A quick partial shift enhanced his vision and olfactory sense. He took another look at the other walls, ceiling and floor. What he suspected was confirmed. Mixed in with the cement were iron fragments, bits of silver and an assortment of spices. Raul used a similar system and mix of minerals and spices in the chain link fencing he used inside his van to contain his bounties.
“Well, damn,” he muttered after resuming complete human form again. He moved to the door and gave it a kick.
“Fucking iron door.”
It had a little window with bars and its own little door that was, of course, closed. He used two fingers to give the little door a push, it was locked. The little window was at eye level. There was a second opening blocked by another little door about three feet off the ground. This one was long and narrow. Raul bent and gave the long, narrow door a shove with his fist.
“Ow.”
He rubbed his knuckles. Not only was it also iron, he heard the rattle of a padlock.
Raul might be able to bend iron bars; he couldn’t break out of them if he was trapped inside them. Likewise, he couldn’t punch through the walls or door as a man or werewolf.
There was nothing inside to use as a weapon, no drain to piss in or a water faucet. Raul wasn’t getting out unless that door opened.
He took another look around. There also were no cameras, at least not on the walls. This room was obviously meant to be a cell and was constructed to hold a variety of beings. Keeping prisoners with no way to monitor them was sheer stupidity. Raul turned back to the door. Large, round rivets lined the top and bottom. Six on the top, six on the bottom.
“How very high techy, super spy, James Bondy of you, Bisset.” Raul ran his fingers over the protrusions. On the top row, three were nothing but smooth iron. The other three were camera feeds embedded in the rivet. They were positioned so every other rivet was real. The openings allowing light through and the camera feed to be inserted were too small for Raul to use his thumb to push out and create an opening.
Not that an opening a quarter inch wide would do Raul much good.
He walked to a corner and sank to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and bent his forehead into his hands.
Cameras and someone watching was something Raul certainly could use to his advantage. Eventually they were going to have to give him water and food. Advantage—even werewolves couldn’t live without those provisions. The disadvantage was he could go longer than a human and some supernaturals.
They still needed him or else he’d be dead—big advantage.
Raul wasn’t going to question why he wasn’t a corpse.
He sat quietly in his corner counting the time off in his head. After fifteen minutes he stood up and paced the room ratcheting his agitation, more to the point appearance of agitation every few minutes. He ran his hands through his hair, stopped and pivoted to change direction, then punched one fist with the other one.
There was no way to know if anyone was watching, but Raul was willing to bet there was otherwise no need for cameras. Bob, Bisset and his cronies had Brandon, there was no need to let Raul live, yet here he was. He was alone in a cement, werewolf proof cell with cameras.
Raul dug his ruined phone out of his pocket and turned so his body partially blocked whatever he was doing from the cameras.
Someone was watching.
Raul put his fist to his mouth and faked a swallow. He started shaking his hands then backpedaled to a wall and slammed against it. His mouth was too dry to work up foam, but he could look the part. Beating his palms against the wall behind him, Raul doubled over and began to shake.
The padlock on the upper window rattled.
Someone was definitely watching.
Raul dropped to his knees and rolled to his side, shaking, pulling his hair and jerking out short, loud yelps.
Anything that would make a werewolf act like that would be powerful stuff. It would take him out fast and someone wanted him alive. At least for now. He heard a muffled voice. Raul couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was one of inquiry. Someone was asking someone else what to do.
He was starting to think he was flopping around like a fish out of water for no reason after all and needed a new plan when the door opened. Raul rolled to his feet, moving at top speed at the door. He’d wrongly presumed that Bob would be confronting him since Bob was the only other werewolf he’d encountered with these people.
Raul body slammed a man sending them both crashing to the floor in the doorway. Rapid-fire powerful blows to Raul’s side and head forced him up and away from his opponent. Staggering back, Raul’s body erupted in pain from the blows and from his already compromised joints and muscles. The guy kicked out, aiming for Raul’s forehead. He managed to duck in time.
