by Rebecca York
She fought not to tremble as she stared at the forbidding house that looked nothing like the drawing Henri had showed them. Those had held no hint of the fortress confronting her. She shuddered, thinking that if she went inside, she would not come out alive.
They landed, and the door of the ship opened.
“Get moving.”
She might have tried to run, if she hadn’t been afraid she would get Max and Rafe killed.
They were shoved out of the ship, and she almost lost her balance. But one of the guards caught her arm and jerked her up. She was hustled toward a high, wide doorway, and as she stepped through, her fear rose to clog her throat.
She looked around the entrance chamber that had been a flat rectangle on paper. Now she saw that it was a massive room, bigger than any of the huts in the swamp rat camp.
Every aspect of the interior screamed “obscene luxury.” The ceiling was impossibly high. The walls and floor were of polished stone, glowing in places where hidden lights were positioned. Against one wall was an intricately carved wooden side table with a metal vase of flowers, of all things.
It felt like several centuries passed before a man emerged from a door at the other end of the room.
This had to be the powerful Elgin Tudor, although he didn’t look particularly impressive. He was not tall. His face had a slightly pudgy look, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his hair was an unnaturally dark black from the dye he apparently applied to maintain the color. He was dressed casually in a gray tunic, pants and high leather boots.
His gaze flicked to Max and Rafe, then focused on her. She didn’t have to fake a wave of terror as she confronted him. This was a man who took pleasure from hurting women. From torturing them to death. Sickened by everything he represented, she lowered her head, giving a good impression of the cowering slave she was supposed to be.
“You are not permitted to hide your face. Raise your head for your new master,” Tudor ordered, his voice sharp. When she didn’t comply immediately, the man holding her wedged a hand under her chin and jerked her head up, making her neck muscles pull sharply and her ears ring with the sudden movement.
She watched Tudor sweep his gaze over her body, stopping at her hips and waist. “Take the vest off her,” he ordered the man who held her. The guard roughly yanked the garment off her and tossed it to the floor.
The master of the house grinned as he ogled her breasts.
“Who prettied you up for me?”
When she shrugged, his voice rang out. “Answer me.”
“The women.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you will tell me later,” he said, his hot gaze sweeping over her face and body again, burning her flesh. “My Naxion dealer promised me a beauty with an excellent figure. That part’s not a lie,” he bit out before his voice softened. “And worth the wait. I’m going to enjoy you.”
Dismissing her for the moment, Tudor focused on Max and Rafe. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Max made an angry sound. One of the guards charged at him, and Max kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor.
From his position on the polished marble, the guard reached for his weapon.
“No,” Tudor screamed. “Remember, what I said. I want them alive—for now.”
The order said volumes.
The security men went into what must have been a prearranged formation. Six guards handed their weapons off to two who backed to the sides of the room and dumped the extra beamers onto a hidden shelf under the table at the side of the room. The two guards who retained their weapons stood back, keeping their beamers trained on Max and Rafe.
Max straightened, his eyes meeting Amber’s for a split second before he turned his full attention back to the circle of men surrounding him and Rafe. Both were standing with their arms at their sides, looking relaxed and at the same time alert.
Another guard charged forward. Before he could reach Max, Rafe stepped between them and slammed a fist up and under his chin. He made a wheezing sound and fell to his knees.
Seeing what had happened to their compatriots, the rest of the guards hung back while the two on the floor slowly got to their feet.
This time four guards came forward at once, two going for Max and two for Rafe.
These four were better fighters than the previous lot. Their tactics were coordinated, forcing Max and Rafe to divide their attention between one man and then the other—leaving little time to recover from one parry before another struck.
She saw her heroes take sickening blows, but even outnumbered, they gave better than they got. Both fought with a skill she hadn’t realized they possessed. Still, the hand-to-hand combat raged in front of her like some kind of horror show—an entertainment for Tudor alone. Max and Rafe were fighting for their lives.
Max went down on one knee, but he was up again almost at once and charging forward to seize a guard around the waist, lift him off his feet and dash him to the floor.
Two men pummeled Rafe, but Max leaped to his rescue, pulling one man off and slamming him against the rock-hard wall.
A pile of men, some with what looked like broken bones, were now writhing on the white marble with blood spreading out in several patches. Max and Rafe were still standing but breathing hard.
But two armed guards still held the back of the room.
Was there any way to defeat these men? Or would they disobey Tudor’s order not to shoot?
Then a noise in the doorway grabbed Amber’s attention. To her horror, she saw three more guards blocking the entrance.
Both Max and Rafe saw them too. Gods, what now?
She was so intent on the scene before her, that she didn’t notice Tudor edging up beside her. With a grunt of satisfaction, he grabbed her, holding a beamer to her left breast as he pulled her back against his body
“Enough,” he called out. I’ve got the woman. Stop fighting, or I’ll burn a hole in her pretty boob.”
Queasy
Chapter Twenty-Two
Both Max and Rafe went stock-still. Both looked queasy as they watched Tudor press the beamer to her flesh.
