Fragile

by Shiloh Walker

  Luke knew better. It might only take him a second or two to get to Tony, but Tony would already have a round chambered in that fucking Beretta, and it would take the other man even less than a second to put a bullet in either one of them. He’d willingly take that bullet, but not if it meant leaving Devon alone with one very dangerous man who’d lost his damn mind.

  His tone casual, Tony moved around the bed, settled on the other side. “I kept asking myself how I needed to end this game. A few days ago, I figured it out. All I’ve done until now is watch her. Slip her a bit of ketamine every now and then. You know what that shit does to the mind, buddy, don’t you? Makes you wonder what’s real . . . what isn’t . . . Makes you wonder if it really happened or if it was some bizarre nightmare. And shit, is she easy to control. All I had to do was whisper what I wanted her to think . . . and she thought it.”

  Shit. Ketamine, too. Damn it all to hell, no wonder Devon had thought she was going crazy. The dreams that shit could cause, that alone could be pure hell. But somebody purposely drugging her, toying with her vulnerable mind while she was under the influence . . . Shit, shit, shit.

  Devon stared at Luke, her drugged, glassy eyes wide and terrified, as Tony reached out and ran his hand down her midsection, from her breastbone to her pelvis. “They cut Elena open, man. From her neck down to her belly, they cut her open. She was alive when they did that, and she died covered in her blood, their semen. They raped her, beat her, sliced her up like some animal, and left her to die.”

  With a laugh, he reached out and flicked one of Devon’s nipples. “The pretty Lab came right to me, Devon. And when I cut her open, I was thinking of you and wondering if you’d whimper and whine while you died like the dog did.”

  “You,” Luke said through stiff lips. “You’re the one who killed the dog.”

  Tony snorted. “Of course it was me. You didn’t really think it was that dumb-ass, psychotic leatherneck, did you?” He knelt down on the bed beside Devon, and Luke felt his muscles coil and tense, his body prepared to lunge, capture, destroy. He was going to kill Tony. It was simply fact, and because he had every intention of seeing it happen, he didn’t let his body respond as Tony trailed his fingers down Devon’s rib cage, circled her belly button and then lower, brushing the tops of her thighs. “I knew what he was doing. It was fun to toss a few things in here, there, watch the cops stumble around like some shit-faced teenagers who can’t figure out which way is up.”

  Tony brushed his knuckles against the russet curls between Devon’s thighs, but then his hand moved back up. “It’s even more fun now.” His voice was a low, insidious whisper that burned a hole inside Luke’s gut. “Watching you put it all together. You ought to be happy, buddy. She wasn’t alone all those nights you were at work. I was here with her.”

  A grin split his face, and he shrugged. “Of course, she thought it was you. Every time she screamed, every time she said your name and begged you not to hurt her . . .” His lids drooped, partially shielding his eyes. “And now you’re wondering what all I did. Did I fuck her? You wouldn’t ever know, not unless I tell you. And neither will she.”

  “You didn’t.” Forcing the words out was like vomiting up acid, painful and unending. “You wouldn’t do it without making sure I knew exactly what you were doing, or what you planned to do. That’s what this is all about. Punishing me for something.”

  “No. It’s not about punishing you for something. It’s about punishing you for everything.” Tony shook his head.

  The humor, that sly, amused smile, so terrifying because it seemed so normal, faded from Tony’s face, and he shoved to his feet, pointing the gun at Luke. “Everything, you dumb fuck!” he bellowed. “You take a damn bullet in the leg, and then you decide, ‘That’s it, hey, I’m done.’ What about the rest of us? You left your team, you left your brothers out there, and when we started dying off one by one, you showed up at the funerals like it was nothing. Like you didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

  His voice dropped. “But you did. It all started when you left. It’s your fault Max is gone. It’s your fault Adam’s gone. Collins. You fought with them, side by side, and then you just walked away.” Tears glittered in his eyes, but Tony wasn’t even aware of them as he whispered, “And Elena. She’s your fault, too.”

  Luke knew better than to try reasoning with somebody who had so clearly lost his grasp on sanity. Staring into Tony’s pale blue eyes, he tried reason anyway. “Yeah, it’s my fault. Mine, not hers. You’re a soldier, Tony. You don’t punish the innocent—you protect them.”

