The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  “Him?”

  “Jenner.”

  No. Too soon. He wasn’t ready. He could barely stand. Sick with dread, he made his way to the cot and settled at the foot. His head dropped as he resigned himself to the inevitable. Even if by some slim chance Slade went easy on him in light of Duke’s cheating, he’d receive no mercy from Jenner.

  Doc opened the door. “What?” he snapped.

  A pause, then Jenner’s soft, chilling voice. “Come now, Dr. Stephens. You know why I am here.”

  “You’re early, you slimy son of a bitch.”

  “I am precisely on time,” Jenner said. “It has been forty-eight hours since the boy lost. You may wish to consider whether stalling is the best alternative for you at the moment … angel.”

  Gabriel stood, almost without realizing his intention. He crossed the room and put a hand on Doc’s arm. “It’s all right, Doc. I’m ready.”

  “No, you’re not.” Doc stayed in the doorway, blocking his exit. “Jenner, he’s in no shape to…” The doctor glanced at him, and then looked back at the emotionless lieutenant. “Please. Don’t you think he’s been through enough already?”

  “It is not my decision to make, doctor. If the boy wishes to plead his case, he will have to take it up with Marcus.”

  Gabriel detected disgust in Jenner’s tone. Strangely, it seemed directed at Slade.

  “Believe me, I will,” he said. “Don’t worry, Doc. Whatever he’s got planned, I can handle it.”

  “Interesting assertion. I doubt you will be able to maintain it for long, though.” Jenner stepped back with a slight gesture. “I suggest you let the boy through.”

  Doc glowered and moved aside. “You’re bastards. You and Marcus both.”

  Jenner smirked. “I have been called worse. Surely you can do better.”

  “Fine. Marcus is a bastard. And you’re his bitch.”

  “Perhaps. But in this, I am not alone. Am I, Dr. Stephens?”

  Gabriel stepped past Doc, into the hall, looked back and managed a half-smile. “I’m going to tell him. Who knows? Maybe he’ll cut me some slack.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Doc didn’t meet his eyes. “Well, kid, I’m sure you’ll be back in here soon enough. Just watch yourself, all right?”

  “I will.” Gabriel faced Jenner. “What are you going to do?”

  “As I said, it is not my decision. I will take you to Marcus.” Jenner turned and headed for the stairs.

  Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at Doc, who nodded and withdrew, then followed the lieutenant. Just before they reached the end of the hall, he said, “Don’t you want me to walk in front of you?”

  “No.” Jenner started down.

  “So you trust me not to run away, or push you down the stairs?”

  “Trust is irrelevant. You will do no such thing.”

  “How do you know?”

  Jenner stopped. “You realize it is not you Marcus intends to punish?”

  Lillith. “Yeah, I do. But she didn’t do anything.”

  “Her guilt or innocence does not matter. Only what will hurt you more.”

  Further protest rose, but he knew his current audience wouldn’t listen. He’d save it for Slade.

  On the first floor, Jenner led him through a darkened and silent reception area and down a lit corridor, toward the back of the building. At the end, he turned right and stopped before a frosted glass door. He knocked three times, the same measured beats he’d announced himself with at Doc’s office, and stood back. “I will take my leave now.”

  Gabriel nodded and moved forward.

  The door opened to reveal Apollo’s scowling face. The brute pulled him inside and slammed him back against a wall beside the entrance. Holding him with a hand pressed against his chest, Apollo closed the door.

  Slade’s voice sounded somewhere behind the massive thug. “If it isn’t the loser. About time you dragged your sorry ass out of bed. Apollo, cuff him.”

  Apollo gripped Gabriel’s arm, spun him to face the wall, and forced his hand against his back. Cold metal closed around his wrist. The thug fastened the other cuff and hauled him backward. A moment later, he sprawled hard in a straight-backed chair that faced a desk with Slade on the opposite side.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Morgan.” Slade glanced past him and nodded. Apollo thumped from the room.