Military style hair and clothes, military moves and an aggressive frontal attack. This man was well trained and not afraid to do battle.
However, he was a man. Not a werewolf, not a magical, but a man. No amount of training was going to help him beat a werewolf in hand-to-hand and they both knew it. The man scrabbled at his thigh for a knife. No doubt that knife’s blade was capable of doing damage to a supernatural or magical. Sending this guy after a werewolf, one not afraid to fight back, had his own training and just enough of a dark streak to battle to the death was utter stupidity.
Yeah, Raul didn’t have time for this shit.
He fucking ached from head to toe and that just pissed him off.
Raul shifted to complete werewolf and charged the man. The guy never had the chance to get his knife, or any other weapon, out. Raul pounced, gripped the man by his neck and slammed him face first into the iron door. Not taking the time to see what damage that did, Raul decided to save the good, hardworking taxpayers of Texas some money. No charges, no trial, simply an execution.
In one swift, clean movement, Raul snapped the man’s neck and simultaneously ripped through his throat, opening arteries and shredding muscle. He’d kill, but not torture.
Raul dropped the corpse, twisted around and snatched his jacket off the ground. It was his favorite jacket and he always made sure to shed it before shifting. He tracked a direct route to the part of the building where Brandon was being held. As Brandon’s scent increased, so did Raul’s rage. He bashed through doors and any walls that were plaster or wood.
He finally arrived in an office on the complete opposite side of the building and two floors up. Those walls were glass. Raul crashed straight through. Howling, Raul prepared to fight.
Except the room was empty.
Raul spun in a few circles, panting. He used the back of one hand to wipe spit from the side of his jaw and stood still. Adrenaline screamed through his veins, his heart and head pounded. Raul leaned down and braced his hands on his knees and gulped in deep breaths.
Reverting to human, Raul growled out, “Shit!”
Scattered around the room were piles of clothes, socks and shoes, even underwear, which carried the most scent.
He knelt and picked Brandon’s clothes off the floor, shoving them against his nose, shaking. Gripping the clothes, Raul shoved off the floor and wasted no time getting to the parking garage and his van.
Raul needed help.
Chapter 14
Brandon bit his lip and focused on making sure his hands didn’t shake. Zoe walked with slow, even steps back and forth around him. She didn’t appear nervous; this was an intimidation tactic.
Zoe was good at it and her methods were working.
Very well.
Brandon was determined that she wouldn’t see him tremble, but it was plain she sensed, almost smelled, his fear.
Brandon didn’t even know her and he hated her.
She put a hand firmly on Brandon’s shoulder. He sucked in a breath, waiting for the steady flow of pain to begin coursing through him. He tried to steady himself, he didn’t want her to know how afraid he was.
“I have a schedule to keep. My buyer in Hong Kong expects delivery and this one won’t
be late,” Zoe hissed in Brandon’s ear. “Do you understand?”
Small currents vibrated through Brandon from where Zoe’s fingers touched him. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip. Zoe dug her fingers in deeper.
“I can’t work with you doing that!” Brandon snapped and jerked away from her.
Zoe released her grip and snorted. “The Hong Kong buyer isn’t going to tolerate delays. This delivery won’t be late. It seems like ever since you and your handler got involved it’s been one fuck up after another.”
Brandon rolled his shoulder, trying to make the tingling and muscle twitching stop.
“All I can do is find them. What you do afterward is on you,” he grumbled.
“Work,” Zoe snarled and poked the back of Brandon’s neck with one finger creating a quick, painful jolt that spread from the base of his skull to cover his entire head for a few seconds.
He resisted the urge to rub the residue sensation covering his scalp away and scooted the chair closer to the desk and computer tower resting there. Zoe stepped in, predatory and focused on her prey. She was behind Brandon, so he couldn’t see her, but he could hear her and feel her presence.