  Tony’s lip curled. “She’s your little slut, Luke. That makes her not one of the innocent.” He stooped down by the bed, grabbed something from the floor.

  “Get that chair and pull it closer to the bed.”

  Glancing back at the overstuffed chair by the window, Luke looked back at Tony and then turned, grabbed the chair, hauled it until it was close enough that his feet would touch the bed if he sat down in it.

  No. Not if. When. He had a sick feeling he knew what Tony was planning. Stall.

  Stall somehow. It was the only thing he could do. The atcatamin was short-lived. Powerful shit, but short-lived. And thank God, Tony hadn’t given her too much, because if he had, Devon would already be dead. But maybe, just maybe, if Luke could stall long enough, the drug Tony had pumped into Devon would wear off.

  God, please, God, he prayed in desperate silence as he turned to look at her again.

  If he could stall long enough, maybe the cat would wear off, and she could get the hell out of here. If she got away, Luke didn’t give a shit what happened to him. So long as he didn’t fail her again, so long as he took Tony with him.

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  Tony smirked. “Long enough. I knew back when we buried Adam that you’d have to pay for his death, for Elena’s, for Carpenter, for Collins. Been watching you, off and on, ever since then.” A disgusted look entered his eyes, and he shook his head. “You went and got soft, man. Six years ago, there’s no way somebody could trail you without you realizing it.”

  “The man who helped train me could have.”

  With another one of those eerie laughs, Tony said, “Oh, now you’re going to flatter me. You’re stalling . . . Don’t think I don’t know that. But it’s a waste of time. The drug won’t wear off in time for her to stop me.” He tossed a black duffel on the bed and nodded toward it. “There’s some more atcatamin in there. I only used a couple of cc’s on her, but you’ll need more. You do the math, Dr. Rafferty; figure it out. But I’m watching you.”

  “What am I drawing it up for?” Another pointless question that he knew the answer to. But he’d be damned if he’d stick that needle in his flesh, damned if he’d let Tony do what he was planning.

  “You know what it’s for. This stalling tactic is lame, Luke, and you really ought to know better. You can stall all damn day, and it won’t matter. Nobody’s coming to help you, Luke. There’s no team hiding in the shadows to back you up. You damn well saw to that. It’s just us.

  “She can’t scream for help, and you know that if you try, I’ll put so many holes in her, she won’t even look human when I’m done.” Then Tony smiled at Devon and asked, “Or do you want me to say it out loud for her benefit? You want her to know how I’m going to paralyze your ass, then tie you upright to that chair so you can watch me fuck her raw?”

  Devon moaned. Maybe it was Luke’s wishful thinking, but the sound wasn’t as strangled and choked as before. A little clearer.

  He watched her from the corner of his eye as he pretended to fumble through the contents of the bag. Yeah. Her chest was moving better. Drugs like these were dangerous; they could paralyze the diaphragm and stop breathing if too much was used. Atcatamin was even worse; it wasn’t regulated, tested. Nothing. The unlabeled vial could have God knows what else inside it.

  But if her chest was moving better with her breathing, then the effects were starting to wear off.


  More, when he’d turned to grab the chair, he’d seen something else from the corner of his eye.

  Taking his time, he filled the syringe, draining the vial. “Leave some extra in there for your bitch, Luke.”

  “I’m twice her weight,” he said, staring at the murky white fluid in the syringe’s barrel, flicking it a few times. Air bubbles drifted to the top, and he eased the plunger up a little to get rid of them. “You want me out of commission; you won’t be able to give me any less than this.”

  “Oh, thanks for being so cooperative, Dr. Rafferty,” Tony said mockingly. “That’s okay. It’s not like I’d need much for her anyway. Would have thought you’d go for a real woman, Luke, not some whiny bitch who’s scared of her own shadow.”

  He smiled and leveled the gun at Devon’s head. “Do it, man.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw, and he lowered his gaze to Devon’s, stared into her terrified gaze for a long moment. I’m sorry, he mouthed. He jerked his gaze away, as though he couldn’t stand to see her pale, scared face. Glanced at the window.

