Transcending Darkness

by Airicka Phoenix

  “I didn’t. He used to work for my father. I found his name in my father’s old records. I knew one day, he might come in handy. Clearly, I was right.”

  The heel of her boot nearly caught the carpet when she shuffled back a step, a pathetic attempt at putting distance between herself and the men closing in on her. Her heart drummed between her ears, a sound of panic and desperation that was clouding her thoughts.

  “What … what about your mother?” she blurted. “Surely she doesn’t want this kind of life for you.”

  All traces of emotion erased from Cyril’s face. Even the arrogance washed away. He stared at her with dead, doll eyes that seemed to drill straight into her.

  “He killed her,” he stated evenly. “By destroying her family, he took away her desire to live. She ended the suffering three months later.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, actually meaning it. “You were so young.”

  His lashes drooped, severing the connection. “Doesn’t matter now. I have finally accomplished what I promised her I would and she will finally rest in peace. But that is enough of that. The time for talking has ended, Juliette. We’re going to make one final video to leave behind just in case he does find us.”

  Another video. A follow up to the one they’d made just earlier that day. She wasn’t stupid enough not to realize what was coming.

  She staggered back, her heart trapped in her throat as paralyzing numbness washed through her veins. Cyril remained seated, watching the show with mild interest while idly tapping one finger on the armrest.

  “It’ll be less painful if you don’t fight,” he remarked casually.

  Bells shrieked in her ear, drowning everything but the roar of her own blood humming between the walls of her skull. Cold sweat dampened her top beneath her coat and yet the bile that rose up her chest felt scalding hot.

  “Please don’t.”

  Her plea for even a hint of humanity went ignored. The four advanced, a pack of wolves at the scent of blood. Their eyes seemed to reflect, the eyes of predators stalking out of the shadows in the night. Their dark, inner light prickled along her skin in phantom chills. They pressed forward in a half circle, driving her back into the bar. The sharp corner stabbed into her back, holding her at point without room to escape. Her rapid panting was the only sound amongst them.

  “Finally,” Alcorn murmured with a lick of his lips. “Been waiting for this.”

  His hands were already undoing his jeans. The belt jingled loudly in the deafening silence. The zipper hissed and the V parted to a thick cock jutting out from a circle of straggly, sandy brown hair. The others began removing their sweaters and unfastening their own pants.

  “Get her to the camera first for Christ sakes!” Cyril commanded, irritation making his voice high.

  “With pleasure.”

  Alcorn made a grab for her arm and something inside her snapped. It roared over her in a thick film of desperation, an animal instinct that drove her to fight. The entire room seemed to fade. Everything, except the four hulking figures threatening her sanity. Time itself seemed to creep to a standstill as her heart pumped adrenaline through her veins like crack from a needle.

  Juliette thrust. She didn’t pause to consider where. She just let sheer panic propel her as she drew back her arm and drove her makeshift weapon out of her sleeve and straight into the soft bit of skin just above Alcorn’s cock. The jagged point pierced through skin with disturbing ease. Blood welled and then gushed with the jerk of her hand. It poured down the front of his jeans, turning the powder blue to dark red. Alcorn screamed, the sound chilling as it recoiled off the walls. It raked over her nerves the way the sound of nails on chalkboard would. He grabbed at his crotch, his face absolutely void of color and dropped to his knees. His howls continued as blood continued to rush freely from between his fingers.

  The others shot back in surprise, maybe even fear. Juliette didn’t wait for them to regain their senses. She ducked around Calhoun and tore towards the other side of the ship, away from the secret hatch. The patio doors glinted as though beaconing her to them, but she knew she would never make it. There were too many obstacles in between, too many unnecessary seats and sofas and tables. Getting around them would take too much time and she couldn’t trust her legs to leap over them.

  At the last second, she veered right, going straight for the makeshift film studio and the number of items she could use as a weapon.

  “Get her!”

