Hunted

by Clark, Jaycee

  He smiled slowly, saw the fear deepen in her eyes. Standing, he said to Luther, “I’ll take this one. Leave the rest for the Pact.”

  Tonight he would have fun. Another night he was alive and a free man, another night with his secret safe.

  One day Mikhail would find Dusk, then he would never have to worry again about Don Calsonone learning what Mikhail had done to the man’s daughter.

  Cold fingers of fear trailed down his spine.

  Shaking off the thoughts, he concentrated on how he’d initiate the newest addition to his personal brothel.

  Perhaps the whip. It was always a real eye-opener.

  * * *

  Gaelord Ranch, Texas

  Morgan lay on the silken sheets.

  She couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Someone, dark of hair, a small pointed goatee, loomed over her. She felt them moving her, arranging her. Voices, deep-timbered, floated through the fog of her brain.

  What was going on? Where was she?

  “Wait. If you wait a few minutes she will come to. She’s a fighter. I had to give her something to get her ready.” His voice spiked terror through the fog and she moaned.

  She knew Mikhail’s voice. Where was she? What was she doing?

  The silk was cool against her back and she knew then she was naked.

  “I do not care to wait. I’ve never bedded an American bitch. I’m ready to get on with it. I have a special surprise for her.” The voice was not one she knew, but there were many voices she’d heard that she didn’t know.

  This was just another.

  A hard slap on her face made her open her eyes on a moan.

  “I would that you not damage the merchandise, Resa. She is one of my most valuable assets. If you damage, I will not be happy,” Mikhail’s voice pierced the fog again.

  Dusk blinked, tried to figure out where she was when she saw the mirrored ceiling and knew.

  She was in Mikhail’s house outside of Prague. The blue guest room with all the silver and mirrors. It was ornate, silks so thick they were like velvet, and some so thin they were transparent. The room was a sea, but it held little beauty. Silver manacles hung from the bedposts.

  She pulled, and realized she was bound.

  Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest.

  She blinked, but still the face above hers wavered. Dark eyes staring down, men around the bed. What? She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.

  Then she felt him.

  Felt him move over her, around her, his face near hers, whispering things she couldn’t understand. At least she wouldn’t know when he raped her.

  She heard the click of something, smelled the smoke of a cigarette.

  Focus . . .

  Smoke drifted over her face.

  “My pretty.” A hand ran over her chest, long fingers grazed over her throat. “I mark all women I lay with. I hate to lay with one twice and this lets me know if I have.”

  What did he mean?

  Pain seared across her hip and someone screamed. Laughter floated on the air, voices penetrating the white-hot pain. Then it stabbed into her again. Someone kept screaming, even as she heard Mikhail’s voice lash out.

  Dusk realized it was her screaming.

  Guns clicked, a door slammed shut and still the pain grew and grew, a flame burning more and more . . . Oh, God, what was happening to her?

  She couldn’t focus.

  The man laughed, his laughter black and malignant as it wrapped over her.

  Pain pulsed in her side.

  From somewhere she realized he was burning her with the cigarette, or whatever the hell he had.

  Something bright orange flamed in front of her face and she flinched, whimpering.

  Then he was moving in her, over her, and she felt the tears run from the corner of her eyes.

  All she could feel was the overwhelming pain searing her left side, near her hipbone.

  He spoke in a language she didn’t know, as shifting as sand.

  Then something around her neck was tightened. Tightened.

  She couldn’t breathe . . .

  Oh, God, she couldn’t breathe . . .

  Help! Someone help me!

  The man above her laughed.

  * * *

  Jackson stared out the window. It was after midnight and Morgan had been upstairs for an hour. Molly had come again this weekend and left earlier in the evening. He’d just hung up the phone, knowing she’d made it home safely.

  Gid paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, muttering every few minutes. Gideon, who had his own house in town, had taken to staying out at the ranch more through the week and every weekend now that Morgan was home. She was seeing a Dr. Stewart once a week, usually in town. The only time the woman even left the damn house. And in the two months since her return few questions had really been answered to either his or Gid’s satisfaction. If anything there were only more questions.

