weren’t his gig any longer. Her promise to herself was to find a way to alert the couple before one or both ended up dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Carla,” Clark called out, “Where the fuck are you hiding?”

  The crawl space served as an escape while he was grieving over his dead wife. She knew he would come looking for her to fulfill his promise of taking her life. But how long she could stay hidden was her biggest concern. Odds of surviving long enough to get help dwindled minute by minute. Maybe she should let him kill her so the suffering would stop. However, experience with these types of monsters told her, he’d make her beg for death long before he granted it. Her pain tolerance just wasn’t up to par to endure what she knew would be the worst form of torture, keeping her barely alive to inflict more pain. She’d seen it done. Hell, she’d helped make it possible with others in the past. Her only answer was to hope he didn’t figure out where she was, staying alive long enough to make the motherfucker pay with his own life.

  “I know your weakness,” he taunted.

  More things were thrown around the room. Her hand over her mouth to stifle the screams. She waited him out, fading in and out of consciousness due to her high fever. A commotion startled her. “I’m dragging Chase back here so you can watch as I slowly cut off body parts and feed them to him.”

  The terrifying threat was spoken above her head. She held her breath, hoping he didn’t know she was underneath the floorboards of where he stood. An urge to throw-up hit her hard, swallowing down the bile. Her teeth chattered as her temperature rose to dangerous levels. Chase needed to be warned. She had to fight for him. But her strength was depleted. At this rate, her rotting corpse would be the only clue as to where she was. No, she couldn’t die there in a hole. Maybe once she reached fresh air, she could search for Chase. She had to try. He deserved that and so much more.

  A firm kick moved the board out of her way. Viv was no stranger to hiding, or to having a plan B. She hauled herself up and out, rolling away. The effort took a lot more out of her than she expected. Her eyes searched, every which way, making sure she was alone. She scanned the counter top once…twice…something was missing. For a few minutes, she lay there unable to remember. Repositioning to her side, she noticed a bottle of water had rolled underneath the gurney. A sly grin eased up the corners of her mouth. Clark took several of those bottles from the counter. That was what she found out of place. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d tainted them as a backup if necessary. All he had to do was drink a bottle of the poison laced necessity. Even if he found Chase before it took effect, he was a dead man walking. Her only regret, that she couldn’t see the look on his face when he realized retribution would have its pound of flesh.

  *****

  The hairs on her body stood at full attention. Something lurked around the corner. Her little jaunt to Tar’s room proved too much for her battered body. Added to the pain medication they gave her, she was unable to do more than lift her head. But someone was coming. The squeak from rubber soles, echoing along the unnatural quiet in the hall, was her warning. Danger entered with a swift gait and stood, arms crossed, staring at her. Show no fear. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “May I help you?”

  “Depends,” came the ominous voice of doom.

  “On what?”

  “How well you follow orders?”

  She sneered, “I do believe you have confused me with someone else.”

  “No, Lisa,” he stepped closer, “you are one of ours.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Shock laced in her voice. She belonged to no one but herself.

  The laugh sent chills down her spine
. His gaze held hers captive, its strangling hold taking her breath. “You will beg, my pet.”

  His release was swift and left her gasping. He sauntered to the side, stroking along her blanket covered legs. “Very nice,” he taunted.

  How could she feel bare fingers on the inside of her thigh crawling closer and closer? Her brain provided the information that his hand was visible on the outside of the covers. Her eyes rolled back as he invaded. So much pain she couldn’t speak.

  His mouth now at hers. “Scream,” he commanded, forcing his forked tongue down her throat as she obeyed against her will.

  “Mrs. McNeil,” the nurse shouted over and over with several shakes to the woman’s shoulders.

  Wide, frightened eyes met hers. Help me. Help me. For the love of God, please, help me.

  The nurse crooned, “There, there, it was just a bad dream. You’re safe.”

  Safe?! Lady, he’s stealing my soul!

  The chuckle at her ear made her head thrash back and forth. “She can’t see me. And,” he pushed further into her, “I can’t rob what already belongs to me.”

