The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  It was almost funny. In order to save Lillith now, he had to fight.

  The memories of life with their father burdened him more than the effort to stay on his feet. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back. Sleep sunk claws into his mind, demanding entrance.

  He lifted an arm and deliberately smacked it against the wall behind him, and the pain jerked him fully awake again. Better a brief flare than the agony he would have to endure if he lost consciousness and his body’s weight dragged against the cuffs. Once he went down, he wouldn’t be able to stand again. At least the gauze Jenner had wrapped his wrists with provided some cushioning, though a few thin ribbons of blood had drizzled down his arms despite the protection.

  How had this happened? He still couldn’t understand why Lillith was with Slade. Had she run out of money, made a stupid mistake? Or had Slade just grabbed her off the streets?

  She’d come to New York to interview for the graduate program at Adelphi, and she’d never returned. He'd reported her missing, but the police had been little help. She was an adult, after all. There had been a search, but finding a single person in a city of eight million was like looking for one particular jellyfish in the Atlantic Ocean. The police relegated the case to extremely low priority, which Gabriel had translated to ‘who cares.’ So he’d set off on his own.

  He’d found her. And once again, he would have to rescue her from a sadistic keeper who preferred to hurt him in her place.

  The prospect failed to relieve him.

  He lost all sense of time. Staying on his feet consumed every resource left to him. Head lowered, he stared at the floor. Would anyone come for him? Maybe they’d decided he wasn’t worth the trouble and had left him here to rot.

  At last, the door opened and closed with a hollow bang.

  And he thought: Not Jenner. Please, not Jenner.

  Hating the weakness his fear implied, he forced himself to raise his head and face the approaching figure.

  “Good morning, Mr. Morgan.”

  The formal name and steel tone informed him it was Slade — thank God, not Jenner — before he made out the man’s face. His captor walked the length of the room and stood in front of him. Slade’s smug expression provoked an urge to throttle the bastard. He couldn’t do anything but glare.

  “Well,” Slade said after a pause. “I see your long night hasn’t improved your temper.”

  He replied with silence.

  “All right. There are other ways to get respect from you.” Slade’s hand slid inside his jacket and came out holding a cell phone.

  A growl escaped him.

  Slade laughed. “Don’t worry, little one. For now, your sister is safe.” With a wry gaze fixed on him, Slade dialed. The call was answered quickly.

  “Send Apollo down here.” Slade disconnected and replaced the phone in his jacket. Arms crossed, he nodded up at the manacles. “I’m going to open those.” He stepped forward, reached up, and unfastened the first of the restraints.

  Gabriel’s arm dropped to his side, a dead weight. He tried to brace himself, knowing damned well he’d end up on the floor once nothing held him upright.

  Slade released the other cuff, and Gabriel collapsed at his feet with a groan. “I did warn you to cooperate with Jenner,” Slade said. “Next time you’ll listen, won’t you?”

  He tried to answer, but returning circulation sent streams of pins and needles through his arms and torso, forcing him to concentrate on not screaming.

  Slade prodded his shoulder hard with a foot. The pins and needles became knives and daggers. “I said, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” he gasped. “Damn it, yes!”

  “Get up. You need to move. I don’t have all day to supervise you.”

  Maybe you shouldn’t have kidnapped me, then, you dumb son of a bitch. He gritted his teeth and attempted to push his upper body from the floor. His wrists throbbed and buckled. Fresh blood created wet spots on the dark, stiffened gauze encircling them. His face barely missed smashing on the concrete.

  He stilled, drew a breath and rolled on his side. After several tries, he sat with his back against the wall. He inched up the surface, shuffled his feet back each time he gained height.

  At last, he straightened. Bastard. “Happy now?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  The door opened and drew their attention to the end of the room.

  “Apollo.” Slade gestured impatiently.

  Apollo walked toward them, passed a bundle of black cloth to his boss, and shot Gabriel a look of pure venom. His mouth twisted in a snarl that transformed his squashed face into an ugly mask. Gabriel returned the disgust full force.