Max held up his hands in surrender. “Okay.”
Tudor looked at the new guards who had come in. “Restrain them.”
Two of the blue-uniformed men came forward. One backed Max against the wall. The other did the same to Rafe. The henchmen manipulated four of the wall tiles, revealing metal rings, another proof that Tudor had been waiting for their arrival. When Max and Rafe were secured to the shackles, both breathing hard, the guards stepped back. It all happened so fast that Amber barely had time to blink.
“That’s better,” Tudor said, sounding more relaxed, and Amber realized that he hadn’t been quite as confident as he’d appeared. He shifted slowly, stepping far enough to the side so that he could meet Amber’s gaze. “That was quite a show of old-fashioned chivalry from your knights in tarnished armor. It seems they have an investment in you.”
“No,” Max answered, but she saw the look of horror on his face.
Ignoring the denial, Tudor asked Amber in a conversational voice. “Did you fek both of them?”
“No.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Addressing Max again he said, “I’ve been wondering whether you were going to show up, after that incident on the Freedom Station.”
Amber couldn’t hold back a small strangled sound.
She didn’t have to ask what incident.
Tudor addressed her again as he said, “When Cortez didn’t deliver you as expected, I contacted eyes and ears in places where you might show up. The two men who tried to bag you were found dead on Freedom Station. It looked like they had killed each other over some petty dispute. But what if that was a setup? What if they’d really run into you—and your friend? I couldn’t discount that possibility, so I kept digging. And I contacted my spy in the Swamp Rat’s camp.”
When Amber sucked in a sharp breath, he grinne
d at her.
“What spy?” she asked.
Instead of answering the question, he went on taunting them. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep up with the goings-on over there? Those men think they are so macho, but really they are like little boys playing warriors and lording it over their women.”
He set his beamer on the table so that his hands were free, then stepped behind Amber once more. Bringing his arms up in the parody of an embrace, he cupped her breasts, stroking them like a lover. His touch made her skin go cold and her stomach knot. When she heard an angry growl from across the room, she kept her gaze down because she didn’t want to see Max’s face.
Tudor’s touch grew worse as he gave a savage twist to each of her nipples, making her cry out.
“I can tell you’re dying to know who is working for me over there. Is it one of the women? That arrogant bitch who’s married to Gatroux? One of the young bloods?”
When she made a low sound he continued, “I know a lot about them. My spy brings reports when he’s supposed to be hunting. He’s a devious lad. Guess who it was.”
“LaTour,” she spat out.
His hands went still.
“How do you know?”
“I saw his face as we were getting ready to leave, and I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.”
“Well, no matter. I made sure my guys didn’t harm him when we took down some of the eager marsh pigs. He’ll still be there to keep me up on the camp.” He laughed. “He would have brought the guards this morning, if you hadn’t played with everyone’s head.”
From across the room Max made an angry sound, but Tudor ignored him, still speaking to her.
“Let’s get you secured too,” he said. “Horizontally with your legs in stirrups so I can have a good look at your cunt.” He turned to one of the men in blue. “Bring me the medical table from the other room.”
Lowering his mouth to Amber’s ear, he gave a painful bit to her lobe, then said, “If I don’t find your maidenhead intact, I’ll have to cut the balls off your friends.”
Amber whimpered. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought it might break through the wall of her chest. Everything that had happened in the past few days played through her head, and the scene with Camille and the knife came into sharp focus.
Her captor flattened his hand against her crotch, making her jump.
“Ah. I see I’m frightening you. I like that. But why are you so scared? Because you know I’ll find out what you’ve been doing?” For emphasis he slid his hand into her most private flesh, pressing painfully.
Amber fought desperately to hold herself together, knowing that she would have only one chance to save herself—and Max and Rafe.
Making her voice shaky, she begged. “Don’t hurt me.”
“You wish,” Tudor answered, pressing his swollen cock against her bottom, letting her know how much he was enjoying this. The knowledge made her sick, and at the same time gave her a jolt of hope. He thought he had this horror scene under his complete control.
Because the slave girl now cowering in fear was no threat to him, he stepped from behind her. Amber swayed when his body no longer held her upright and had to stiffen her legs to keep from falling over.
As Tudor saw her waver, he laughed.
She kept only one thought in her mind as she reached up to pull the blade of the hair ornament from its sheath. She was remembering seeing a butcher slaughter a swine, remembering how the man slashed the animal’s throat from one edge to the other and how the blood spurted from arteries on either side.
In one swift motion she reached out and brought the weapon down, aiming for Tudor’s neck and slicing the razor-sharp knife horizontally across his carotid arteries.
He gasped and grabbed at her wrist, his grip still strong as he yanked her hand back. But the damage was already done.
“You . . .” The word came out as a bubble of sound.