  “Wait…” Gabriel’s head swam with pain. The jostling had upset his already weakened state, and his body attempted to shut down in response. He willed himself to stay conscious. “It wasn’t my fault. Duke—”

  “Don’t bother,” Slade snapped. “No excuses, boy. I told you what would happen if you lost. If you try to talk your way out of it, you’ll only make things worse for both of you.”

  “He had a weapon.”

  Slade stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Duke had a weapon. A weight.” He shifted, suppressed a groan and straightened in the chair as best he could. “I would have won.”

  “That underhanded son of a bitch.” Slade punctuated the statement with a fist pounded on his desk. He stilled for a moment, and then yanked out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. After a beat, he said into it, “Wolff, we need to talk. Call my cell.” He disconnected and thrust the phone back.

  A whisper of hope filtered through Gabriel’s dread.

  “This doesn’t change a thing for you,” Slade said. “You still lost.”

  His heart plummeted. “Fine. Do whatever you want to me, but leave Lillith out of it. You can’t punish her because that bastard cheated.”

  Slade laughed. “Are you actually trying to tell me what to do? You’re more stupid than I thought. And I wasn’t giving you much credit in the first place.” He stood, circled the desk, and stopped in front of him. “You lost. You pay. So does she.”

  “No.” He sat up straighter. A familiar knot of fear and humiliation tied his stomach. He’d beg this bastard to take it out on him instead of Lillith, just like he’d begged his father. “Please. Whatever you’re planning, I’ll take it. Please … don’t hurt Lillith.”

  “I don’t think so, boy. Even if I were inclined to spare your sister, you don’t satisfy the requirements to take her place.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You don’t have tits.” Sneering, Slade returned to his side of the desk. He pulled out a sliding tray, and the distinctive clicking of a keyboard sounded. A flash of movement on the left side of the room caught his eye, and a panel of the wall slid back to reveal nine monitor screens nestled three-by-three within. The blank screens flickered to life. Each one showed the same image, a grainy, colorless scene: a hotel room setting, an empty bed. A shadowed figure occupied a padded chair to the left of the bed, a half-full wine glass in one raised hand.

  His breath caught, and he immediately thought of Jenner. But the figure was bigger than the gaunt lieutenant. Much bigger. “What is this?” he whispered.

  “A client, here for an elite service.” Slade gestured at the monitors. “You see, a few of my girls specialize in role-play for men who like their partners … on the unwilling side. And since Lillith has decided she doesn’t like the profession after all, she won’t have to act much for the part.”

  “No!” He shot to his feet. “Don’t. You can’t. You’re going to let him—”

  “Rape your sister?” A smile surfaced, cold and calculated. “Yes, I am. And you’re going to watch.”

  “I won’t.” Gabriel’s heartbeat throbbed in his ears. “I won’t let you.”

  “You’ll sit your ass down and shut up, or she’ll stay in that room all night when this one is through. There are plenty of men looking for this kind of action.”

  Movement on the screens. A slim, stumbling figure at the edges—blindfolded, hands tied in front at the wrists with a length of cloth. Lillith.

  He dropped back into the chair.

  A soft sob drifted from unseen speakers, and Gabriel blanched. He’d have to watch. And listen. “Apollo, where are we?” Lillith whisp
ered. “What’s going on?” Something slammed, a door closing. The sound cracked from the speaker system.

  A corresponding muffled thud, a real one, came from behind him. He turned his head — and for the first time noticed the door set in the right-hand wall. He faced Slade, but couldn’t bring himself to speak.

  “That’s right, boy.” Slade flashed a wicked grin. “She’s right behind you, and you can’t do a damned thing about it.”

  “Hello?” Lillith’s voice shook. “Is anyone here?”

  The figure in the chair rose and started toward her. Lillith backed a step, lurched, nearly fell. “Who’s there?”

  Gabriel’s fingers dug his palms. Don’t make it worse. His body shook with the effort to keep from vaulting from the chair to do something. Anything. Break the door down. Tear Slade’s throat out with his teeth. But he couldn’t let his temper take control. Lillith would suffer for it.

