The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  Rage threatened to overtake him. Lillith. Remember, they’ll hurt Lillith.

  He stepped out of the pants and managed to tug the shirt off. Seth turned to face him, a syringe in one hand and a vial of amber liquid in the other. “Got to give you this first, just in case … you … ” Seth trailed off and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Jesus, kid, how are you still standing?” Concern flooded his eyes, and he took his elbow and steered him to the bed. “Here. Sit.”

  Gabriel perched gingerly on the edge of the mattress. Seth put the syringe and vial on the desk and went to the cabinets, muttering under his breath. “…frigging goons. Didn’t need to … bad idea, told him not to …”

  Seth stalked back to the desk and deposited an armful of supplies. Selecting an alcohol wipe from the pile, he tore it open and swabbed a spot on his upper arm, then filled the syringe. “Antibiotic,” he explained, lightly grasping below the disinfected area. He plunged the needle in. The liquid burned, and Gabriel grimaced.

  “Sorry. The best way to do it is fast. You’ll need another few doses of that. Damn.” Seth crouched to eye level with him and sighed.

  “I know Jenner didn’t do all this. He messes with minds, not bodies.” He waved to indicate the bruises blanketing his torso and stomach, and the damage to his face. “I suppose you have Apollo to thank for it.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “That was Diego and Nails, mostly.” He touched the corner of his mouth. “This was Slade.”

  A brief spasm of anger crossed the doctor’s face, but fled quickly. “And those?” he asked, pointing to the gauze around his wrists. No longer white, the bandages were crushed and stiff, rust-brown with dried blood.

  His lips pressed together at the memory. “I was tied. Rope. I didn’t know what was going on, so I wanted to be ready in case I could get out. I …”

  “You what?” Seth gripped one of his forearms, pulled the wrist closer and touched one of the bandages. Pain sizzled through him and drew a wince. “You’re telling me you did this yourself? Did you try to break the ropes or something?”

  He nodded and looked down. “I almost had my hands out. If Slade had waited just a few more minutes…” Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to take him down, but if he could have—

  Damn it. Lillith had been right outside the door. So close. This nightmare wouldn’t be happening if he’d only gained that last inch. He had failed.

  “Marcus, you stupid, greedy son of a bitch,” Seth said through his teeth. He released him abruptly and stood. “We’re going to have to soak those bandages off. Who put them on?”

  “Jenner,” he whispered. “He made me … he had a needle. Stuck me right through here.” He held a hand over his chest, but didn’t touch the tender spot. “Made me put the chains on. Told me not to sleep. Left me there all night.”

  “I’m sorry,” Seth said at last. “He shouldn’t have … I’m sorry.”

  Yeah, you’re sorry. The bitterness nearly choked him. But you won’t do anything about it.

  Seth shook his head. “I have to check you before I can start fixing you up. It’s going to hurt. Do you want to take something first? I have codeine, Vicodin, Percocet—”

  “No. No drugs.”

  “All right, then.” Seth favored him with an odd look, shrugged and stood. “I’ll be right back.” He entered the small bathroom. The light came on, and water rushed in a sink.

  Run!

  Gabriel was halfway to his feet and measuring the distance to the door when realization clobbered him, and he collapsed back on the bed. He’d never find his way out of here. He barely knew where he was. Besides, if he did manage to escape, what would happen to Lillith? He had to bide his time, to find out more about this place and the people in it.

  And he had to learn where they were keeping his sister.

  Seth returned carrying a plastic basin half full of water. Now he was brisk and economical in movement, professional in demeanor. A doctor, despite his casual attire. He set the basin on the desk and knelt in front of his patient.

  Cool, skilled fingers skimmed Gabriel’s ribs. He grunted and gripped the edge of the bed.

  Seth probed and frowned. “Abrasions mostly, but I think you have a few small fractures — here, and here. Christ.” The professional mask slipped for a moment. “Nothing I can do for broken ribs. They’ll have to heal on their own. I’ll wrap them, though. That should help control the pain.”

  Seth straightened and grabbed a wide roll of elastic bandage from the desk. “I’ll need you to stand up and raise your arms.”

