Had I got it all wrong? Was Falkner even involved? Had Carole actually said his name? Or was that gasp she’d given when I did over the phone been confusion, not fear? What the hell did Nathaniel Marcroft have to do with the HEAT arson attacks?
I felt woefully ill equipped to figure it out. The dots weren’t just disconnecting, they were flying apart inside my head.
We were both dressed in sheer, white, flowing dresses similar to what the woman had worn the night of Damon’s lust circle test. Carole’s swamped her fragile frame. Mine left little to the imagination. At least she’d been wearing a bra. I closed my eyes and then snapped them open locating Nathaniel Marcroft across the room.
He stood watching me. Not Carole. It was as if he couldn’t hear her murmured pleas to be set free. She couldn’t rock back and forth, like she had in the apartment on Greys Ave. But her body swayed, making the chains rattle and clink against the wood of the cross.
She hadn’t been blindfolded, which may or may not have been a saving grace. But Marcroft didn’t even see her, his eyes all on me.
“Comfortable, Lamb?” he asked.
“Is this what you did to Samantha Hayes?” I asked. “Helped her pay for her sins?”
“There are no names in here. Just transcendence.”
“You took her life, by squeezing her neck so tightly she couldn’t breathe,” I persisted.
“The pursuit of Paradise is paved in the depths of Hell,” Marcroft commented mildly.
“You left her lying on a pavement across the street, arms outstretched.”
“My pursuit has been more particular than others.”
“Legs crossed at the ankles, displayed as if crucified.”
“A work of art.” Was that in reference to Samantha? Or in regard to his path through Hell?
“But it wasn’t enough to just kill her,” I pressed on. “You had to make her lust for it.”
“Lust is immutable.”
“Was that why you killed her? Because she lusted?”
“Carnal malefactors, all of us.”
“Samantha was a carnal malefactor, wasn’t she, Nathaniel?”
“The journey to Paradise is the cleanser of sins.”
“You are a carnal malefactor, as well, aren’t you, Nathaniel?”
“Each circle is our right to atone.”
“Were you atoning for your sins when you asphyxiated Samantha Hayes with your bare hands?”
“The trap is being willing to leave them.”
I paused.
“You haven’t left them,” I whispered, suddenly seeing the dots connect. “You’re still trapped in the nine circles of Hell. And enjoying it.”
“There is so much to enjoy, Lamb. I shall show you.”
“And Samantha? Did you offer to show her too?”
He smiled. The bastard was several sandwiches short of a picnic, but still managed to stay just shy of crazy enough to admit premeditated murder.
“She was perfect, I should think,” I added. “A true believer in sin.”
“Lust,” he agreed, but said no more.
“Your favourite circle?”
“One of them.”
“The others? What circles make the top of your list, Nathaniel?”
“Grand Master,” he corrected.
I nodded my head, accepting the reprimand, feeling the stretch of my arms as I effected the movement. In this second he was lucid. He’d allowed the use of his real name before, because he’d not even heard it spoken. I had to press now or I’d lose him before he admitted his guilt.
“What are your favourite circles, Grand Master?”
He slowly walked toward me, the black of his robe swirling around his feet, swishing over the tiles in a manner that made it look like he floated; hiding his shoes. I forced my eyes to his face, unencumbered by the hood, which hung ineffectually down his back. He was alone in his domain with his lambs. He didn’t need to hide in here. Not when he was setting the stage.
I held still as he came abreast of me, his elegant finger coming out and resting under my chin. He tilted my head, making me look up at the arches in the ceiling. I felt his breath against my exposed throat, my rapid pulse more noticeable at this angle, the flesh taut over the fluttering flow of adrenaline fuelled blood.
A hot palm wrapped around my neck and pressed. Not enough to cut off my air, but enough to hint at it. The top of my head bit into the wood of the cross at my back. I wanted to swallow, but swallowing would hurt under the pressure of his hold. He tightened his fingers, the tips of them reaching far around the side of my neck, his thumb directly above my pulse.