  “That’s sweet, Luke. Tell it to God, though.” Tony squeezed, ever so slightly, on the trigger of the Beretta in his hand.

  Luke tore his gaze from Devon’s face, looked at Tony. “Okay. Just don’t . . . don’t kill her.”

  Tony laughed.

  Luke dropped the syringe, faked a fumble-and-grab, and went to his knees. As soon as he dropped, glass exploded. Taking advantage of the few seconds of distraction, Luke grabbed Devon and hauled her off the bed, thanking God for her slight weight. Shoving her under the bed, he paused only long enough to grab the syringe from the ground, and then he pivoted and braced himself as Tony lunged.

  Lifting his forearm, he blocked the first wild swing. There was blood on Tony’s face, probably from the glass that went flying when Quinn had shot out the window. Whatever happened now wouldn’t matter. Even if Tony killed Luke, it wouldn’t matter.

  Because Tony had been wrong. Luke had backup, and he hadn’t even realized it. Quinn had been crouched on the roof of the house next door, and it wouldn’t matter if Tony managed to take Luke down or not.

  If Luke died, Quinn would kill Tony.

  Devon would be safe.

  That was all that mattered.

  The blood dripped into Tony’s eyes, blinding him. Sliver-thin cuts marred the right side of his face, and like most facial and head wounds, those cuts were bleeding like a son of a bitch. With a mean grin, Luke dodged another jab, this one a little bit closer to home. “Don’t you hate trying to fight with blood in your eyes, man?”

  “Going to gut you,” Tony rasped. “Gut you and while you lie dying, I’m going to do the same to your bitch.”

  He swung again, this time with the hand that held the Beretta, and although the punch went wide, the muzzle caught Luke’s cheekbone. Pain flared, his eyes watered, but he ignored it. He didn’t need to see all that well to grab Tony and beat the life out of him. With all the rage and adrenaline fueling him now, he could find the man blindfolded.

  He brought his foot up and out, hitting Tony’s weapon hand. The gun went flying. Tony roared and lunged. Luke, still holding the syringe, met him head-on and wrapped one arm around the other man’s waist, hooking his foot behind Tony’s. Once, they’d been a spot-on match for height and weight, but the past few months had eaten away at Tony, and although the bastard was strong, he didn’t have the weight behind his strength anymore. They crashed to the floor, Luke riding Tony down. Lifting the syringe, he stabbed it into Tony’s neck and pushed the plunger down.

  Tony’s head smacked up against the floor, and he bucked, dislodging Luke before he’d emptied the syringe. Luke rolled to the side, searching for the syringe as Tony came up, swinging. That was when Luke saw the syringe; it was still buried in Tony’s neck.

  Luke watched as Tony took another swing. This one wide, erratic, and wild.

  The third and the fourth punches were almost comically slow. Tony staggered to a halt and gave Luke a dazed, confused look.

  Luke watched as Tony reached up, touched his fingers to the syringe protruding from his neck, wrapping his hand around the barrel and jerking it free.

  It fell to the floor. “You sorry fuck.” Tony’s words were slurred, his voice thick. He weaved on his feet, stumbling back and crashing into the wall. “You . . .” He stopped, rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “You can’t have it. Can’t—ain’t right. Your fault.”

  From the corner of his eye, Luke saw a flash of white flesh. Devon. Relief crashed into him as he realized she was moving around a little. But he didn’t go to her, not yet. Not until he knew she was safe. Knowing the drug would most likely affect Tony’s coordination and his sight, he edged away from the bed, keeping Tony’s attention focused on him. “Why is all this my fault, Tony? What in the hell did I do?”

  Tony licked his lips and swallowed, watching Luke as though he couldn’t quite understand what Luke was talking about, or even where they were. He closed his eyes for a second, rested his head back against the wall. “You left. Left the team. Everything—” He stopped, once more licking his lips.

  As Tony’s eyes remained closed, Luke took one step, then another toward the other man. But on the third step, Tony’s eyes flew open, and his rage had managed to penetrate the drugged fog. “You left us. It all went to hell because of you. Elena’s dead because of you. You don’t get to have a life.”