  On the screens, the man stood a few feet from Lillith, tormenting her with silence and anticipation.

  Gabriel closed his eyes.

  Seconds later, a resounding crack filled the room. Pain flared in his jaw, and his head snapped to the side. He faced forward. Slade stood in front of him, lowering his arm from the blow he’d just delivered.

  “Pay attention, Angel. You will not be spared this.” Slade moved away.

  Looking back at the monitors was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  The dungeon. Sickly familiar now — chilled, damp, the darkness alive and hungry for its prisoner. Jenner’s tattoo bench had been removed. Now, only the stool and the empty table remained.

  Gabriel knelt on the floor, arms still bound painfully behind his back. He shivered with the cold and the violent emotions wracking him.

  Lillith’s ‘session’ had lasted just over ten minutes — he could tell only by the small digital readout in the lower corner of the panel of screens. His agonized guilt had prolonged time, until it seemed the bastard had been born raping his sister. Until he could remember nothing outside of sitting in that chair, watching helplessly while Lillith was defiled. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her face, blindfolded and terrified. Without hearing her screams.

  They would do something equally terrible to him. Or worse.

  An hour passed. The pain in his strained arms and shoulders intensified until the slightest movement sent spears of agony ripping through his limbs. His mind conjured frightful images of his sister, alternating with imagined scenarios of his own impending torture.

  If Jenner was involved, it would be excruciating.

  He entered the second hour knowing the wait was intended, the anticipation meant to be part of the punishment. His father had employed the same technique on countless occasions, tormenting him throughout the day with scathing reminders of what he had to look forward to. Boy, you’re gonna get it … wait until I get my hands on you … by the time I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead.

  When he’d eventually taken the beating, or strapping, or whatever his father had in mind, the pain became almost a release of the tension that had built during the drawn-out wait. He resolved not to reveal his anxiety when his tormentors arrived.

  The click of the door latch sounded at last, magnified by the emptiness of the room. Despite his stiff, protesting muscles, he rose to face Slade and Jenner on his feet.

  Slade spoke first.

  “I’m disappointed in you, boy.” He shook his head, crossed the room and circled him, and let out a sigh. “You can forget wandering around the arena, at least for the coming fight. You’ll stay cuffed until the matches start.”

  Gabriel offered no response, and Slade went on. “You left yourself open for a cheap shot. Twice. That’s not going to happen again. Since you have yet to learn how to protect yourself, you’re going to let it all hang out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Slade smiled thinly. “You will perform the next fight naked.”

  A long moment of silence followed Slade’s pronouncement. Gabriel froze, unable to speak. He could barely process the idea.

  Jenner’s face reflected mild disgust.

  “You’ll remain confined to your room until the fight,” Slade said. “Apollo will escort you up when Jenner is through with you.” With a final scathing look of disapproval, Slade turned to the lieutenant and said, “Don’t hurt him too badly. I still need him to fight.”

  “Of course.”

  Jenner’s soft, inflectionless voice pierced Gabriel, effective as any knife. His legs weakened beneath him.

  Slade left the room, and locked him in with Jenner.

  Chapter 24

  Jenner remained uncharacteristically silent. He stood a few feet in front of Gabriel with arms folded loosely, face impassive, gray eyes dark and unreadable.

  He was trying to make him squirm. It wouldn't work. Fresh determination filled him as he stood his ground, gritting his teeth against the fire that seared his arms. He met the lieutenant’s maddeningly serene stare with outward calm.

  Jenner wore black silk today, a Japanese outfit with intricate thread-sewn characters, blood red outlined in gold. A single column adorned each side of the long, flared-sleeve tunic. Gabriel wondered briefly what the symbols said, but decided he didn’t want to know.

  At last the lieutenant seemed to reach a decision. He dropped his arms with a slight frown, an expression that unnerved Gabriel more than the customary sneer, and produced a small silver key with a notched barrel end.

  “Turn around, angel.”

  Jenner’s voice held an odd, flat note. Gabriel performed the requested action, and suddenly recognized the sliver of feeling in the tone with a nasty start — disappointment.