  Taxed shoulder muscles sent sharp, stabbing needles down his back as he complied. He stifled a groan.

  “Sure you don’t want any drugs?” Seth asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Your funeral.” Seth wrapped the bandage taut around his ribs. The compression shifted the dull ache in his torso to a pitched groan, and he clenched his teeth, felt perspiration bead at his temples and streak down his jaw line. At last, Seth secured the end of the bandage with two metal butterfly clips and stepped back.

  He let his arms fall.

  “All right. You can sit down, and we’ll take care of those wrists.” Seth fetched a folding stool from the cabinets, placed it in front of him and transferred the basin to the stool. “Here. Soak. Make sure both the bandages are immersed.”

  He lowered his hands and wrists into the warm water. The pain intensified for a few seconds, until the water soothed the sting. He watched doctor assemble peroxide, ointment, and fresh bandages. Maybe he could find out something more about this place if he talked to the guy. “So, how did you end up here?”

  Seth froze. Without looking at him, he said, “You mean what’s a nice doctor like me doing in a place like this?” The statement held unmistakable bitterness, but Seth seemed to recover quickly. “Sorry.”

  The doctor glanced into the basin, where dissolving blood clouded the water. The frayed ends of the gauze drifted and wavered in gentle motion. “I was — I lost my license,” Seth said. “I treated prostitutes, in the open. People in the circles I worked in didn’t like it. Then I screwed up some meds, I guess, and … a girl died. Take your hands out.”

  He lifted his arms clear. Seth whisked the basin away and placed a towel on the stool. He snagged a small pair of scissors, cut a section of the sodden gauze and began to unwind it.

  Pain choked his voice when he continued. “I knew a girl who used to work for Slade. She brought me here to see if I could keep taking care of the girls. I still had contacts for supplies, prescription drugs. Shit like that. This is going to hurt.” He reached for the peroxide, opened it, tilted the brown bottle and splashed clear liquid on his abraded skin. Foam hissed and bubbled at the wounds, and Gabriel clenched his jaw against the sting. “You’ll have scars here,” he said. “I don’t have the right stuff to prevent it.”

  Gabriel gave a slow shrug. He had other scars. Two more wouldn’t matter.

  “Anyway, Slade offered to pay me a lot to stay here, play doctor and keep my mouth shut.” Seth used a clean towel to pat the excess moisture away and began to wrap a new bandage around the wound. His eyes came up. “End of story.”

  Both remained silent while Seth repeated the process with the other wrist. He cleaned and dabbed ointment over the open skin on his face, stood, and cleared the supplies away. Finished, he sat in the wheeled chair behind the desk. “Well, turnabout’s fair play, right? So even though I already know, what are you doing here?”

  “I came for my sister. But how could you know that?” Frustration chipped at the deliberate barriers he’d set to keep his temper in check. “How does Jenner know so much about me? And why was Slade looking for me? Damn it, none of this makes sense!”

  “Whoa. Breathe, kid.” Seth inhaled sharply, as though he were demonstrating the process. “I can’t tell you much. Jenner — he’s a psychiatrist by day and a lunatic by night. Well. He’s a lunatic all the time. Unfortunately, he and I have mor
e in common than I like to think about. As for Slade … let’s just say he’s well connected. You haven’t exactly been discreet looking for your sister, right? He already had her. So now, it’s a matter of leverage.”

  “But why? Why me? What does he want from me?”

  “Whatever he can get.”

  Gabriel shuddered at the quiet fury pulsing through the doctor’s words. Seth seemed about to elaborate, but sounds from the hallway stopped him. The office door opened to admit Slade. Apollo stood behind him, scowling, his arms folded across his chest like a child denied a treat. A huge, heavily muscled, angry child.

  Fresh apprehension drilled down Gabriel’s spine.

  “Are we through here?” Slade addressed Seth, but Gabriel received the full weight of his stare.

  “Yeah, but I’ll need him back tomorrow,” the doctor said. “He needs more shots, and those bandages will have to be changed.”

  “Fine. Come along, Mr. Morgan. I’ll show you to your … room.”