  Cyril’s bellow was muffled by the clack of the tripod legs as she snapped them shut. She hefted the hefty weight over her shoulder swung blindly. She hadn’t expected to make contact, but the bulky camera collided with the side of Calhoun’s face with a glorious crunch of bones and plastic. His grunt was a spray of blood as his head snapped to the side. The momentum flung him backwards and he crashed into Delgado. The pair went down in a tangled heap of limbs.

  “Harmon! Get her!”

  Cyril sounded downright enraged. He was on his feet, his face the exact shade of red as the blood pooling rapidly around Alcorn’s writhing body. His pale hair was not so neat as it was abused beneath his agitated hands. Seeing him coming undone only urged her further to escape, to get help, to get Killian.

  “Stay away from me!” she warned as Harmon, the only one standing, advanced on her. “I mean it!”

  They’d taken her by surprise the first time. They had lured her into the chair, into the corner and she’d had no chance to fight back. But no fucking way was she going to let them touch her again, not without a damn good fight.

  She swung again, hoping to at least deter Harmon’s persistent approach. But the swing was too wide, he ducked beneath it and launched himself at her middle. They staggered backwards with the impact. The wall slammed into her back and the camera, tripod and all, were torn from her fingers. The edges cut into her palms but the pain was mute compared to the crash of camera striking the wall and smashing to the floor in a ruined heap of shattered glass and broken plastic.

  Cyril roared. “You idiot!”

  The sound of his boss’s rage had Harmon faltering in his capture. His hold weakened and Juliette shoved him with all her strength, using the wall as leverage to drive him backwards. The jungle of cords caught the heel of his boots and gravity caught him. He went down, taking the spotlights with him in a deafening crash of exploding bulbs. Sparks flew, distracting Cyril and Harmon away from Juliette just long enough for her to grab the metal chair, close it and slam it down on Harmon’s head four times before he stopped moving.

  Panting and wheezing, Juliette dropped the chair and staggered back. A choked sob left her, but she bottled the rest back up as she tried to hold it together. She whirled around, but wasn’t fast enough. Tight arms banded around her from behind, caging her to Delgado’s hard chest. The collision nearly sent them both to the ground, but her captor held on, cracking ribs and breathing hot, sour breath on her neck.

  “No!”

  Her screams went ignored as Calhoun shuffled to his feet, no longer in a heap with Delgado. His face was a ghastly mask of smeared blood and rage that blazed behind his eyes. Blood stained his teeth and darkened the front of his coat. He wiped under his nose with his forearm, making the mess worse, but not caring as he descended on her.

  “You stupid fucking whore!”

  His hand flew back, palm open. Juliette reflexively flinched. Her entire body seized, bracing for the blow, for the sharp explosion of lights and the daze that would follow. She remembered all too well how Arlo’s beating had felt, had remembered how paralyzed and useless she’d become. But this was worse. If they got even a pinch of an upper hand, she was done. They would win and they would not go easy.

  A sound rang out, a bang that shook the room and rattled the windows. For a moment, no one moved, time itself seemed to pull to a stop as the sound reverberated the way thunder did after the crack of lightning. Juliette’s eyes met Calhoun’s wide ones for just a split second and something like shock passed between
them before they both simultaneously glanced down at the red blossom spreading across the front of his coat. It had nothing to do with the broken nose she’d given him and they both knew it. His head jerked up and their gazes locked a second time, this time with horror as he went down at her feet.

  “One down, four to go.” A gun was cocked. “Who wants to piss me off next?”

  It was a tossup who was more stunned by the figure standing just inside the patio doors, smoking gun raised. Juliette was the first to break out of her shock.

  “Arlo?” By far the very last person in the world she ever expected to see coming to her rescue. “What…?”

  Brown eyes never wavering from her, he raised the hand not holding the gun and brought it to his mouth.

  “Got her. Sixth boat. Don’t even,” he warned when Delgado began pulling Juliette backwards. “Let her go.”

  Delgado’s arms only tightened further, crushing her. Their feet tangled as he continued guiding her further away towards the secret compartment at the back. Juliette dug her heels in. She put all her weight down, refusing to be taken anywhere.