  The winter night was dark, starless, a storm blowing up.

  His stomach twisted at the thought.

  The rebellious, laughing, trouble-causing young woman that left last year was not the one that was upstairs. He remembered the way she’d spoken about Simon, in that flat deadpan voice, as if speaking of the weather or a road, or . . . The same voice she often used when telling them some small tidbit.

  His hands clenched. For weeks he’d wondered what else had happened to her that made her so blasé about her treatment at Dixon’s hands?

  Jackson wasn’t certain he wanted to know.

  “Did Dr. Stewart say anything to you today?” Gideon asked.

  “No, Gid.” The doctor never really told them a damn thing except be there for her. J.D. felt he was failing at that somehow. “You know as much as I do,” he said, not turning from the window.

  “She’s told us so much over the weeks but really nothing at all. I thought it would get better, but she’s still terrified, absolutely terrified,” Gideon muttered.

  “Yes, she still cringes when we get too close to her.” He bit down.

  “Damn Dixon, should have just hired someone to kill him when we had the chance.” Pace. Pace. Pace.

  “Would you sit the hell down? You’re driving me nuts,” J.D. snapped.

  Gideon ignored him and kept on. “She looks like shit. She’s lost more weight and she’s becoming an agoraphobic.”

  J.D. closed his eyes. “Yes, Gid. I know this. I want to know why, who, and where as much as you do. I just have a feeling that where Morgan is concerned, we’re going to have to have lots and lots and lots of patience.”

  And watch her like a hawk.

  “She said once, that day here in the living room, that they killed him. Do you think she witnessed it and that’s who she’s running from?” Gideon’s eyes narrowed.

  He’d thought of that. Wondered at and quickly discarded the idea. “No.”

  “What makes you so damned certain?” Gideon asked, his hands on his hips. He stalked to the chair, kicked the ottoman out of the way and sat heavily in the brown leather chair that had been in that exact location all of Jackson’s life.

  J.D. raked a hand through his hair and turned back to the window. “I don’t know. Something. She’s terrified of them. She’s always said they, them, him.” He bit down, narrowing his gaze out the window, wishing he knew more, and wondering how he could find out.

  “I still want answers.”

  “So do I.”

  “Maybe we should hire an investigative firm,” Gid muttered. “Though maybe not. That might alert whoever she’s hiding from.”

  J.D. took a deep breath. Gideon had always talked himself through any problem and it was just as annoying now as it always had been. As it was last weekend and the weekend before when they went over the exact same thing.

  “No, don’t want to do that,” Gideon said softly. “Molly called? She make it home safe?” he asked out of the blue.

  Jackson blinked and turned to study his brother. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m g
lad she’s coming up when she can. I think she helps Morgan, J.D. I know you two have your share of problems, and she’s still your wife, though why the two of you are still married is beyond me,” he muttered.

  J.D. closed his eyes. “The point, Gideon.”

  “I just think she helps. Morgan doesn’t ever seem to cringe with her and Molly can at least get Morgan out the door and to the barn or the creek.” He frowned. “She just seems to have a problem with us. Just us.”

  And they were men. The thought wasn’t lost on him.

  He sighed and raked his hands over his face. “I don’t know what the hell to do about any of this, Gid. But one thing is as certain now as when she first came home, we can’t push her. One push too many will send her over the edge.” He walked to the fireplace and stared at the flames. “She’s so close now, it’s like she’ll just shatter if you touch her too quickly.”

  A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. They stared at each other for a split second before tearing from the room. The screams went on and on.

  Not again. He took the stairs two at a time, Gideon right behind him.

  “Morgan!” He flung the door open. The lamp beside the empty bed glowed across the room. “Morgan!”

  And still she screamed.

  She was on the floor, again. The quilt pulled down with her, her face contorted even as another scream iced his blood and ripped from her throat.