  Good God! Call the police can’t you see what he’s doing?

  His head thrown back in pleasure at the sound of her agony. “Keep. Doing. That.”

  The nurse angled her head. “What was that, hon?”

  She heard you, Lisa hissed.

  “Yes. Yes. Make me come!” he panted at her ear.

  Lisa’s scream brought the nurse’s hands to her ears. “Calm down, Mrs. McNeil,” she yelled.

  Lisa saw the syringe. No, no, nooooooooo. Don’t knock me out!

  The demon roared. He needed her awake, but it was too damn late. He crawled off her still form, fucking hating that he would now have to wait. His hand lashed out toward the plump nurse but was stalled midair.

  “Not her,” the angel cautioned.

  “Kian,” he hissed. “Should’ve known you were around. What’s the matter, you being a sore loser over this one?” The demon stroked Lisa’s face.

  “You took her from me. Don’t pretend I gave her up willingly, Lars.”

  “All’s fair in,” he made a gagging motion, “and war.”

  The nurse glanced around. “Who’s there?”

  Kian laid a calming hand on her shoulder but spoke directly to Lars. “Fallen One, we need to speak privately.”

  The nurse blinked several times, wondering what the hell was in that coffee she drank. She softly closed the door behind her so she didn’t disturb her patient. Thoroughly preoccupied by the weird vibes in Mrs. McNeil’s room, she didn’t see him until they collided. “Oh,” she gasped.

  “Are you okay?” Dr. Barnes asked.

  “Yes.” Her voice was sweet and flirty. Damn man was half her age. As if he’d ever give her the time of day. She pulled herself together. “Actually, no. Would you mind checking on Mrs. McNeil for me?”

  “She’s a patient?”

  “Came in last night. Someone beat her to a pulp.”

  “How did you know it was her?” Dr. Barnes was confused.

  “No one else does, but her son told me when I caught him sneaking in to see her.”

  “Ah, Cole has to be watched closely.” He smiled. “I’ll check on them both.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Barnes.” Her steps a little lighter now that she knew the handsome doctor would handle the situation.

  His hand on the knob to enter her room when his pager went off. “Shit!” He took off running toward surgery, forgetting to tell the sweet nurse he was just called to an emergency.

  *****

  A fucking circle. He’d walked for miles and ended up right back where he started. His clue was the piece of shirt he lost in the thicket, waving like a flag in the wind. Godforsaken predicament he couldn’t get out of. Should he keep going with the hopes this time the outcome would be different? Or, go back into that compound and die. Neither were choices he could live with. There must be another solution he was missing. Chase scanned the area. A dog barking told him he was too close to stay undetected for long. Though he’d noticed there were still no guards around. His guess, they were in the middle of Bum Fuck California and escaping on foot was suicide. His sense of direction was never great. Tar was the one born with natural navigational skills. He sat down, closing his eyes, and tried to think like his brother. What would he do if he were here? His eyes popped open. Not sit here and feel sorry for himself—that was for damn sure.

  Last time he was in this spot he’d gone straight. North, he realized with sudden clarity. East was the compound. West, either led him back to a main road or further into the forest. No, that wasn’t accurate. West led to the ocean, meaning south was the road. He stood there contemplating if the road was a safe bet. Yes, eventually a car would travel by and he could get help. But that could also work against him. He might end up worse off. Everything was a gamble at this point. Right, just roll the fucking dice already! Instead he envisioned his son playing eeny meeny miney mo, and decided it was worth a shot. South it was.

  The hike was rough terrain and his feet were paying the price. Blisters covered them, water nowhere to be found, and the trees were sparse. Sunburned, dehydrated, unable to stand any longer, he fell into a heap next to a large boulder. Shelter would be wise, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. A snake slithered by and he watched in fascination at how it moved on its belly at a decent pace. But Chase forgot about certain types being venomous. The strike was swift and painful. His mind connected that surviving a snake bite without an anti-venom could prove deadly. He lay there, squirming in pain, loud enough to scare the reptile away. Whatever poison was now in his blood stream made him violently ill. The thought that passed as everything faded away, at least it was more manly to be found dead this way than as someone’s whore.

