It was funny how Simon had never once thought it might be the police out there, as if he didn’t believe the Undertaker would bring the police to the party.
Edward stared down the barrel of that gun, looked past it, into Simon’s eyes, and the look was his usual look. His eyes were cold and empty as winter skies. There was no fear. There was no anything. It was like he wasn’t there at all.
Edward may have been calm, but I wasn’t. I’d seen enough bad men to know that Simon meant it. More than that, he wanted to do it. He’d feel safer if Edward were dead. I was out of ideas, but I couldn’t just stand here and watch it happen.
“Tell them, Undertaker, or I will blow your head all over this porch.”
“Even if I asked, they wouldn’t come.”
Simon pressed the barrel in, so that Edward had to brace his feet against it to keep from being pushed backwards. “You better hope they come. We don’t need you alive, just her.”
“I need him alive,” I said.
Simon’s eyes flicked to me, then settled back on Edward. “Lying bitch.”
“Are you a witch, Simon?” I asked, though I knew the answer. I’d have spotted it if he had been a practitioner.
“What the fuck does that matter?”
“Then you don’t know what I need to do this spell, do you? Your boss would be pissed if you blew away someone I needed to keep him safe from the monsters.”
“Why do you need him?” Deuce asked.
I swallowed and tried to think; nothing good was coming. I tried for truth. When I’m out of other options, it still works. “Riker said he wouldn’t hurt the kids. He said he wouldn’t hurt us. He said he just wanted me to save him from the monster. If you blow . . . Ted’s brains into the next county, then I’m not going to believe any of Riker’s other promises. The second I think that Riker is going to kill the kids and us once I do the job, then I don’t have any incentive to help him.”
Simon’s eyes flicked to me again. “We can give you incentive.” I didn’t see him nod, but I felt Mickey moving behind me. I’ve never been good at taking a blow. I moved without thinking and he missed my shoulder, but I’d been right. He knew how to fight. I was turning towards him to do what, I’m not sure, when the butt of the gun caught me on the chin. I think I’d made him mad by ducking because he hit me hard.
The next thing I knew I was on the ground, looking up. Deuce was kneeling by me, stroking my face. I had the impression he’d been petting me for awhile, as if I’d passed out. I didn’t remember passing out. The sunglasses were gone. I didn’t know if Deuce took them off, or if they flew off when my head went back.
“She’s awake,” Deuce said, voice sort of dreamy. He gave me a gentle smile and kept stroking my face.
Simon knelt by me, blocking out the light. “What’s your name?”
“Anita, Anita Blake.”
“How many fingers?”
I watched his hand move back and forth, following it with my eyes. “Two.”
“Can you sit up?”
It was a good question. “With help, maybe.”
Deuce put his arm behind my back and lifted me. I let him take a lot of the weight, not because it was necessary, but because them thinking I was more hurt than I was might make them think I was less of a threat. We needed some sort of edge.
I rested against Deuce’s shoulder. He was humming something tuneless under his breath, his hand cupping my face, stroking the skin, over and over. I was finally able to see everything. Edward was on his knees with his hands clasped on top of his cowboy hat. Rooster had a gun touching his head. Edward didn’t look hurt. More like they’d done it to keep him from doing anything heroic.
Mickey had a bloody lip. He was carefully not making eye contact with anyone.
“Can you stand?” Simon asked.
“With help, yeah.”
“Deuce.”
Deuce helped me to my feet, and the world wavered. I clung to Deuce, hands digging in as the world tried to slide out my ear. Maybe I wasn’t pretending to be hurt.
“Shit,” Simon said. “Can you walk if Deuce helps you?”
I started to nod, and that made me nauseated. I had to breathe through it before I could answer him. “I think so.”
“Good. Let’s go.” He backed into the house, eyes watching the darkness beyond, though with all the lights his night vision was probably shit. Deuce and I went next. He had Edward’s wire hung around his neck like a doctor’s stethoscope. Edward was next, hands still firmly on top of his head. Rooster, then Mickey bringing up the rear. They staggered us so that if someone started shooting, there was room to maneuver.