  Slade ignored the tension between them and deposited the bundle at his feet. “Put these on and leave your shoes here. You’ll have another pair later.”

  He didn’t move.

  “What are you waiting for? I said get dressed. Now.”

  “Make me, you sick fuck.”

  Apollo lunged. Slade held out a hand and stopped him in mid-action. One step brought Slade so close he could feel the heat of his breath, but he refused to back down.

  “Don’t try me, boy. Or have you already forgotten whose life depends on your actions?”

  Lillith. He drew a long breath, forced hands clenched in involuntary fists to relax and dropped his gaze to the ground. Apparent resignation seemed the only way to satisfy the man.

  “That’s better.” Slade stepped back and gave him room to follow orders.

  As he crouched to remove his battered sneakers, his muscles screamed in protest. He wrestled the shoes off, pushed them away and picked up the first item in the pile at his feet: a plain black, long-sleeved shirt. As quickly as his strained shoulders would allow, he pulled it on over his head.

  The pants, also black, were thin nylon with a drawstring waist. He peeled off his jeans, using the wall to support his back, kicked free of the garment and stopped. Gasping for breath, he regained enough control to put on the pants.

  When he’d finished, Slade nodded to Apollo. The big man reached into a back pocket. Something metallic rattled, and Apollo produced a set of shining steel-blue handcuffs.

  Slade took them and turned to him. “Arms forward, Mr. Morgan.”

  Hatred knifed his gut as he obeyed. He hissed when the metal bit his abraded wrists through the gauze, then waited for his captor to make the next move.

  “Follow me.” Slade headed for the door, and he trailed him with hesitant steps. His legs burned with the effort of movement.

  Apollo fell in behind and pulled the door closed when they left the dungeon.

  The heavy steel had slammed shut on everything Gabriel had been. For six months he’d carried everything he owned, never staying long in one place during the relentless search for his sister. Now his wallet, his clothes — his entire life — lay in a crumpled heap behind that door.

  He didn’t look forward to finding out what waited on this side.

  Chapter 8

  Slade led them through a narrow hall and up a flight of stairs. At the top, a door opened on a darkened room that appeared to be a storage closet. Another door waited on the opposite wall. Slade threw it back and the light that flooded through seared Gabriel’s eyes after so long in the dark.

  He stumbled after his captor into what looked like a high-end hotel lobby. The small, round light fixtures recessed into the ceiling were almost invisible, and the cream-colored walls seemed to cast a glow of their own. Clusters of velvet couches, overstuffed chairs and low, polished coffee tables furnished the area. The deep carpet was soft on his bare feet, the rich scent of flowers and coconut oil permeated the air.

  But he noted only the windows and doors, trying to remember possible escape routes.

  Slade slowed the pace. With the opportunity to breathe came an urgent, painful need to urinate. Before he could figure out the best way to ask and somehow sound polite, despite wishing he could bash the man’s skull in, Slade faced him and seemed to read his mind.
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br />   “There’s a bathroom there.” Slade pointed to a sliding wood panel set in the opposite wall. “Go use it, and be quick.”

  Asking to be released from the cuffs would be an exercise in futility — and would probably earn him more pain. Instead, Gabriel nodded assent and moved toward the indicated door.

  He shut himself in the small single bathroom and heaved a shuddering sigh. At least Slade hadn’t sent the hulking Apollo in here with him. An unseen fan whispered from somewhere near the ceiling. To the right was a pedestal sink with an ornate oval mirror on the wall above it. A plush chair stood against the far wall. There were no windows here.

  He shuffled to the toilet and fumbled with the drawstring at his waist. The loose pants puddled around his ankles, and he wiggled free of his boxers. For a few seconds, nothing happened. He started to think he’d just have to live with this dull, terrible weight in his groin.

  Then a stream of scalding urine shot from him without warning. His knees buckled, and he leaned on the tank to keep from collapsing.

