A soft, soft whisper wafted across the back of her mind. You cannot beat these men. Why try? You are too weak.
Was she too weak? She—
Argh! Stupid demon. Guess he’d gotten over his fear of Bjorn. I will succeed, whatever the cost! She just had to wait for the right moment…
They passed other cells. Some contained prisoners, some didn’t. Those prisoners recoiled the moment they spotted Thane, but whimpered when they caught sight of Xerxes.
When Thane turned a corner, Fox spotted a staircase at the end of the new hallway.
Now!
Fox launched into motion, latching on to the chain and yanking, just as he’d done to her. She stepped to the side as Thane stumbled backward; unfortunately, he didn’t drop his end of the chain. Very well. She would use it against him.
As soon as he passed her, she jumped up, stepped on his thigh and wrapped a leg around his shoulders. At the same time, she wound the excess chain around his neck and jerked, cutting off his airway.
When Xerxes attempted to grab her ankle and rip her off his friend, she kicked him in the face. The heel of her foot met the bridge of his nose, and cartilage snapped. He roared with agony and fury, blood running down his mouth and chin.
With a hiss, Thane threw a fist up and back. Wham. Wham. Wham. That fist slammed into Fox’s cheek, eye socket, and mouth. A bomb of pain exploded inside her head. One of her eyes swelled, blurring her vision. Her cheek stung, and her lower lip split. But the one thing she didn’t do? Budge. She punched him right back, doing her best to blind him in the process, and shoved the heels of her feet into his gut. At the same time, she continued to hold Xerxes at bay.
“Pass out already!” she growled.
Thane stopped fighting, surprising her. He clasped her legs, keeping her perched atop his shoulders and fell backward. Shit, shit, shit. Should have expected this. They crashed into the floor. Her skull hit first, then the rest of her, with Thane’s weight smashing into her.
Her lungs emptied in a single heave. As she struggled to breathe, a feather made its way into her mouth, and she coughed. Through it all, she retained her hold on the chain. She even gave a hard yank to shorten the slack and choke him out faster.
Suddenly, fingers combed through her hair and closed into a fist, pulling the strands. Xerxes! The bastard yanked her out from under Thane. Now, she lost her grip on the chain. Before she had a chance to fight back, Xerxes slung an arm around her neck, catching her in a chokehold.
Thane clambered to his feet, glared at her while flicking his tongue over an incisor, then turned on his heel to resume his journey. Once again, Xerxes followed. He kept her tucked against him, never loosening that chokehold.
Her lungs burned, and her head swam. They entered a bar-free cell bigger than her own, with tables piled high with instruments of torture. Knives, saws, tools, and other goodies often used in a violent and bloody interrogation. Sweat beaded on her nape, a droplet trickling down her spine. Though she fought, her captors successfully anchored her to a tall wooden beam, her arms secured overhead.
A whipping post? She faced the beam, keeping her back exposed.
Thane sauntered to the table and traced a fingertip over several blades. Ultimately, he selected a whip, just as she’d suspected. “Bjorn is one of the best males I’ve ever known. He has survived horrors and tortures you cannot even imagine, yet you hope to cause him more?” With every word, malice deepened his voice a little more. He moved behind her, joining Xerxes. “For this, Executioner, you will pay.”
“Sure,” she said, hating these men. Hating herself. Once again, she’d failed a mission objective. “Should I write you a check? Someone fetch my purse. Oh, wait. I left it in my other cell.”
“You joke now, but soon…soon, you will beg.” He stroked the base of the whip. “Did I forget to mention the whip is laced with infirmədē to ensure you cannot heal?”
Infirmədē. A nightmarish demon venom. It prevented even the smallest wounds from healing without some kind of antidote.
“One,” Thane said and cracked the whip.
Searing agony sent a scream barreling out of her mouth. Nausea churned in her stomach, and her eyes blurred again.
“Two.” He lashed her again. And again. Until he reached ten. Then he passed the whip to Xerxes, who whipped her ten more times.
By the time they finished, her T-shirt was shredded, and so was her back. Her knees gave out. All she could do was hang against the post, her shoulders nearly sliding out of their sockets.