I gasped for breath as he increased the pressure; short burst of air incompletely sucked in. My body strained, the chains rattled almost delicately above my head. Sweat started to coat my brow. I was beyond panic now, but I would not show it. I fought my body’s physiological response to being slowly strangled.
“Can you feel it, Lamb?” he asked. I couldn’t answer, even if every fibre in my body wanted to yell at him to get the fuck off. “I control your level of oxygen. I control how dizzy you become. How lightheaded. Sensations that mimic pleasure. You’ll start to hallucinate,” he whispered against the underside of my chin. “And if I time it right, if I perfect the art, I can have you addicted to the sensation and begging for more.”
“Sick,” I gasped, the pressure of talking making my vision darken. “Bastard,” I hissed.
His hand tightened and then all pressure was gone. I was left gasping for air, desperately wanting to touch my neck where I was sure bruises would be showing, and shaking from head to toe with a sudden release of endorphins.
I was alive. Always a cause for the body to celebrate.
“You would not have been a good example,” Marcroft commented, lifting his hood up to cover his face. “You aren’t yet willing to relinquish control. You fight your pleasure. It is offensive.”
“Then why am I here?” I croaked.
“Your circle is not one of the lower. Your circle is right at the top.”
I struggled to list the nine circles of Hell in my mind. I got as far as gluttony and had to start again. I could breathe easier now, but my body was remembering the feeling of not getting enough oxygen. The sensation of being out of control. There was no pleasure in it for me. And even if I failed Marcroft’s little “example” I was betting he received some form of pleasure from the act, all the same.
Limbo. The first circle.
Lust. The second.
Gluttony.
Greed.
Anger. Heresy. Violence. And Fraud.
That left only one at the top. The upper echelon of Dante’s Hell.
Treachery. I was destined for treachery, but for the life of me, couldn’t work it out.
“Is Samantha in Paradise?” I asked, in one last ditch effort to corner Marcroft. I knew he’d done it. The evidence was all there. And although nothing connected him directly to the actual homicide, the circumstantial nature of it was impossible to ignore.
I was lashed to a fucking cross and he’d just tried to asphyxiate me, all in an effort to mimic sensations of lust.
Sick. Fucker!
But I needed him to say it. It was a lifeline I seemed to be grasping for. I needed to hear him say it.
“Am I to end up in Paradise with her?” I pressed. “Is this what you do?”
Nothing. Not a fucking thing. I bit back the sob as though a lifeline had slipped through my fingers and disappeared.
When it looks like the end and you know you’re on your own. Don’t fucking think for a second you can’t still win.
Did you think that, Carl? When Kenny Tyndall pulled the trigger and you felt that bullet slide in? When the air rushed out of your lungs and wide open space yawned at your back? Did you think you could still win?
He promised to watch over me on the street. “Michaels for immediate protection. Pierce to keep an eye out for you in CIB. And now on the street, I’ll watch over you too.”
&n
bsp; I lifted my head and looked toward the door to the cavern, willing Carl to come barging in.
He didn’t.
But Kyan Marcroft did.
He was dressed in his robe already, hood down, dark hair dishevelled, dress slacks peeking out from the gap in his open cloak. I could smell his cologne; expensive, subtle, it suited him. And didn’t. He was distracted, not paying attention. Clearly preoccupied. Until he made it several feet into the vast cavern and came to an abrupt halt.
His eyes landed on Carole first. A frown marring his handsome face. Then with a type of resigned fury he scanned the space for his father… and found me.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “Fuck!” he added. “What the fuck have you done now?”
Me? No, his father. Who came out of the shadows like some Machiavellian wraith.
“You like my lambs?” Nathaniel asked pleasantly.
“She’s a cop, Dad,” Kyan growled, taking a few steps in my direction.
“Stop!” Nathaniel barked. “She is willing.”
“Are you?” Kyan asked coming to an immediate halt. As if it could be at all possible I’d agree to be strapped to a fucking cross in a see-through white dress.
“No,” I ground out.
“Ah but, Lamb,” Nathaniel said. “Of course you are willing.”