  Once again, he’d been wrong about Jenner’s reaction. Where he expected the lieutenant to be pleased — hell, elated at the prospect of inflicting further torture, there seemed resignation. Maybe even sadness. A human reaction from a man he’d begun to suspect a demon.

  He was playing with him. Had to be. Fear torqued his stomach and intensified when Jenner’s cool hand gripped his forearm. The key turned. Steel ratcheted against steel.

  Free of the cuffs, Gabriel lowered his arms and resisted the need to soothe his wrists. He stayed with his back turned until Jenner commanded, “Face me.”

  He executed a reluctant half-turn. His hands clenched into fists.

  Jenner stared at him. “You are expecting pain.”

  “Stop. Just get it over with.”

  “You really must pay more attention, angel. I told you this was not my decision.” Jenner walked past him and approached the table at the far end of the room. A folding chair leaned against the wall beside it. He lowered the seat, settled the chair on the floor and turned. “Come here.”

  Gabriel approached warily. Did he plan to tie him in the chair? Maybe he had more needles hidden in his jacket somewhere. Whatever the lieutenant had in mind, he doubted he’d find out until it happened.

  “Sit.” Jenner gestured to the stool, and took the chair himself.

  He settled on the stool, tensed, and waited. A minute passed in silence. Another. Jenner simply looked at him.

  “Well?” he said at last. “Aren’t you going to…”

  “Beat you? Cut you, perhaps. Belittle you with vague insults, or terrorize you with empty threats. No, angel. I am not.” Jenner shifted and smoothed a tiny fold in the sleeve of his jacket. “There are far more effective methods of control.”

  “Lillith,” he whispered. “Leave her alone. Please.”

  “Baka! I will not harm your sister. She does not interest me.” Jenner’s gaze hardened for an instant. “Marcus and I have little in common. You would do well to remember that.”

  Gabriel shuddered. Jenner’s refusal to torture him worried him more than Slade’s threats. The lieutenant must have something horrific in mind. He was just waiting for the right opportunity. “What do you want, then?”

  Jenner regarded him with a frown. After a pause he said, “I want you to t
hink. You are more intelligent than you allow yourself to be, angel. And you are the primary cause of your own suffering.”

  “What? Are you saying this is my fault?” He gripped the sides of the stool and fought the instinct to attack. “I’ve been kidnapped, beaten, tattooed, forced to fight a bunch of thugs. You bastards will murder my sister if I don’t jump when you say frog. And I’m the cause of it?”

  “You are rash and impulsive. You rely on your emotions to make decisions. You do not listen, and do not know yourself.” Jenner folded his hands in his lap. “By now you should have realized that you cannot win this game by following the rules.”

  Gabriel stared at him. That almost sounded like advice. “So … how can I win, then? Without getting Lillith killed.”

  “I cannot tell you that. You must figure it out for yourself.”

  “Great,” he muttered. “Thanks a lot. That’s a big help.”

  “I am not here to help you, angel.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He dropped his gaze and wondered when the lieutenant planned to pull the other one. When Jenner said nothing further, he looked up to find gray eyes gazing at him expectantly. He half-cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Ask it.”

  “Um. What does baka mean?”

  Jenner smirked. “Idiot.”

  “Fair enough.” He exhaled sharply. “Look, you’re his lieutenant. Slade’s, I mean. If you think this is such a bad idea, can’t you talk him out of it? I mean, how am I supposed to fight anybody naked? I’ll just lose again.”

  “Perhaps you will,” Jenner said with a slight shrug. “If you do, you will have no one but yourself to blame.”

  “You son of a bitch. None of this is my fault!”

  “With whom does the fault lie, then?”

  “Damn it, how about Slade? Even better, you. All you assholes around here. I—” He stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened in horror. He’d lost it. In front of Jenner. He shuddered and looked down, aware it was already too late.

  “On your feet, angel.” A near whisper, tinged with steel.

  He stood. His stomach dove for his feet.