Simon started up a flight of stairs. I looked up the long flight and the world swam. Deuce called, “Simon, I’m not sure she’s up to stairs.”
“Mickey.” The man in question moved up to the foot of the stairs. “Carry her.”
“I don’t want him touching me,” I said.
“I didn’t ask you, either of you,” Simon said.
Mickey gave his gun to Simon, then took my arm. He pulled me too fast and I was suddenly airborne on his shoulder, my head hanging down. I couldn’t breathe. The world was spinning, and I was going to be sick.
“I’m going to throw up.”
He dumped me unceremoniously back to my feet, and I fell. It was Simon who caught me. “Are you too hurt to do the spell?”
I knew the answer to that one—no. Because if Riker thought I couldn’t help him, he would kill us all. “I can do it if Mickey here doesn’t dangle me over his shoulder with my head hanging down. I need to stay upright, or it’s not going to get any better.”
“Carry her in your arms, not over your shoulders,” Simon said. “All those muscles got to be good for something.”
Mickey picked me up in his arms like you’d carry a small child. He stood there like I weighed nothing. He was strong, but carrying like this is harder than it looks. We’d see how he did if there was more than one floor to climb. Here’s hoping he didn’t drop me.
I put my arm around his shoulders. I’d have clasped hands around his neck to be more secure, but I couldn’t reach around his deltoids without straining. “How much do you bench press?”
“Three-ninety.”
“I’m impressed,” I said.
He preened a little. Mickey was dangerous, but if I could keep him from hitting me, he was the weak one. Rooster followed orders too well. Simon was Simon. Deuce seemed harmless, but there was something in those dreamy eyes that was a little scary. Maybe I was wrong, but I’d try Mickey before I tried Deuce, for trickery anyway. Arm wrestling, I’d take Deuce.
Mickey walked up the stairs with me in his arms, effortlessly. I could feel the muscles in his legs pushing, working. Again, I had the sense of immense physical potential and quickness.
“What’s Mickey mean?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Simon explained his nickname, I’m just wanting to know what yours means.”
Deuce answered. “It’s for Mickey Mouse.”
“Shut up, Deuce.”
“He’s got a tattoo of Mickey on his butt,” Deuce said as if Mickey hadn’t spoken.
Mickey’s face darkened, and he turned to glare at the other man. I just fought to keep my face blank. What kind of moron would have Mickey Mouse tattooed on his butt? But not out loud, not with those tree trunk arms wrapped around my tender body. If I hadn’t had the marks on me, he’d have probably killed me with that one blow. No, I didn’t want Mickey angry with me.
There was a landing, and a second flight of stairs. Mickey didn’t even hesitate on the landing. He just went for the next set of stairs. His legs moved as easily up the second set as the first. He never paused to catch his breath. In fact, his breathing barely sped up. Whatever you could complain about Mickey, being out of shape wasn’t part of it.
I told him so. “How far you jog a day?”
“Five miles, every other day. How’d you know?”
“A lot of bod
y builders would be having trouble by now. They neglect the aerobic stuff, but you move like some kind of well-oiled machine. You’re not even breathing hard.” There was something very intimate about being carried in someone’s arms like this, a reminder of childhood and your parents’ arms maybe.
Mickey’s hands tightened on me; the one on my thigh began to massage my leg. I didn’t tell him not to. It’s been my experience that if a man is interested in having sex with you, they hesitate to kill you before they’ve had the sex. This rule is not always true, but more often than not. The trick is to get the man thinking more about sex than violence, so he’s a little confused. We needed a little confusion among our enemies right now.