Her voice was broken from her continuous screams, but at least she hadn’t begged.
Xerxes moved in front of her, pinched her chin and forced her gaze to lift. Those neon red eyes projected undiluted rage. “What did you do to Bjorn?”
“I gave him…a massive…hard-on,” she said between panting breaths. “My bad.”
He jostled her, pulling the wounds on her back. “What did you do to Bjorn?”
Tears scalded her cheeks. The pain…almost as bad as the burns she’d once sustained. But she pressed her lips together, choosing silence. She couldn’t say she wasn’t the one who’d hurt Bjorn, because at some point, she had hurt him, so Xerxes would taste the lie. Her best bet now? Her only bet? Keep taunting the two and pray they left her tied to the beam, thinking her too weak to mount an escape.
“Be honest,” she croaked. Deep breath in, out. Her panting slowed, but not by much. “You’re going to jerk off to images of my torture, aren’t you?”
He hissed in her face before stalking behind her and starting the whipping all over again…
Chapter Seven
Bjorn awoke gradually. First, the lights came on in his mind. Then, all the shops began to open, vendors selling their wares—memories, awareness, and rage. He sensed Thane and Xerxes nearby and suspected they paced around his bed. Whispers reached his ears.
He caught the snippets “whipping,” “took it too far,” and “furious.” Had Alana whipped him after she’d drained him? Maybe, but he felt no pain.
As he blinked open his eyes, Bjorn did his best to focus on his surroundings. A room. A bedroom. Perfunctory furnishings: a bed, a wardrobe filled with weapons, a dresser and a nightstand. No knickknacks, decorations or photos. His bedroom.
He maintained no friendships outside of his boys, no permanent or temporary lovers, so he had no need for photos. He pursued no hobbies, either. If he wasn’t hunting and slaying demons, he was running the club. If he wasn’t running the club, he was dealing with Alana. Nothing more, nothing less.
In the whole of his life, he’d loved only one woman. Leema the Loyal, who’d earned her moniker when she’d braved a hail of gunfire to save her family. A fellow Sent One with wings of solid white. A Messenger who traveled between the heavens and the mortal realms.
They’d met on assignment. The second-in-command before Clerici—Germanus—had ordered him to guard a human traveling overseas. Ten hours into the trip, Leema had shown up with new instructions from his boss. Leema’s beauty instantly captivated Bjorn, but her warmth and kindness sealed the deal.
They fell for each other fast and even moved in together. He’d been happy. Content. Then, the demon-torture happened.
Bjorn fisted the sheets and peeked into the darkest part of his past…
The demons had clawed at his robe, stripping him before they chained him inside a cell with Thane and Xerxes, who’d also been naked and chained. Every day, two of them were forced to watch as the third was beaten and worse. Bjorn, though…the demons were particularly obsessed with him. The things they did to his body…
Skin peeled off, inch by inch…
Organs cut out of my abdomen and eaten in front of me…
Eyes removed and hung from necklaces.
Limbs amputated, regrown, then amputated again…
Constant pain and degradation quickly dehumanized him. To survive mentally and emotionally, he’d had to build a stone wall around his heart.
Leema had been ill-prepa
red to meet the new Bjorn. A man unhappy, malcontent, intense, combative, explosive, violent, and utterly dependent on Thane and Xerxes. They understood his anguish in ways others could not. More than that, she’d fallen in love with another Messenger during Bjorn’s absence. But fearing the loss of her loyal designation, she’d stayed with Bjorn and continued to see her lover in secret.
Her reputation had mattered more than the male she’d professed to love and adore.
He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Six months passed before he caught the two together—in his bed, with portraits of him and Leema hanging all around. To this day, Bjorn cringed when he recalled how he’d beaten the male so severely, he’d required Water of Life to survive.
Healers claimed his organs would have fared better in a blender.
As for Leema, Bjorn had tossed her out, destroyed her possessions and their cloud, then worked to change her designation to “the Disloyal.”
Kick me while I’m down, and I’ll retaliate on my way back up.