  Gabriel stood with exaggerated slowness, and Slade raised a hand. The handcuffs dangled from his loose fist.

  Slade expected him to hold his arms out for them. Son of a bitch.

  “Don’t put those on him,” Seth said before he could manage to goad his weary limbs into movement.

  Slade shot the doctor a warning look, but Seth held his ground. “I just cleaned his wrists. They’ll never heal if you keep him cuffed, and he can’t train like that.”

  Slade displayed a slight smile. “Very well, doctor. But I’ll remind you that I am in charge of our boy here, and you are to stay out of it. As promised.”

  Seth nodded. “You know I keep my promises, Marcus. Just lay off the cuffs for now. I’m sure the kid will behave himself.”

  Slade turned to him again, and a sly grin graced his features. “Oh, yes. Mr. Morgan won’t step out of line again. Will you?”

  Gabriel didn’t answer.

  Slade stepped forward. His fist blurred, too fast to see — but Gabriel felt it ram his stomach. He doubled over, and his breath left him in a rush.

  “I asked you a question.” The smile fled.

  “Y-yes … no,” he gasped. “I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  Slade turned to leave, but Seth said, “Wait, Marcus. I need to talk to you. Can you have Apollo bring the kid up for now?”

  Slade hesitated. “All right. I have a little time. Apollo, take Mr. Morgan upstairs.” As he faced him, Gabriel straightened with hatred searing his chest. “Go. I’ll deal with you later,” Slade said.

  Gabriel took a step, stopped, and turned to look at the doctor. “Thank you, Seth,” he said softly.

  Seth looked taken aback, and shook himself slightly. “Call me Doc. Everyone else does.”

  “All right,” he said. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Yeah. Sure, kid.”

  With a final glance at Slade, Gabriel moved past him and out the door, where Apollo waited for him with malicious glee.

  Once the door to Doc’s office closed, Apollo reached out with a speed that belied his size and dug his fingers into Gabriel’s arm. He had to run to keep from falling as he was dragged down the hall and toward the stairs they’d ascended earlier.

  Another flight in the stairwell led up. Apollo climbed them quickly, maintaining his grip, not bothering to wait for Gabriel to catch up. His shins banged every step. When they reached the landing of the third floor, the bigger man hauled him up and flung him against the wall.

  “Keep up, boy.”

  Gabriel glared at him. The bastard knew he damned well couldn’t.

  Apollo led him down yet another hallway, and he forced himself to concentrate on moving his legs. This hall, too, featured lines of closed doors, though it seemed somehow darker than the second floor. They reached the end of the hall and turned left into another endless corridor of doors. Just before the next corner, Apollo stopped and opened one of them. A wooden staircase stood inside, swimming in shadows and dusty with the cobwebs of long neglect.

  Apollo jerked him forward and sent him crashing into the stairs. Blackness flooded his vision, chased by white starbursts. Consciousness wavered and returned. He shook his head and wobbled to his feet.

  “Get up there.” Apollo stood framed in the doorway, his backlit bulk radiating menace.

  Without a word, he turned and mounted the stairs. Heavy footsteps followed. He reached the top, complete blackness, and waited.

  An arm pushed past him. The sound of a doorknob turning, hinges squealing, echoed in the stairwell. A fist drove into his spine and knocked him through the doorway onto a rough floor.

  Brutal, mocking laughter filled the darkness. “I’ll get my hands on you eventually, you little shit.” More laughter, and the door slammed shut. A click announced a deadbolt sliding into place. Vibrations of massive feet tromping down stairs shook the floor.

  Gabriel didn’t get up. Couldn’t get up. For the second time in as many days, conscious thought left him, and he drifted in a black void.

  “Marcus, the kid’s pulverized. Did you really think it was necessary to turn him over to Jenner so soon?”

  Doc struggled to keep his voice down. Screaming at Slade would get him nowhere … or worse than nowhere. But the House leader had gone too far this time.

  He'd seen some bad shit since he started working for Slade. Fighters with shattered bones, or knife and gunshot wounds they didn’t dare hit the public ER with. Men with faces so obliterated their own dealers wouldn’t recognize them. One of them had lost a finger in a bar brawl, back at the beginning. That one had since decided there were safer career options than underground fighting.