We were in a wide white hallway that ran the length of the top of the house. There were white doors with silver knobs. Nothing differentiated one door from the other. Simon went to the farthest door, and Mickey followed with me in tow. I could see Deuce following, and Edward just topping the last stairs with Rooster behind him, walking well back out of arm’s or leg’s length. These guys were good. I’d gotten to where I counted on the bad guys not being this good. Even if they were vampires and werewolves they’d be unprofessional. But I’d never been around professional bad guys that were this professional. It cut our options from bad to worse.
Simon opened the door. We were here. We were still alive. The night still had possibilities.
56
MICKEY sat me down near the middle of a very nice Persian rug. He kept an arm around my shoulder, as if it had been his idea to carry me. I gave his arm a squeeze before I stepped away from him. Didn’t want to be slutty, but wanted him hopeful in case it was useful. The room looked like the study of a prosperous academic. There were antique maps framed on the walls. Shelves lined almost every extra space of wall, a lot of books that looked well read and well used. There were books open on the big leather-topped desk with bookmarks in them and sticky notes covered in writing, as if we’d interrupted someone’s research.
A man sat behind the desk. He was a big man, both tall and wide. Not fat exactly but headed that way. He rose from his chair with a smile and walked towards us, hand outstretched. He moved with a confident, easy stride, like an ex-athlete going soft with normal living. His dark hair was cut very short and mostly bald on top. His hands were big, and the new weight showed in the hands where a college ring was beginning to cut into his flesh. He had calluses on his hands like he wasn’t afraid to do the real work himself, but the calluses were losing that hard edge, softening, smoothing back into his skin. He’d probably done some of his dirty work once, but no more.
He gripped my hand with both of his, when one of his hands could have swallowed both of mine. “So glad you’re here, Ms. Blake.” He said it like I’d been invited instead of blackmailed.
“I’m glad one of us is glad I’m here,” I said.
The smile widened, and he let my hand go. “I am sorry for our little theatrics. Simon called up and said he thought Mickey had broken your neck. So happy that he exaggerated.”
“Not by much, Mr. Riker.”
“Are you feeling well enough to do the spell? We could have some tea first, let you rest.”
I managed a smile. “I am grateful that we’re being all civilized, and coffee would be great, but where are the children?”
His eyes flicked past me to Edward. He still had his hands clasped on top of his hat, but at least they hadn’t made him kneel again. “Ah, yes, the children.”
I didn’t like the way he said it, like it was going to be bad news.
“Where are they?” Edward asked, and Rooster hit him in the back with the gun again. It staggered him, and he had to wait for it to pass before he straightened up. His hands never left his head, as if he knew they were looking for an excuse to hurt him again.
“You promised us that they wouldn’t be harmed,” I said.
“You were late,” Riker said.
“No,” Edward said.
“Don’t,” I said, as Rooster raised his arm back for another blow. He did it anyway. Fuck. I turned back to Riker. “Every cruel thing you do helps convince me that you have no intention of any of us getting out of here alive.”
“I assure you, Ms. Blake, that I intend to let you go.”
“What about the others?”
He gave a small shrug, and walked back behind his desk. “Unfortunately, my men think that Mr. Forrester is too dangerous to be allowed to live. I do regret that.” He sat down in his nice swivel chair, elbows on the chair arms, thick fingers steepled. “But he will serve a useful purpose before he dies. If you are reluctant, we will take it out on Mr. Forrester. Since we intend to kill him anyway, we can do anything we want to him, and it doesn’t really matter.”
My stomach was a hard knot, my pulse beating in my throat hard enough that I had to try twice to talk. “What about the kids?”
“Do you really care?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
He reached behind the desk and pressed something. The rear walls of the room slid open, revealing enough equipment to make NASA proud. There were four blank TV screens, but somehow I didn’t think this was Riker’s new Digital Television system.
“What the hell is all that for?” I asked.
“That is not really your concern. I have signaled for additional men to be brought up. When they arrive, then I will show you the children.”
“Why the additional men?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” he said.
We didn’t have long to wait. Four men came through the door. Two I recognized: Harold of the scarred face and Newt who I’d nearly made a soprano. Harold had a shotgun, and Newt his big nickel-plated .45. But it was the two men behind them that were the problem.