  He ran to her. “Morgan! Morgan! Wake up! Damn it!” He shook her. “Wake the hell up!”

  Her eyes shot open and she gasped, gasped and stared at him with wide, terror-filled eyes. Oh, God, what was going on in the blackness? She was as white as milk.

  He pulled her to him, even as she strained, her fist beating against him. “No! No!” Her screams echoed in his ears. Her muscles strained as he held her. “Let me go! Leave me alone! Please. Please, no more!”

  “Shhh. Shhh.” He rocked her even as she fought him. “Morgan!” He rocked. “Morgan, honey, wake up. Just wake up. It’s a dream.” Her muscles were rigid against him and her terror crawled across his skin, straight to his soul as she gasped again. Her hands going to her throat, she clawed, her short nails raking the skin.

  He grasped her wrists. “Morgan!” J.D. shook her hard.

  Her head snapped back and she blinked, then blinked again, one hand pressing against her left hip. She blinked again and he watched whatever phantoms slide back into her memories to leave her for now.

  “Honey, you had a bad dream,” he said softly, like he had so many other nights.

  Tears tracked down her face and all she did was blink and rub her other hand against her neck. “Couldn’t breathe,” she whispered. “Couldn’t breathe. He just kept squeezing, kept laughing.”

  J.D.’s hands shook as he rubbed his own hands up and down her arms, noting she wore another gray sweatshirt. “You can breathe.” He felt like he couldn’t. Jackson looked over her head to Gideon, who walked into Morgan’s bathroom and came back with a glass of water and a cool cloth. Their eyes met and he knew if it took them from now until doomsday, they’d find out what the hell had happened to their sister.

  He took the water from his brother and handed it to Morgan. She blinked and looked at it, her brows pulling into a frown.

  Her hands shook so badly, J.D. put his over hers and held the glass as she sipped. Fingers like ice lay beneath his on the glass. She was cold and pale.

  His heart tripped out of his chest. “You’re okay,” he muttered, wondering if he was trying to convince himself or her. “You just had a bad dream.”

  She stared at him, her eyes empty, and in that instant he wondered if he really wanted to know what terrors stalked her, then she slowly nodded. “Just a bad dream.”

  He handed the glass back to Gideon, who sat on the bed. The old frame squeaked and she flinched, her eyes squeezing shut. Jackson took a deep breath and sat on the floor beside her.

  Trying for some humor, he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “I remember when we did this when you were just a kid. Seems we’ve regressed. We used to wake you up from nightmares when we first moved back out here to raise you.”

  Instead of the smile he’d hoped for, she ducked her head, a tear plopping on her shirtsleeve.

  “Hey.” He tilted her face up, even as Gideon wiped her face with the wet cloth. “It can’t be as bad as all that. You want to talk about it?”

  She’d always talked about her nightmares. Always, even as a kid. And then they’d laugh about them.

  “Remember,” he said, softly. “Sharing troubles makes them better.”

  Those haunted eyes rose back to him and she shook her head. “You can’t fix everything, Jack. There are some troubles that can never be better. No matter how much you’d wish them, scream them, beg them to be otherwise.”

  She sniffed but the tears kept trickling down her cheeks.

  “Oh, baby, what did they do to you?” he asked, pulling her to him and rocking her.

  She turned her face away from him and he kissed the crown of her head.

  “Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Tell Gideon and me whose ass we need to go kick.”

  She scoffed and pulled back. Cupping his face and studying it, she said, “I can’t, I love you too much, Jack.” Then she sniffed, reached over and patted Gideon’s knee. “I love you too, Gideon.”

  She seemed so much older to him, yet still appeared so young, so vulnerable and lost.

  “I love you too,” he said, still brushing her hair back.

  “You know we love you, Morg. Let us help.”

  She pulled away from him and reached down, pulling the edges of the quilt up around her.

  “You haven’t fallen out of the bed in years,” Gid chided and patted the area next to him.