  Clark leaned against a tree and guzzled down the bottle of water. There was a hint of flavor to it, and he read the label wondering if it was infused with something. Odd, it was plain spring water, smacking his lips. His gaze caught on something white. He reached into the underbrush retrieving a piece of cloth, inspecting it closely. Soft like a T-shirt. The clue drew his eyes to footprints. Not his, another set. He followed them until he realized the size twelves went two different directions. Down on his haunches he gathered more details. Both sets belonged to the same person, most likely a man, but there was a drag in the fresher ones. He grabbed another bottle, took a sip, and began to track.

  Chase wiped the sweat dripping down his brow. He wiggled his toes. Damn, they hurt. He moved his legs, arms, and continued his self-exploration to see if he was all right. Sore. Blistered. The fang marks in his hand stung. But otherwise he was fine, which meant the snake that bit him was not poisonous. Good news. He sat up before standing and searched the area. Water wasn’t going to just appear in some flowing stream, so he continued his quest to get the hell out of there. Except there was this strange feeling he should go back to help Carla. He found himself at another crossroad of indecision. Help the woman who was kind to him, or help himself get back to his wife and son. The smart thing to do, stay with what he was doing. But that niggling sensation just wouldn’t let up, and he found himself veering east. Seemed the former had won without him actually locking in his determination.

  The limp was getting worse, and he found himself stopping every few steps. Again, he questioned his judgement. He missed his little boy, vowing that he’d be more active in Cole’s life. The fight to survive tended to realign a person’s priorities. In his case they shifted drastically. Lisa would be furious when he told her his intention to step down from politics. But he couldn’t focus on that. A strange moan pulled his attention from his inner musings. Was some poor animal hurt? Drawn to the sound by an invisible cord, he changed direction once more.

  Goddamn water did have something in it. He fell to his hands and knees vomiting profusely. Clark had to give it to that bitch Dr. Thompson. She got her last laugh at his expense. “You’re probably waiting for me at the gates of hell, too,”
he groaned as he toppled over on his side, barely missing the pool of puke. But his stomach wasn’t done. Unable to raise up this time, he threw up all over himself. The exertion plus poison equaled his imminent demise.

  Chase stumbled toward the man lying on the ground. He fell to his knees and turned the still form over. “God, Clark?” He noticed the man was covered in vomit, but there was also blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Chase checked for a pulse, weak but still there. Then his eyes caught on the sun’s reflection from a bottle. Water was still in it. He crawled toward it but something grabbed his foot.

  “Don’t drink,” came the gasping groan of Clark.

  He spun around. “I need hydration. I’ll share.”

  “P-p-poison,” Clark stuttered.

  “What? Who?” He shook Clark by his shoulders.

  Drooping lids attempted to open, only managing slits. “Doc…”

  “Yes, you need a doctor. Let’s get you some help.” The dry laugh gave him pause.

  “I came out here,” he coughed, “to kill you.”

  “Listen, Clark, you’re not making any sense. Save your energy.”

  Clark managed to lock his hands around Chase and yanked him closer. “My intent was for you to die. Not me,” he choked around another bout of violent coughing, followed by more blood.

  Chase was held as a captive audience at war with what was right and what he was hearing. “Why do you want to kill me?”

  “To torment her.” His eyes fully closed as his fingers began to release Chase.

  He was frantic to get more information and shook Clark again. “Who?!”

  “Carla,” he mumbled.

  “Carla wanted me dead?” Chase gasped.

  “No.”

  “Clark, you’re dying. I can’t save you. But please, I’m begging you, stop talking in riddles.” Exasperation in Chase’s voice.

  “Your wife,” he hissed.

  “Lisa? Why are you bringing her up now?” Confusion set in, and he knew the man was knocking on death’s door.

  “Chase?”