Since then, he’d avoided any kind of emotional tie with anyone but his boys. But the occasional one-night stand—before Alana’s arrival—had never satisfied him. Nothing had. He hadn’t experienced genuine satisfaction or desire since…
“Fox,” he croaked. Her name echoed inside his head, waking up other parts of him. Nerve endings tingled to life. Muscles tensed, and blood heated. Beautiful warrior. She’d faced her crimes without flinching, blatantly admitting to the truth. Such strength. Such wit. When they’d fought, she’d cared more about Galen’s and Legion’s safety than her own.
So different from Leema and Alana.
Bjorn wished he’d had another memory of her childhood. Something. Anything!
His friends rushed to his side and helped him ease into an upright position.
“She remains in the dungeon,” Thane told him.
Good, that was good. So why did the male look away rather than meet his gaze?
“Galen the Treacherous has been blowing up your cell phone with calls and texts,” Xerxes said. “He says you are his new pet project, and whatever you do to harm Fox, he will revisit upon you a thousandfold.”
So protective. Had Bjorn been mistaken before? Were the two lovers?
He wished he knew more about the woman. The memory he’d dreamed about her childhood—he stiffened. The memory. Her memory. His chest did that clenching thing, the ensuing pangs nearly splitting him in two. Why had he glimpsed into her past? How had he glimpsed into her past?
Bjorn drew in a deep breath to clear his mind. Instead, he became more aware of his body’s needs. “I’ll deal with Galen later. Bathroom now.”
His friends had assisted him every time he’d returned from Alana’s and now knew the drill. Each male latched on to one of his arms and helped him stand. Then, they acted as crutches as he hobbled to his private en suite, his knees too weak to hold his weight.
Voice diamond-hard, Thane said, “You will be avenged.”
“Your tormentor has suffered and will continue to suffer. No mercy,” Xerxes grated. “I want her to hurt.”
“Drink, my friend.” Thane handed Bjorn a small vial.
Only a few precious drops remained inside. The Water of Life came from the heavens. A single drop could drive a demon from a body, depending on the person and situation. Also, depending on the person and situation, it could cure any disease and heal any injury. The Water could even revive the dead.
Once Bjorn ran out…
Don’t think about that. He unplugged the vial and tipped a single drop onto his tongue.
Moments after swallowing, a cool, effervescent sensation invaded his veins and traveled through every inch of him. Suddenly, he felt cleansed from the inside out. His mouth tasted minty fresh. His every blood cell sparkled—surely—as if they’d received a vigorous polish. Strength seeped into his muscles.
After re-corking the vial and hanging it from his neck, he stripped and showered on his own, scrubbing the queen’s soot and scent from his skin. Xerxes and Thane stayed close, just in case.
When one of the three had a need, the other two gave without hesitation.
No man had better friends. Bjorn loved them both dearly. They kept him sane, giving him a reason to look ahead rather than continually glancing back at the horrors of his past.
He dried off and donned a clean robe, then returned to the bed on his own, easing onto the edge of the mattress. Time for the Q and A portion of his recovery. “How long have I been out this time?”
“Three days,” Xerxes said.
Blink, blink. Three days. An eternity. “Tell me you cared for Fox while I was out. Tell me you fed her.” In the memory, she’d been starved. The thought of her going hungry again…
The two shared a glance loaded with tension.
“What did she do to you, exactly?” Thane asked at a lower than usual volume. “Not even Alana has harmed you to such a degree.”
“Not Fox. Alana. She flew into a rage when I ignored her summons, choosing to stay close to Fox.” New memories flooded in, and his hands fisted. How Alana had stepped inside his body to possess him. How she’d roughly syphoned his energy. How blood had rushed from his extremities in seconds, pooling in his abdomen to protect his vital organs. How he’d continually vomited and blacked out. How he’d cried like an infant, a sense of violation unwavering.
How much abuse could one being take before he stopped recovering?
Razor-sharp guilt pulsed from the warriors, rousing dread in Bjorn. Something had happened while he slept. Something terrible. “Tell me,” he demanded.
Massaging the back of his neck, Thane said, “We assumed Fox was responsible. We…punished her for it, Bjorn. Severely.”
He went still, not even daring to breathe. “What did you do?” But he divined the answer before he finished the sentence. Whipping. Too far. Furious.