She stared at him, hardly able to believe what she’d just done. Blood spurted from his neck as she wrenched away from him. He scrabbled for the knife, grabbed her hand and pointed the weapon toward her chest. But she clenched her teeth and kept her muscles locked, maneuvering the weapon downward and stabbed him in the thigh. As he gurgled another sound of pain, she raised her foot and landed a solid kick in his stomach.
He fell back against the wall, clutching at the neck wound, trying to stop the spraying blood that gushed from between his fingers. His eyes bulged as his expression turned to disbelief, but his gaze was already going cloudy. He stayed on his feet for a few more seconds, then toppled to the floor. Blood spread in a crimson lake around his head, staining the beautiful tiles. As she watched, his lips moved, but no sound came out. Then she saw the life go out of him.
She dragged her gaze away from his bloody body, sucking air into her lungs and gasping it out again. Only seconds had passed, but everything had changed.
Too dizzy to stand on her own now, she leaned back against the wall, still hardly able to grasp what she had done. Perhaps it was Max’s voice that kept her from fainting.
From where he was chained to the wall, he was speaking to the remaining guards—some stirring on the floor and some still standing. “Your master is dead. You’d better unshackle us and get the hell away from this place before the swamp rats get here and slaughter you.”
“The swamp rats?” one of the blue uniforms answered, his angry gaze on Max as he raised his beamer. “They’re too scared of us to try anything stupid.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Behind the man who had raised his gun, Amber pushed herself along the wall toward the table where Tudor had laid his weapon. She saw Max watching her and mouthed, “Stall.”
Max addressed the guard. “Wait. Perhaps we can offer you more than you got from Tudor.”
“Like what?”
“We have a very successful trading operation. And we have jewels that can’t be traced. I can compensate you very well for letting us go.”
Amber could see Max keeping his focus on the man—not her. She reached the table. As quietly as possible, she picked up the beamer.
“And how would I get these jewels?”
“Let us go, and I’ll take you to our ship.”
The guard scoffed. “Nice try.”
As he swung his weapon toward Max, she drilled him from behind, and he dropped to the floor with the others.
For a moment there was utter silence in the room. Then she caught a noise outside that sounded like a herd of running feet.
For a terrible moment she thought more guards were coming. But it wasn’t a contingent of blue uniforms. Instead, men from the Inheritors’ camp poured through the door. They used their beamers to kill the remaining guards. Only when they were all down did they turn to Max and Rafe, attacking their shackles with axes and freeing them from the wall.
“Watch out,” she heard Max warn as they freed him. “There’s one more guy—in the back.”
Two of the Inheritors pounded across the room toward the interior door. It was just opening as the unsuspecting guard pushed a medical table through the opening. They shot him in the chest, and he sprawled on the horizontal surface.
The rescue team worked so fast that Amber barely had time to catch her breath. Her gaze flicked from the invading force to the men lying on the floor. Tudor’s private security force. They had killed a lot of the swamp rats—and now they had gotten the same treatment.
Movement on the other side of the room caught her attention. It was Max, making his way around the pile of bodies. When he reached her, he pulled her to himself. She leaned into him, feeling her knees threatening to give way.
“Is it over?”
“Yes.”
She heard his words, but she was hardly able to believe him. She had lived with this threat hanging over her for so long, and now the man she feared most in the universe was vanquished.
“Thank the fates you’re all right,” Max murmured.
“And you.�
�
“Let’s get out of this house of horrors.”
He picked up her vest and led her along the side of the room and toward the door.
She twisted around to look back, fixing the scene in her mind. “So many dead.”
Someone behind Max spoke, and she saw it was Gatroux. “They chose to work for an evil man. And they have paid the price.” He turned to Max. “How did you manage it?”
He answered with a harsh laugh. “We didn’t. Tudor had us chained to the wall. And he thought he had a petrified woman under complete control.”
“Then how?” the head man asked.
“He was . . . molesting her . . . and . . .”
Amber slipped on the vest, covering the almost transparent fabric over her breasts. “I had a small knife with me, and I knew that if I didn’t use it, we were all dead.” She pulled the hair ornament free and showed it to him. “The blade was inside this. It’s on the floor next to Tudor. Someone should clean it, then give it back to me.”
“It will be done.” He gave her an appraising look. “My apologies. I didn’t know you had such fortitude.”
“I had no choice,” she answered. “The knife was a present from . . .” She stopped and started again. “From a friend. Thank the gods she gave it to me.”
“I want to get her out of here,” Max said. He kept an arm around Amber, holding her close as he quickly shepherded her into the cool air.
The chief went into the building, and Max pulled Amber into his embrace. Still coming to grips with what had happened, she started to shake.
“It’s over. You’re all right.”
Was she?” She still couldn’t be sure.
Max held her and soothed her. “You were so brave. You saved our lives.”
“I didn’t know I could go through with . . . killing someone. Even him,” she said, wanting to hear herself acknowledge what she had done. “But I had to, to keep him from killing us all.”
“Yeah. I know. And, as you said, thank the fates you had that knife.” He looked at the hair ornament that was still in her hand. Camille gave it to you?”