  Panting, he shifted his cuffed hands to the side and pushed the lever down. The yellowed water swirled down the drain, and bile rose in his throat. He willed the nausea away and struggled to his feet to re-dress.

  He faced the sink and labored to turn the cold water tap. The handcuffs jarred against the metal faucet and produced loud, echoing clinks in the tiled room. The tap spun slightly and emitted a small stream of water. He cupped his hands awkwardly beneath the flow and caught some, brought it to his lips and drank what he could before it slipped out. Just enough to ease the sandpaper dryness that coated his tongue and throat. After splashing water on his heated face, he raised his head to mirror level and inspected the damage.

  A thoroughly beaten man looked back at him. A wicked multi-hued bruise surrounded one eye, a bright green slit just visible through a web of dried blood. Above it, a deep gash marked the impact of Nails’ gun. Below, the welt from Jenner’s antenna drew a raised line from his temple to the bridge of his nose. Another bruise darkened the opposite cheekbone, compliments of Slade’s vicious backhand. Dirt-streaked skin and stiff, tangled black hair topped it all off.

  He straightened, slid the door open and stepped out. Apollo stood directly to the right, an oversized guard dog. Slade’s piercing eyes looked him over, studied him for what seemed like minutes. Maybe he’d done something wrong again.

  At last, Slade turned and strode through yet another door. Gabriel followed without prompting, and refused to look at the lurking giant behind him.

  The short hallway ended in a spacious commercial kitchen devoid of life and movement. They proceeded between an island counter and a bank of shining steel appliances, veered left and entered a large dining room where round oak tables flanked by captains’ chairs rested on a carpet the color of red wine. Curtains of the same shade draped a row of tall, arched windows, and at the center of the domed ceiling hung an ornate crystal chandelier.

  The pungent odor of cigarette smoke laced the air, and the lone man seated at a table by a window didn’t bother looking up to see who had intruded on him. He stared outside, his sock-clad feet on the edge of the table. A lit cigarette dangled casually from the hand resting on his propped legs.

  He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. Slade cleared his throat. The man tipped his head back, blew an idle stream of smoke at the ceiling, and at last turned to regard them with clear brown, smiling eyes.

  “Seth,” Slade said. “Nice of you to join us.” The edge in his voice dulled when he addressed the man, and he almost sounded friendly.

  Seth’s smile migrated to his mouth. He ground the cigarette out in an ashtray, swung his feet to the ground and approached.

  Slade waved a hand. “This is the boy I told you about. He’s had a rough night. Get him something to eat, then bring him upstairs and have a look at him. I’ll come for him later.” He produced the ring of keys, unlocked the handcuffs and removed them. “Do what Seth tells you, boy, or I’ll find out about it. You won’t like what happens next.”

  Slade left the vague threat hanging in the air, though Gabriel hadn’t needed clarification.

  After Slade walked out, Gabriel glanced at Seth and dropped his gaze. This guy seemed friendly, but he doubted he’d stay that way. He waited for the inevitable insults, mockery, or pain.

  Seth offered him a warm smile, but not his hand. “Why don’t you go and sit down over there, and I’ll fix you a sandwich or something.”

  He couldn’t return the smile. But he moved past Seth and walked to the indicated place, lowered himself into a chair and propped his arms on the table while Seth entered the kitchen. The man returned promptly with a plate in one hand and a mug in the other, and set them down in front of him.

  Without bothering to check what kind of sandwich it was, Gabriel picked it up and bit into it. He barely tasted it. His only thought was to eat, to stop the trembling in his muscles and the massive headache brewing behind his eyes.

  The other man stared, then shrugged and resumed his window watching until he’d finished eating. He lit another cigarette. “So,” he said through a cloud of blue smoke. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Got it.” Seth started to grin. “Gabriel. My favorite angel.”

  He shot to his feet without thinking. “Don’t say that!”

  Fast as it had taken him, the surge of adrenalin drained and he slumped back down. Slade would find out and grant him another visit from his sadistic sidekick — or worse, hurt Lillith. Shit. He had to control his damned temper.