“The day you collapsed, we whipped her,” Xerxes said, confirming his suspicions. “Forty lashes from a whip laced with infirmədē.”
Denial screamed inside Bjorn’s head. Proud Fox, whipped and unable to heal… Red dotted his vision.
He should revel. Exactly what she deserved. But dark fury sparked. She’d been whipped for a crime she hadn’t committed, not the one she had.
“We also denied her food and water,” Thane added.
The fury intensified, devouring his calm façade. “I did not want her harmed.” He leaped to his feet, demanding, “Where is she, exactly?”
Thane bowed his head. “The cell we use for torture. She told us she hoped you died and we…reacted. After the whipping, we left her hanging on the whipping post.”
“Of course, she wants me to die,” Bjorn snarled, surprising both men. “I plan to kill her.”
Forty lashes. Three days of starvation. The fury slashed at his insides. Guilt joined the party, pouring salt on the wounds. Usually, only demons were left on the post, and only to increase the amount of pain they experienced before their execution.
Fox murdered ten Sent Ones in cold blood. She deserves this. So why did his guilt continue to grow?
Bjorn scoured a hand over his face. “I need to see her. Alone.” No telling how she’d react to the sight of Thane and Xerxes. “I will be sharing the Water of Life with her.”
His friends reacted as if he’d issued a bomb threat.
Thane gave his head a brutal shake, saying, “We have so little, and she is so…unworthy.”
Xerxes ran his tongue over his teeth. “The demon-possessed cannot drink the Water without suffering debilitating pain.”
“Better pain than death,” Bjorn ground out.
Thane spread his arms wide. “Why save someone you plan to kill?”
Excellent question. Bjorn didn’t know the answer. He only knew he couldn’t not heal her. To allow her to suffer for a crime she had not committed… I’d be as bad as a demon.
“Acquiring more Water is nearly impossible these days,” Xerxes said. “If we run out before your next visit
with Alana, how will you recover?”
“I’ll find a way,” he replied, standing and nodding. Eager to aid Fox, he strode to the door.
“The Elite have a mandatory meeting this evening,” Thane called, stopping him in his tracks. “Axel’s cloud, seven sharp.”
Axel. An irreverent Sent One as misunderstood as Bjorn, Thane and Xerxes. The guy took nothing seriously, slept with anyone breathing, and pissed off anyone forced to partner with him. But he never judged the people around him, and it hadn’t taken long for Bjorn to fall in like with him.
“I’ll be there.” Finally, he strode from the bedroom.
Halfway there, his limbs began to shake, his knees threatening to buckle. These days, a drop of Water no longer revived him fully. He’d built up a tolerance and required more. A drop merely strengthened him, speeding up the healing process. So, as he made the trek to the dungeon, he fought to remain upright.
Priceless antique furnishings and luxurious surroundings soon gave way to disrepair and crumbling stone walls littered with claw marks. Marks made by demons as they were dragged to their cells. Bjorn crinkled his nose, the air saturated with a mix of filth, body odor, and death.
Someone had died. Someone like Fox?
He snaked around a corner, finally reaching the torture chamber.
His stomach twisted into a thousand knots. There she was. Fox the Executioner. She’d fought her way free of the post, but she hadn’t made it far. She lay on her stomach, a metal collar secured to her neck. Though she slept, pain contorted her features.
Three days had passed, yet her back…
A growl of rage rumbled deep in Bjorn’s chest. Her back was mutilated. What remained of her skin and muscle resembled raw hamburger meat. In a few places, a bone protruded. She’d bitten off her nails, mangled her ankles, and broken her thumbs.
No doubt she’d broken her thumbs in order to slide her hands out of her bonds. Then she must have clawed her ankles free.
As he removed the collar and picked her up as gently as possible, careful not to brush against any open wounds, she flinched, and the twisting of his stomach worsened. A bloody outline of her body remained in the dirt. A body at least ten pounds lighter than he’d last seen it. Crimson streaked her skin in multiple places. Her dark locks were tangled and caked with mud. A metallic scent wafted from her.
The Darkest Assassin: A Lords of the Underworld Novella Page 7