  Another bang exploded and a perfect, black hole smoldered inches from Delgado’s foot.

  “Not going to say it again,” Arlo said, twisting the hammer back. “Let her go.”

  Against her shoulder blade, Delgado’s heart hammered. His hot breath washed along the back of her neck, making her skin prickle. She tried to jerk away. She tried stomping on his foot and clawing at his arms, but he was adamant about keeping her as his own personal human shield.

  “Counting to three,” Arlo went on. “One … two—”

  “Juliette?”

  Like a beautiful sunrise over a majestic landscape, Killian charged through the patio doors behind Arlo and immediately took possession of all the air in the room. His very presence shrank all her fears. It smothered every ounce of the nightmare she’d been living the last couple of weeks. Suddenly, there was no room for anything but an unimaginable happiness at the sight of him.

  “Killian!”

  Dark eyes found hers. They roamed over her once before noticing the man holding her. They went impossibly black with rage. His chin rose a notch as every hard line of his body stiffened. Before her eyes, he seemed to grow in size as power and dominance radiated off him in dangerous waves.

  “You’re surrounded,” he stated evenly. “There are roughly twenty men aboard this ship at this very moment. The odds of you making it off alive are very slim either way, but if you don’t get your hands off her, I can promise you’ll wish I’d killed you.”

  Delgado released her instantly. For good measure, he staggered back and nearly fell over the unconscious—or possibly dead—body of Alcorn.

  Juliette didn’t let him get very far. Bolting forward, she snatched the laptop off the table and swung it across his head. The machine made a distinct crack as the screen shattered and snapped off. Delgado flew backwards, tripped over Alcorn and hit the ground with a sickening crunch as his head ricocheted off the bar.

  Panting, Juliette dropped the bit of computer she still held and stomped on it, breaking off keys and cracking plastic. Not sure if that was enough to destroy the files, she grabbed the whiskey bottle off the counter and dumped the whole thing on top.

  “Juliette…”

  Shivering and rapidly falling apart, Juliette spun and flung herself into Killian’s waiting arms. One hooked around her middle while the hand on the other closed in her hair, mashing her face into his shoulder. Her own arms locked around his ribs. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his coat as she inhaled his soothing scent. She clasped him close to stifle the broken sounds struggling up her throat, the ones that rocked through her very core in violent waves. Tears burned, amplifying the urge to break and just sob for all she was worth. But not yet. She couldn’t. She needed to hold on a little longer.

  “Are you hurt?” The question was an uneven growl.

  Juliette shook her head. “You came.” Her breath caught around the words. Her voice broke. “You really came.”

  “Nothing was going to stop me.” His arms tightened. “God, Juliette.”

  A bang made them both jump. Something shattered.

  “Don’t you even,” Arlo warned, gun aimed at Cyril. Broken pieces of glass lay at his feet from the lamp Arlo had shot. “I’ve got a clear shot at your head and no one’ll miss you.”

  “Oh!”

  Pulling out of Killian’s embrace, Juliette hurried to Alcorn. She dropped down and unhooked the ring of keys from his damp belt loop. She ignored the smear of blood as she tore them free.

  “Juliette, what…?”

  Ignoring the question, she ran to the compartment door. It took some fiddling and prodding before she found the secret panel that unlatched the door. It hissed open.

  “It’s okay.” She promised when Killian started after her. Not waiting, she sprinted down the stairs. “Maraveet? Maraveet, get up!”

  The woman’s head shot up out of her folded arms and she blinked her green eyes. They widened at the sight of Juliette. Then shot past her to the open door.

  “What…?”

  “Come on!” Juliette urged, flipping through the keys until she found the right one. She undid the door and rushed inside to help Maraveet to her feet. “It’s okay,” she said. “Killian’s here.”

  “Killian?” A grin spread across the woman’s face. “I knew he’d come.”

  Panting, Juliette tightened her grip as they shuffled to the stairs. “Don’t forget the plan.”

  Maraveet growled under her breath. “It’s a stupid plan! Let Killian kill them all.”