“Will you please back up? I can’t work with you hovering over me and if you zap me while I’m inside, this computer is going to overload and probably explode. That’ll absolutely cause a delay.”
The bitch didn’t move.
Brandon twisted in his chair and looked up at her. Before either one could say or do anything else, the room’s only door opened. Gaze shifting away from Zoe, Brandon expected to see Bob, but that wasn’t who walked through the door.
“Ethan?” Brandon gasped.
“Zoe, give my pansy-ass, cock loving little brother some room.” Ethan sauntered to Zoe, took her hand and coaxed her back a step.
He tucked himself against her and they kissed. It was the type of noisy, sloppy kiss teenagers engage in while out in public to embarrass others.
After a minute they separated, and Ethan kept talking, a bit breathless now. “He’s a whiny pain in the ass, but he is good and will get what we need. He’s also right about one thing, he needs his personal space clear as well as stable seating or the vomiting is outrageous.”
Ethan turned a sneer on Brandon before moving close enough to rough Brandon’s hair. He jerked his hand away a second before Brandon let loose a charge and laughed. “Now, now none of that. You forget, I handled you for years and know things about you that you don’t even know about yourself.”
“Like the vomiting?” Brandon asked.
“Oh, you found out on your own, eh?” Ethan turned to Zoe and explained, “When he goes in deeply enough, memory of what happens ‘out here’ is lost. At home he has special equipment and I oversee everything.”
Brandon was adopted from a young age. He had to be, neither of his parents were magical and those traits were always inherited, though he bore a curiously strong resemblance to his father. Ethan was the oldest of his siblings, and about the same age as Raul. They had two sisters and a brother, Brandon being the youngest of the five. Ethan was the spitting image of their mother. His light brown hair, now sprinkled with gray, was straight and pulled back into a short ponytail. He had a roman nose, fake tan and pale brown eyes. The suit Ethan wore hung off his too thin frame. Unlike Brandon, Ethan had no athletic ability and used his smarts to bully anyone and everyone. When he was a child Brandon worshipped Ethan. Now, he had a healthy—and secret—distain for the man, but he’d never thought Ethan would become involved with something like this.
Ethan leaned down and put both hands on Brandon’s shoulders. “You try anything like that again on me or anyone and Zoe will make you hurt so fucking bad you’ll beg to die. Got it?”
He was close enough to Brandon’s head it was too easy to smell on his breath what he’d eaten recently. Brandon’s stomach turned dangerously.
Brandon swallowed and nodded. “You’ve been behind this all along.” It wasn’t a question and Ethan didn’t answer. Not that Brandon expected him to. “What the hell have I ever done to you to make you hate me this much? You’ve never treated me like you did Cheryl, she’s gay too, so that can’t be the reason. I’m your brother, why—”
“You are not my brother!” Ethan spat. “You’re a fucking mistake. You’ve been an embarrassment to my mother ever since you came into her life and there was a time you even broke her heart.”
Brandon opened his mouth to defend himself but shut it when he caught Zoe’s reflection in the computer monitor. He resembled his father, his adoptive father. There were physical features about Zoe one could say Brandon shared. A horrible, sick thought was taking shape in his mind. He needed the truth, even if it got him killed.
“We make a lot of money with Seafind, isn’t that enough for you? You’re a partner, I’m only an employee.”
Never mind there would be no Seafind without Brandon. Ethan knew that, but Brandon poked harder and added, “You and Dad couldn’t have ever built Seafind without me.”
“Seafind was my brainchild,” Ethan growled.
Brandon turned around so he could face Ethan and Zoe. “A brainchild you wouldn’t have been able to build without me.”
“Oh, I would’ve. It might have taken me longer, but I’d have gotten it done.”
Shifting his gaze for a split second to Zoe before focusing on Ethan again, Brandon asked, “With her?”