  Tony reached behind him, his reflexes slowed by the drug, but still, he moved too damn quickly. Quickly enough to draw the gun he must have tucked inside the back of his pants. Luke lunged for him just as Tony lifted the gun to aim.

  Tackling him, Luke sent both of them crashing to the floor. He grabbed Tony’s wrist, slamming it into the floor, struggling to get the gun. Although Tony’s reflexes were hampered and his movements stilted, almost jerky, the bastard was strong.

  Too damn strong. Snarling, Luke finally managed to wrench the gun away, reversing it in his hand and bringing the butt down, clipping Tony across the temple. His eyes rolled back, but Luke hit him a second time, not quite trusting the man to stay down.

  There might have been a third time, a fourth, a fifth, if a hand hadn’t caught his wrist, stopping Luke in midstrike. He snarled and jerked without recognizing Quinn, but his brother didn’t let go. “Enough, Luke.”

  “Can’t be.” Luke’s voice was hoarse, reedy. Shaking his head, he repeated, “It can’t be enough.”

  “Has to be.” Quinn squeezed Luke’s wrist once more and then reached for the gun.

  He let his twin have it, and then he shoved to his feet as fast as he could, desperate to get away from Tony. “He moves, shoot the fucker.”

  A mean smile curling his lips, Quinn said, “Happy to.” Then he glanced down, the smile fading as he looked at something on the floor just beyond Luke.

  Devon.

  SHE was imagining things again; Devon knew she was.

  Except she hadn’t been imagining anything. Her head ached, throbbed. Felt like her head was stuffed with cotton, too, and thinking hurt. But she hadn’t imagined all the stuff that had been happening.

  She wasn’t going crazy. She really wasn’t.

  She wasn’t going crazy, and she wasn’t dreaming, she realized, as Luke helped her out from under the bed. As he settled on the edge of the bed, cradling her in his arms, she saw the man lying on the floor, his face battered, his eyes closed. It was a man she didn’t recall ever seeing before.

  A total stranger.

  A stranger who was responsible for terrorizing her for months. A stranger who had killed a dog and then killed Curtis Wilder during the assault on her. But not out of an altruistic moment. He’d done it because he couldn’t fuck with her, and thereby fuck with Luke, if Devon died.

  Licking her lips, she lifted her head, tried to focus on Luke’s face, but her vision blurred, danced around like a ballerina on speed. Instead of trying to see his face, she leaned into him. Shivers racked her body, an
d she started to quiver and shake. Why? She needed to know why. But all she could manage was a hoarse, “Wuh—” Her mouth, her throat, they were so dry.

  “Not now, Devon,” he said softly, shaking his head. He grabbed something soft and warm, wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking it around her. As the scent drifted up to surround her, she realized it was his robe again.

  The warmth of his body pressed against her, his scent surrounded her, and she told herself again that she was safe.

  Safe. And as she sat on his lap with his arms holding her close and tight, she didn’t feel afraid. Not once. Not even when she could find the strength and control to lift her head and look at the other man, a man who looked like a mirror of Luke.

  Except the eyes. The eyes were cooler, harder, cynical. A twin. A twin who had appeared out of nowhere and was now standing over the body of a total stranger, holding a gun in his hand.

  Different, but not.

  In a flash, all the ugly, hated dreams rushed at her, and as she stared into eyes that were so similar to Luke’s, Devon waited for panic to set in. Waited for some bizarre sense of déjà vu. It was like looking at a nightmare come to life, somebody with Luke’s face, Luke’s eyes; even their hands looked the same to her. Inside that man, Devon could sense a darkness, an icy anger that was capable of nearly anything.

  But the panic never came. Slumping against Luke, she closed her eyes and sighed. Whatever drug had been pumped into her had worked to freeze her vocal cords as well as her muscles, effectively silencing her.

  But now she could breathe again, maybe even talk. Her heartbeat sped up, and she welcomed it. For a while there, her heart had felt heavy, leaden within her chest.

  Luke’s hands stroked up and down her back, his voice a soft, nonsensical whisper in her ear. Devon felt herself relaxing back against him, no longer fearing that she was going to die, trapped inside her body like a prisoner at the hands of some madman. She opened her mouth, wondered if she could finally speak.