  She looked at the bed, at their brother, and shook her head. “I’ll just sit here a minute. I’m still a little . . . ” She shivered.

  “Shaky?” J.D. said, twisting so that he leaned back against the nightstand.

  She nodded, and blinked, her eyes tired and heavy.

  “Why don’t we leave you alone, then. You look tired,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  He held his hand out and she looked at it, finally grabbing it and standing. She swayed and he held her elbow. Gideon stood and picked up her pillow, frowning.

  Morgan walked to the window seat and sat down.

  He and Gideon exchanged another glance. Gideon tossed the pillow on the bed and said, “You need anything else, Morgan?”

  Without looking at him, she shook her head.

  J.D. moved to the side as Gideon walked out the door.

  She stared out the window.

  Jackson sighed and walked to her, leaning down and kissing her head. “Get some rest, you look like you could use it.”

  She nodded. “I’m tired, Jack.”

  He could see that, but she seemed more than tired. Defeated came to mind. Worn and battle-scarred.

  “You need anything?” he asked her.

  For a minute she didn’t answer him, then she shook her head. Without turning, she said, “Thank you for waking me up.”

  He remembered what she’d said when he’d tried to wake her up. Not wanting to darken the mood, but needing to know, he asked, “The dream . . . ”

  “Nightmare,” she corrected.

  It was that. “The nightmare. Did it . . . ” He frowned. “Did it happen?”

  . . . He kept squeezing . . . Couldn’t breathe . . .

  For the longest she didn’t answer, sat so still she could have been frozen. Then her hand rubbed her throat and she whispered, “Go to bed, Jack.”

  His stomach twisted and he waited, but she didn’t turn around. His hands fisted, he walked to the door and then turned back to her. “If you need anything . . . ”

  She leaned against the window and looked out, her shoulders softly shaking.

  J.D. took a deep breath and pulled the door closed, leaving it cracked.

  For a minute, he star
ed at the scarred wood that might as well have had the “Keep Out” sign she’d plastered on the door when she was fifteen.

  Damn it. He didn’t know what to do, and if there was anything he hated it was not knowing what to do. He looked back at the door and heard her sobs.

  Turning on his heel, he walked down the hallway and back downstairs. No way was he getting any sleep tonight. It seemed the only person who ever got any sleep at all in the house was Suzy, and that was probably only because she lived out in the apartment near the barn.

  He wondered if he’d ever sleep again.

  . . . He kept squeezing . . . Couldn’t breathe . . .

  Chapter 19

  Gaelord Ranch; May 2

  I’ve only got two more weeks left—thank God. I’ll tell you now, Morgan, the Academy was hard. Harder than I thought it would be. One, most everyone was male and I don’t need to explain that to you. I really freaked out because there was this one session in physical training—I flipped, Morgan, totally flipped out. The instructor halted the session and took me aside. It was like someone shoved me back there, ya know? One minute I’m practicing self-defense moves in training and when my partner pinned me, I just . . . flipped.

  Morgan leaned back from her computer and sighed. In the last two months, she and Amy emailed daily. She hadn’t told her brothers, hadn’t told Lincoln, afraid he’d make them stop. She listened, the house was quiet. Everyone off and doing something today. Suzy went shopping and Jack had gone to the office. Gideon wouldn’t be back out until this weekend. He’d stayed out here every weekend now. Just like old times when both her brothers had moved back to raise her after her mother and their father died in the car accident. Brushing the thoughts away, she read the rest of Amy’s letter.

  Sergeant Gastillo told me to take five and ran through the rest of the class while I jogged laps. After the session dismissed he called me over and asked me what was going on. I broke. I started crying. Poor man. He’s a regular hard-ass. Everyone hates him, but he looked at me and said, “We have counselors. I’d suggest you use one or you might not pass your psych evaluation and I’d hate to see the Academy deprived of a good police officer because you hadn’t dealt with something.” I told him I had seen someone, I wish Dr. Rothillow was here now. He pointed out that perhaps I’d want to see their shrink, it would weigh in better later.