  “Whoa. Okay, kid. Sorry.” The perpetual smile lingered on Seth’s face, and hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe Seth wouldn’t report the little outburst to Slade.

  Seth gave him a curious look. “Do you want to tell me why not, though? I have to admit, you got my attention.”

  “Jenner calls me that.”

  Seth’s eyes widened. The cigarette drooped in his hand. “You’ve seen Jenner already?”

  “Yeah.” And meeting the man once had been more than enough. Maybe if he acted like a good dog, did what Slade told him, he’d never see his lieutenant again.

  “Jesus.” Seth whistled softly. “If you’ve been with Jenner, I’m sure you’re in pain. Do you need anything — drugs, maybe?” At his questioning glance, Seth said, “I’m a doctor. Well, sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “It’s complicated.” Something in Seth’s expression closed, like a light turning off, and his attention drifted to the world outside the window. He didn’t elaborate.

  Gabriel didn’t push for details, and after a few thoughtful drags, Seth turned back. “Cigarette?”

  “Sure,” he said without thinking much about it.

  Seth picked up the pack from the table and shook one loose for him, then handed him the blue plastic lighter. He hadn’t smoked since high school, but he figured it was just like riding a bicycle. Once you learned how, you could never unlearn.

  He spun the wheel, touched the end of the flame to the cigarette, inhaled — and discovered he was only part right. His body remembered how to do it, but his lungs had forgotten how to deal with it. He started coughing with the first drag. His eyes watered. Smoke seemed to come not just from his mouth, but his nose and ears as well.

  Amusement danced in Seth’s eyes. When the coughing subsided, he said, “First time?”

  “Um. It’s been a few years,” he wheezed. Seth laughed, startling him, but after a minute Gabriel joined him.

  He managed to relax a little and finished the rest of the smoke without incident, then snubbed it out in the ashtray between them. Seth stood and waited for him to get up. He rose, and the man sighed. A frown emerged on his pleasant face.

  “Kid, I have to tell you something.” The frown deepened. “I don’t approve of what Slade is doing with you, but I’m not going to make waves either. Just so we get things straight between us. I won’t make things any harder for you while you’re here, bu
t I can’t make them any easier. I don’t expect you’ll understand. But I can’t, so don’t ask. All right?”

  “Right.” The fragile shell of relief he’d built in the past few minutes shattered. He hadn’t really expected anything in the way of help, but he’d at least hoped this self-professed doctor would treat him like a human being — something no one else in this place seemed inclined to do.

  Apparently, he’d been wrong.

  Chapter 9

  “You’d better walk in front of me, just in case. I’ll tell you where to go.” Seth kept his back to Gabriel while he gave orders, as though he couldn’t bear the sight of him. “Head back through the kitchen, same way you came in.”

  The constant throbbing ache of his injuries made Gabriel slow, restrained his movements as they retraced the path to the lobby. He knew he should pay attention to where they were going, in case some miracle allowed him a chance to find Lillith and get out, but the effort seemed futile. They headed up a flight of stairs and through a hushed and darkened hallway with closed doors. Exhaustion stalked him, sapping his strength and his will. At the end of the hall, he stumbled through the open door the doctor indicated.

  He stood on legs made of rubber and waited for Seth to come in and close the door. The room kind of looked like a school nurse’s office. To the left of the door, a massive desk displayed an oversized paper calendar stuffed into black vinyl corner tabs. At a right angle to the desk was a low bed made with military precision: pillow square and full, blanket pulled tight without a wrinkle. Beige metal cabinets lined the right-hand wall. A door near the end stood open on a darkened bathroom, smaller than the one in the lobby below. Directly opposite the room’s entrance, a deep blue curtain hung in another doorway.

  Seth brushed past him to open one of the cabinets and rummage through it. “Get undressed, kid.”

  With trembling hands, he reached for the drawstring of his pants. If what he’d been through so far was any indication of the new life he’d been thrust into, he couldn’t expect anything good now.