One was tall and planed down to nothing but muscle and dark, burnished skin. He didn’t have Mickey’s bulk, but he didn’t need it. He entered the room surrounded by a cloud of his own violent potential. He set my lizard sense screaming, as if it knew here was someone to avoid. He had the same gun the other pros were carrying, but he’d added knives. At his forearms, his upper arms, both hips, and even hilts sticking up from behind his shoulders. It was very primitive somehow and very effective. If he’d walked into a cell, you might have dropped to your knees and begged for mercy.
The other one was just medium height, medium brown hair cut short, not too dark, not too light, not too anything. He had a face that you wouldn’t remember two seconds after you saw it, because he was not handsome enough or ugly enough to stand out. He was one of the most unmemorable people I’d ever seen, and yet when his brown eyes swept over me, met mine for a second, I felt a jolt all the way down to my feet. One flash, and I knew that of the two men, he would kill you quicker.
He had the same submachine gun the others had, but paired with what looked like a .10 mil automatic. I didn’t recognize the brand. My hands aren’t big enough for a .10 mil so I don’t pay that much attention.
“Simon, I want two men on both of our guests.”
“Make it four on him,” Simon said.
“I bow to your expertise.”
Rooster made Edward get on his knees. Simon made Mickey go to Edward. I guess he didn’t want to risk the Muscle Man hitting me again. If they killed Edward early, they still had the kids to blackmail with. Simon sent the medium man to Edward, and Simon himself took up a post by Edward. They thought he was a very dangerous man, and they were right.
The nausea had been fading, but all the preparations were making me nervous. I was afraid of what we were going to see. If they hadn’t been afraid to show us, they wouldn’t have had four men on Edward. I was left with Deuce and the knife guy. Harold and Newt stayed near the door. Harold seemed nervous.
Deuce touched my arm, tracing the mound of scar tissue at my elbow. “What did it?”
“Vampire.”
He raised his shirt up, and his stomach was a mass of white scars. “Mortar round.”
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say
. But I was saved from the decision because the knife guy grabbed my arm and turned me to look at Riker. He kept his hand on my arm, and since his hand completely encircled my upper arm, it wasn’t going to be easy to get away.
“Show time,” Riker said. He hit another switch, and two of the monitors flickered to life. Black and white film of cells. At first, all I saw was Russell’s back in one room, and the Amazon Amanda’s back in the other room. Then my eyes saw legs sticking out from around the woman. Legs in jeans and jogging shoes, ankles tied together. Too big for Becca. Had to be Peter.
She’d stripped down to the waist, and that broad muscular back made everyone in this room look frail except for Mickey. It was only the length of her hair that made me guess her. She leaned forward, revealing more of Peter’s body. She’d pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees. She was playing with him.
I looked at the floor, then back up.
She tried to kiss him, and when he turned his head away, she slapped him twice hard, first one cheek then the other. There was already blood on his mouth as if it wasn’t the first time she’d hit him. She leaned back in for the kiss, revealing small tight breasts to the camera. She kissed him and this time he let her. Her hand never stopped working on his body.
I turned slowly to look at the other monitor. Please, God, please, don’t let Russell be doing the same thing to Becca. He wasn’t, and I was grateful. He’d turned with her on his lap, as if he knew he had an audience to play to now. He cradled her like you’d hold any small child, but he’d pinned one small arm, and two of the fingers on the tiny hand were at a bad angle. He broke a third finger while we watched, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream.
“Shall we have sound?” Riker asked.
Becca was screaming high and piteous. Russell cradled her and murmured soothing things. He stroked her hair and looked directly at the camera. His nose was still packed and bandaged. He knew we were there.
Peter’s voice came high. He’d never sounded more like a little boy. “Please, don’t. Please stop!” His arms were tied behind his back, but he was still struggling.
Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10 Page 185