“Not in this lifetime, psycho.” Not a negotiation tactic they teach you at Police College.
Nathaniel chuckled and then clapped his hands. A sick feeling settled in my stomach.
“Please don’t so this, Father,” Kyan pleaded.
“Unfortunately, you are unable to prove your worth this evening, son. She is destined for one who shows more promise.”
“I’ll do it,” Kyan said, standing taller. “Whatever you have planned, I’ll do it. But now. Here. With no other witnesses.”
What the fuck?
Nathaniel just shook his head. “The path to Paradise is not a secluded one, son.”
“She’s not willing!” Kyan shouted.
Nathaniel smiled. It was the smile I’d expected at the banquet earlier today. The one he’d kept securely under wraps. Creepy.
A hidden door scraped open on the opposite side to the one Kyan had used. Through it came another hooded figure. Bile rose up my throat as I thought of the possibilities. They were infinite. Not all the members of the Irreverent Inferno had been identified. But one in particular kept springing to mind.
Please, God, don’t let this be my father.
But I didn’t recognise the man. Relief was short lived when the body he dragged behind him was unceremoniously thrown on the cold, hard floor.
“Eagle,” I whispered, as Carole woke up from whatever stupor she’d been under and screamed, “Andy! Andy! Get me out of here!”
Chapter 35
“We have reached the ninth circle of Hell.”
“You are willing, aren’t you, Lamb?” Nathaniel Marcroft asked, coming to stand in front of me, directly beside the sprawled body of Eagle.
Who lifted his head, bloodshot eyes staring up at me full of sorrow.
“Fucked up, Keen,” Eagle whispered, his voice clearly too hoarse to speak louder. “Didn’t know yous would be the one.”
“What have they done to you, Eagle?” I asked, horrified to see him so wasted. His pupils were pinpoint. His limbs shook with the effort to hold himself up off the ground. His clothing was ripped and dirty. A row of needle marks dotted the crook of his elbow.
I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. Eagle didn’t do hardcore drugs. He abhorred them.
My eyes snapped open and I screamed, “What the fuck did you do to him?!”
“He came to our establishment of his own free will,” Nathaniel advised in a cheerful voice. “Such a fine example.”
“You sick motherfucker!” I growled. “Prison is too good a place for the likes of you!”
“Tell her, Lamb,” Marcroft said, leaning down and stroking Eagle’s hair. My chains rattled with the force I used trying to break myself free. I felt the skin tear at my wrists. Trickles of blood slowly wended down each forearm.
“It’s all right, Keen,” Eagle mumbled. “I’s ‘ere for someone else, eh?”
“Who, Eagle? Who?” I cried.
“Dave,” he whispered and then started crying. “They promised me, Dave.”
Oh, fuck.
I looked at Nathaniel. He just smiled. My eyes sought out Kyan.
“What the fuck, Kyan?” I said.
“He got what he wanted,” Kyan said very slowly, very carefully, the words sounding like knives in my chest, but also doing something to Kyan as well. I doubted they hurt as much, but guilt has a way of making you pay. “His friend Dave is an honorary member. Eagle has been his path to Paradise.”
Jesus Christ. What was wrong with these people?
“I didn’t know they’d pick yous,” Eagle said, snivelling on the granite floor. “I won’t do it!” he said. “I won’t hurt, Keen.”
“Your path is not here, Lamb,” Nathaniel said, stroking his hair again as if Eagle was precious to him. “But your time in Hell is coming to an end.”
“No!” Eagle cried, clearly not wanting to leave this fucked up place.
They’d drugged him. They’d made him into an addict. Not just on narcotics, but on whatever the fuck this Dave person did. I could see it in his desperation to stay, in the way he clawed at the floor, and dragged himself towards Nathaniel’s legs, wrapping himself around them and pleading forgiveness for his sins.
“I’ll die out there! I’ll die!” Eagle screamed. “Don’t let me die. Please! Please! Please!”
Oh, shit. The reality outside this cavern no longer existed for Eagle. This was his world now. They’d conditioned him to believe he’d not survive out of it. Is that why Rooster was so fucking scared? Not just a sex club. Not just a gaming hell. Not just a drug den.