Zoe burst out laughing. “That’s rich. I’m in this to recoup what I’m owed. My bonus is Ethan and I get along so well and want the same thing. Your father had some serious kink with electricity, and I was only fifteen. The condom broke—well, melted—and I got pregnant. After you were born, I got twenty-five k to disappear. I’d already been recruited for my…skills and a kid would ruin everything. I met Ethan and found out you’re worth much more than a piddly little twenty-five grand.”
Brandon turned away from them, more to cover the mixture of hate and horror he couldn’t hide. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to shed one tear over these two. A huge part of his life was making sense now. How his paternal grandfather was the only one of his extended family who seemed to care about him. When he’d died Brandon was in high school. The one person who’d kept him from being lonely was gone. His adoptive mother wasn’t abusive, but she clearly never loved him. Brandon wondered for years why his parents adopted him when they already had four natural children. Aunts and uncles, even cousins would whisper behind his back at every family function. Too many scattered pieces were all of a sudden falling into place.
Brandon felt as if he was drowning under those puzzle pieces. He wondered if he could dive deep into the digital world and never surface again.
They’d been at this place at least a day. This time it was an abandoned prison in Mexico, Brandon thought. He’d started sending video to the computers set up in the apartment at least twelve hours ago. For a while he’d been able to see the feed from El Paso, but Raul was out cold, and the connection went dead before he was awake. Brandon could tell Raul was still alive because he’d change position and shift between human and werewolf.
The failsafe they’d set up so Raul could find Brandon if they were separated was running, but Brandon couldn’t verify if Raul was getting anything at his end. He really hoped Raul was able to follow the breadcrumbs Brandon left for him.
◆◆◆
By the time Raul reached the parking garage and his van he’d formed and discarded at least ten plans. Raul retrieved the spare key to the van from its hiding place and got the door open. He reached inside and rummaged around for Brandon’s phone. Snatching it up, Raul was careful not to grip it so tightly he’d crush the device. His hand trembled with the effort.
Raul bit his lip and growled, staring at the time.
Sixteen hours. He’d been out cold on a cement floor in a makeshift cell, left to starve to death, for sixteen hours.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Raul snarled. Anger boiled inside him. He shoved it down before it thr
eatened to bubble over.
Thankfully, when they began this sting Brandon insisted they be able to access each other’s phones in an emergency. Raul entered the passcode and pulled up the contacts. He scrolled through and found Fahim’s number.
Pacing as he listened to the ringing Raul mumbled, “Pick up, don’t be in a meeting, pick up…Fahim, it’s me, not Brandon.”
“What’s wrong, Raul?” Fahim’s voice was low and ridiculously sober. Good ole Fahim, right to the point.
“This went south, Antarctic south. I need help.”
“Text me an address. Give me an hour,” Fahim said and disconnected.
Raul jumped into the driver’s seat and left the factory parking garage. It was late afternoon, and rush hour traffic was horrible. He cursed the entire stop-and-go drive to the apartment he and Brandon shared.
By some miracle Raul didn’t run into any interference between parking his van and getting through the building to the apartment. He’d barely been able to get the monitors turned on and the security passcode entered before a stream of smoke slid under the door.
“You made good time,” Raul barely glanced up, but he did get a glimpse of Fahim taking his human form which pulled his attention from his task and fully to Fahim. Leaning back in his chair he had to ask, “What the hell are you wearing?”
Fahim grinned and looked down at himself. “I surmised we’re going into battle and undercover. This seemed appropriate in case I had to transport supplies, or weapons, or…”
“You look like you’re going fishing.” Raul shrugged. “Which I guess you are. The only thing you’re missing is the pole.” Fahim’s shirt, jacket and lightweight pants were covered in pockets in a variety of shapes and sizes. He turned back to the computer.
Fahim walked around to stand behind Raul. “What is all this?”
“Brandon set up a way for me to track him in case we were separated. It stands to reason that they’d snatch him and dump me. Which is exactly what happened.” Raul leaned forward and reached under the table. He pulled a piece of paper taped to the underside loose.
Scintilla Page 18