  This kid, though. Christ, he’d seen corpses in better shape, and the kid was still walking around taking orders. Slade damn well knew he’d keep doing it, too.

  Slade’s expression didn’t change. “Yes, Seth, I did find it necessary to consult Jenner. The situation is — different, to say the least. I don’t usually have to force anyone to fight for me, but I believe this boy will be worth my trouble. So far he’s proven to be everything I’ve suspected he is.”

  “What? Brave, tough, and stupid? If his sister wasn’t here, he’d either escape or die trying before he let you and your goons near him.”

  “In that case, it’s a good thing his sister is here, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not!” Doc forced his jaw to unclench. “Damn it, Marcus. Not everyone in the world exists to make you money.”

  “They have to make money for someone.” Slade favored him with a chilling smile. “In business, the biggest payoffs come from calculated risks. I’ve calculated this one, and I intend to have it pay off enormously. The boy’s a solid investment.”

  “He’s not a fucking investment,” Doc spat. “He’s a kid. A human being.”

  “Not for long.” The smile stayed in place. “When I get through with him, young Mr. Morgan will be a fighting machine. My machine. And I keep what’s mine.”

  Something inside Doc withered at the words. “You’re not going to let him go.”

  “Of course I will. Provided he meets my conditions,” he said. “It’ll be his own fault when he finds out he can’t.”

  “This is low, Marcus. Even for you.”

  Slade’s complacent expression evaporated. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

  “You didn’t. I’m giving it to you free.” He narrowed his eyes. “After all, you always enjoy getting something for nothing.”

  “Why, Seth. You seem to have grown some balls while I wasn’t looking.” Slade stepped closer with wicked promise in his eyes. “Watch your step, doctor. I can assure you that federal inmates don’t make nearly as much as I’m paying you.”

  Damn him. Slade had a knack for helping anyone who crossed him look forward to twenty-to-life, without a whiff of suspicion coming his own way. He’d seen it happen more times than he cared to think about.

  “Stay out of this. Do your job, and keep your mouth shut. I won’t tell you agai
n.”

  Slade turned and left the office. The door closed. Doc collapsed in his chair, head bowed, and blinked back regret.

  He couldn’t save the kid, any more than he could save himself.

  Chapter 10

  Light shimmered at the edges of Gabriel’s closed eyes. Voices rose and fell, ghosts in a misty forest, garbled words strung together in the wrong order. Kid … get dangerous … criminals sick … fuck sister …. He couldn’t discern the spoken words from his thoughts.

  Where was he? His eyes didn’t seem to work. Only light-drenched shadow existed. Snatches of memory played out in his head, gray and crackling like homemade movies. Seth — Doc — who wouldn’t get involved, but he had stopped Slade from cuffing him again. Apollo, dragging him through deserted hallways and into darkness, leaving him … somewhere. Here.

  Someone spoke, a heated voice. The words refused to form in his ears. He had to move before there were consequences, but his mind remained mired in fog.

  The voice intensified. “Get up.”

  Wait. He tried to say it aloud, but none of his muscles responded. His tongue sat idle and motionless in his mouth.

  A shock of bitter cold engulfed him, driving the haze away. He choked and spluttered, and his eyes flew open and attempted to focus. He lay on the floor. Wood this time, not concrete. Moisture coated him, soaking skin and clothes. Fever sweat, he assumed before he noticed the puddle of water around him.

  He raised his head. Slade stood over him, a still-dripping metal bucket dangled from one hand.

  “Ah, so you are still alive. Good for you.” Slade pointed to his right. “Drink what’s in that cup there, and then I have shoes for you. You’ll be training today. I want you in shape soon so you can start fighting.”

  Gabriel pressed his mouth tight and dragged himself into a seated position. How long had he been unconscious up here? Hours? Days?

  The cup Slade had indicated sat on a small table two or three feet from him. Its contents were thick and foamy, the grayish-yellow color of used dishwater. But whatever it was, he couldn’t refuse the stuff. The bastard would only hurt Lillith.