But a life you choose to sink yourself in, until you simply existed no more.
“Your choice, Lamb,” Marcroft said softly, stepping away from Eagle and coming to stand before me. “He will die, you know.” I wasn’t sure if that was because Marcroft would see to it, or because he’d brainwashed Eagle that expertly.
I wasn’t prepared to risk it. Eagle would need a lot of help once I got him out of here. So I needed to get us both out of here. Alive.
“Is this what you do, Kyan?” I asked, knowing full well I’d get nowhere with his father.
“It’s consensual,” he argued. But I saw the doubt in his eyes.
“And Samantha Hayes? She consented to being killed?”
“We had nothing to do with that.”
“Don’t lie now, Kyan,” I said with a soft laugh. “We’re all here. We’re all about to enter a circle of Hell. Admit your sins. Pay your penance. That’s what this all about, isn’t it? Finding your path to Heaven. Seeking Paradise. Enjoying Hell.”
“You don’t understand. It’s consensual. Everyone is willing.”
“And Samantha?”
“She knew what she was doing.”
“Are you willing, Lamb,” Nathaniel suddenly said. Kyan had spoken out of turn.
“Did you kill her, Kyan?” I asked. “Or are you covering for your dad?”
He lifted his head and stared at me. The heat of his gaze was almost too much. I felt Nathaniel shift closer. I realised the other hooded figure I’d overlooked was doing the same.
“It’s time,” Nathaniel said. “Ask her.”
My eyes flicked from first one face then to the other. Nathaniel was the only one with his hood up, covering his face. The man who had dragged Eagle in here and been called Andy by Carole stood to his left. He was dressed as immaculately as Kyan who flanked him on the other side.
This was Andrew Falkner. Rhys Weston. The HEAT saboteur.
We were all here. The only one missing was Damon and he’d be getting suited up by Nick and arriving any moment now.
How did they think this would play out? How the hell did they get tied up in
this fucked up mess together to begin with?
“Are you here willingly?” Kyan asked once they’d all come within touching distance.
I could hear Eagle snivelling on the floor, but could no longer see him. I could hear Carole’s chains rattle, but she wasn’t attempting to get loose anymore. Somehow Falkner had calmed her and I’d missed it. No one was worried about her. All eyes were on me.
I looked at each man. I couldn’t quite see Nathaniel’s eyes, but I knew they’d show charm and hide the sickness. Falkner looked assessing, an intelligent mind working behind the shadow of his madness. And lastly, Kyan looked hopeful. For what?
“I’m not here willingly,” I said, holding his gaze. He let out a frustrated sigh.
“He will die,” he said, matter of factly.
“By your hand or your father’s? Or will it be the hired help? Mr Weston here.” I looked at Falkner. His smile was one of amusement not surprise.
“I’m only here to watch the show,” he commented mildly. His voice was deep and melodic. Almost hypnotic in nature. It oozed self-confidence and unending control, it slithered down his expensive suit and pooled on the floor at my feet. Tempting. This man was dangerous.
“They all die, Lara,” Kyan said and somehow that changed the atmosphere in the room.
“It’s time,” Marcroft senior announced. “She won’t let him die. Accept her willingness and let us begin.”
Both Falkner and Nathaniel turned away, leaving me with Kyan. I watched as Falkner picked Eagle up and carried him from the room. Then Nathaniel crossed to Carole and whispered something in her ear.
Whatever was about to happen was about to happen. Marcroft reached up and tied a piece of soft material around Carole’s mouth. Then slipped a dark coloured cloth bag over her head. She didn’t even struggle.
“Kyan?” I said, as he started to do the same to me. “Your father is sick,” I said quickly. “He killed Samantha Hayes. Weston, Falkner, whatever you call him, he beat Malcolm Warren to a pulp. They’re both going away for a long time.”
The gag came up to my lips.
“Listen to me,” I begged. “You are an accessory to these crimes. I can help you.”
A Touch Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2) Page 32