  “No! You promised!”

  Maraveet shook her head. “There’s something wrong with you. Fine,” she muttered when Juliette stopped walking. “I’ll follow the plan.”

  Relieved that Killian would be one less thing she would need to worry about, Juliette started onward, dragging Maraveet up each step carefully. Her mind was a painfully organized compartment of everything she needed to do before the sun came up, everything she’d dutifully worked over and practiced in her head for the last two weeks. It didn’t even dawn on her that it wasn’t normal to be that calm about such a situation. In a reality, she should have been a mess. And she would be. Just not in that moment.

  The revolting crack of flesh on bone greeted them at the top. The shrill cry of pain with every clap. The grunts that followed. Certain Cyril’s men had somehow gotten the upperhand, Juliette hurled herself and Maraveet through the door and into the second level.

  Arlo stood exactly where she’d left him, by the patio doors, holding his gun out at men who weren’t even moving. Frank was at his shoulder, calmly watching the scene unfolding in the sitting area where Killian had Cyril pinned to the carpet. One knee was gouged into the younger man’s thin chest, spearing him to the ground as Killian beat all ten, balled fingers into his beautiful face, or what used to be beautiful. It was a broken, bloody mess.

  “Killian!”

  Juliette’s cry jarred him from the spell he seemed to be under, the one that had his face as dark as his eyes and his teeth bared like a wolf’s. His head snapped up, his nostrils flared as though anticipating the thought of beating the hell out of someone else. When he spotted no other threat, he let his hands drop. The torn and bleeding fingers unfurled at his sides.

  “Mar?” Killian’s face went slack with shock. He pushed up, making sure to put his weight on the knee crushing Cyril’s chest. The boy gasped and curled onto his side. His entire body jerked with every cough. Blood speckled the ground by his face. Killian didn’t notice as he bound over the body and hurried to his sister. “What the hell are … what did they do to you?”

  Maraveet groaned. “Had a tea party. They served the wrong tea. Things got real.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill him!” he snarled, already turning back.

  “No!” Juliette cried. “Maraveet needs a doctor. She’s hurt badly.”

  That made him pause. His murderou
s gaze shot from Maraveet to Cyril, his mind visibly torn between helping his sister and killing the bastard who put her in the position. The right choice won when he reached for Maraveet with a frustrated growl.

  “Come on.”

  “God bless you.” Maraveet went into her brother’s arms. He scooped her up against his chest, and while the gesture was gentle, Maraveet cried out. “Gentle!” she snapped. “I’m fragile.”

  Her teasing was met with a frown from Killian as he carted her to the patio doors. Another figure moved in as though anticipating and took Maraveet from him. He set her gently into the arms of one of his men and instructed him to take her straight to the car. Then he turned and motioned Juliette over.

  “Go with them,” he ordered.

  Juliette shook her head. “No, Marco—”

  “I know.” His gaze flicked away from her, but not before she caught the pain in them. It radiated along the set slant of his jaw and ticked in the muscle in his cheek. “He’s not around anymore.”

  Juliette tensed. “Did … did you…?”

  Killian looked away, his jaw set. “No, he did it himself. Guilt and shame, I guess.”

  She didn’t want to know what that meant, but she had a feeling that hurt Killian more than Marco’s betrayal had.

  “Come with me,” she urged. “We’ll phone the police and—”

  Frank stepped into the space behind Arlo, his massive frame filling the threshold.

  “The ship has been cleared, sir. There were only the…” he trailed off as he studied the unmoving bodies strewn throughout the place with more than a little surprise. “Five men,” he finished lamely.

  Killian nodded. “Get everyone restrained. Take Juliette to a car and drive her to the hospital straightaway. I will meet you there once I am finished here.”

  “No!” Juliette turned to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was ridiculous, only moments earlier, she couldn’t wait to get off that ship without a body bag. But she knew if she left, Killian would kill Cyril and all his men and, while they might deserve it, they didn’t deserve that piece of him. There had already been too much killing. It needed to stop. Someone needed to make it stop.