by Sara Brookes
First, he needed a shower. And maybe a little alone time with Marcus. They’d hadn’t yet explored the power exchange aspect of their relationship to full capacity outside of the virtual reality world, and he was looking forward to uttering commands that would bring Marcus to his knees.
Marcus’s bedroom was empty as Enver glanced in. The bed was a tangle of sheets, but Enver knew that didn’t mean anything as Marcus never made the bed. He listened for the sound of the shower, noting only the still silence that indicated he was alone. A check through the other rooms showed they were just as empty.
Worry started to churn his empty stomach. He snatched his coat off the couch as he passed, glancing through the front window, frowning when he saw the driveway was empty. Zoie’s truck sat at the curb where he’d parked it.
“Shit.”
How could he have been irresponsible enough to fall asleep before they’d arrived? He glanced at his cell phone, blowing out a relieved breath when he saw a message from Marcus. When he swiped the screen to accept, there was no text, but instead an image that stole his breath, clenched a tight fist of panic around his heart and made his vision sheet red.
Zoie was bound and gagged, mascara streaked in thick trails down her cheeks. Panic shone clearly in her eyes as she stared directly at the camera. Beside her, Marcus was bound and gagged as well, his eyes closed and his face relaxed in unconsciousness. His wrists were chained to a column that held him upright.
The timestamp indicated the image had been sent two hours ago.
Enver already had the phone to his ear as he snapped up Zoie’s car keys and ran out the door. He didn’t know who had taken the picture, but he could easily guess Davis was responsible. The bastard had taken them both in one shot. The information Zoie had been fed about Davis’s death had been bogus. Another instance of corruption that deepened Enver’s apprehension of the law and those who said they upheld it.
Too goddamn easy.
Enver should have never let Marcus drive home alone. He should have just piled everyone into Zoie’s truck when they’d left the restaurant and retrieved his car the next day. Simple. He would report the situation to the authorities, but his first priority was getting to Marcus and Zoie, not filling out a pile of paperwork or answering a shit-ton of questions.
The horrific image spoke for how little time he had to locate them. Every second counted.
“Better be good, Enver.” Saint’s voice was husky, as though he’d been awakened or had been in the middle of something. Like fucking his wife or husband. Perhaps both. Enver didn’t care if Saint had been screwing the governor of California—he needed some dependable geek power. And he needed it fast.
“Can you track a cell phone? Find out its current location or where it was when a message was sent?”
“Sure. How many laws am I going to break?”
The knot around Enver’s heart tightened. He hated vocalizing his worse fear. “Marcus and his best friend have been kidnapped.”
“Kochran’s place.” All traces of huskiness had vanished from Saint’s voice. “Fifteen minutes.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Wakey, wakey.”
The gentle crooning was as melodious as a lullaby. In half consciousness, painful tension pulled at Marcus’s shoulders and upper back. A hard pressure wrapped his wrists, and through his hazy vision, he spotted the dull glint of metal.
For a few confusing minutes, he assumed Enver was retaliating for his wrecked car and had bound him to make good on that threat about dry fucking him. But then the horrific memories of the accident and the seconds afterward rushed in and brought him to full consciousness like a cold spike shoved through the top of his head.
“Time to rise and shine.”
Marcus heard the layer of hatred under the words that sent ice skittering down his spine. He lifted his head, his gaze meeting the madman who had irrevocably altered his life.
“Ah, there you are.” Davis tilted his head as though examining Marcus. “Better if you’re awake for this next part.”
A lash struck the center of Marcus’s back. He screamed as fire erupted in a trail from neck to waist. Hooked with barbed tips, the lash took his flesh with it when it was yanked away. As it struck again and again, Marcus tried on concentrate on their surroundings to give his brain something else to focus on. There was nothing he recognized because the lighting was low, but he could make out basic architecture indicative of a house.
“You made me this way.” Davis’s voice stayed whisper-soft as he walked around Marcus in a circle. “You turned me into a horrifying monster.”
He heard movement as Davis drew his arm back for another strike. He tried to stay relaxed as the fiery lash came again, just inches away from the first, but the pain was overwhelming. More flesh peeled off his back in strips. Pain jolted through his body, subsequent strikes merging into one vibrating field of pain. Unlike the adrenaline rush that came with introducing pain play during a scene, the pure, raw, unbelievable agony almost caused him to pass out a few times. But Davis knew when to pull back, when to draw out his torture. Under different circumstances, he would have been revered as an exceptional sadist at Noble House.
The intense pain overrode Marcus’s fear so the only thing that was left was anger. Davis didn’t deserve his anxiety anymore. He tried not to think about Enver, about how much he loved him because he didn’t want to taint what they shared, but the memories of their time together were the only thing keeping Marcus tethered to consciousness.
The lashes stopped, finally, and thirty tension-filled seconds passed before Davis spoke again. “You’ll be dead shortly, because I’m going to finish the job I started ten years ago. I would have finished it that night in the parking lot, but this stupid bitch and her cavalry interrupted us. That’s twice you won, cunt. It won’t happen again.”
Zoie only grunted in response.
“They’ll throw you back in jail,” Marcus managed weakly, pressing his cheek against the column as though it would give him strength.
“Don’t you understand? I’m going to kill us all,” Davis said impassively, the corner of one side of his mouth lifting.
Marcus had never seen such abject evil staring at him. Ten years ago, during the initial attack, youth had dominated Davis’s features. The man staring at him now was a monster far larger than the body housing it. The distorted facial expressions were an obscene aberration of hell on Earth. Above all, Marcus believed Davis’s vow to kill.
The truth of the situation tightened cold hands around Marcus’s guts. He snarled and pulled at the chains with as much force as he could muster. He was not going to die here. Not today. He shouted, trying to get through to Zoie. Warn her. He fought with the chains, feeling his skin tear underneath the rough metal, but the lingering effects of the drug and the blood loss made him dizzy. The smell of his own blood, the sickening pain of the wound across his shoulders, back and wrists made him nauseous.
He refused to pass out.
* * *
It was impossible to control his thoughts as Enver raced toward Kochran’s house, breaking every California traffic law by taking advantage of the fact he was driving a truck with a turbo engine. Terror and fear warred with desperation. He wasn’t the type to automatically assume the worst while hoping for the best, but the images from the text had been burned into his brain.
“Shouldn’t have left him alone.”
He slammed his hand against the wheel, grinding his teeth as he sped around a sharp curve. Damn them all for letting their guard down. Logic told him Davis would have kidnapped Marcus without the elaborate misdirection. But at least he would have been there with them. Maybe been able to stop it.
Or put his hands around Davis’s throat and personally choked the life from him.
His headlights splashed against the stone walls of Noble House as he turned down the dirt road le
ading to Kochran’s place. A pang clenched his gut as he passed the club, a reminder of all the memories stuffed inside the walls.
About a half mile from the club, he parked alongside a row of cars at the perimeter of a field, noting Saint had already arrived. Field grass swayed in the light breeze, a soft rustling of sound as Enver made his way down the path. The door to Kochran’s hidden house opened as he approached, a sign somewhere along the way, security cameras had been installed and he was being watched. He descended the long, circular staircase of the converted missile silo, forcing himself not to race down the stairs lest he break his neck.
Voices on the second to last floor prevented him from going all the way to the bottom where Kochran’s living space was. He found a knot of people hunched over, working diligently with the computer screen’s glow lighting their concerned faces. No one spared him a glance as he joined Kochran and Boyce off to one side.
“Any luck?”
Kochran set his hand on Enver’s shoulder and squeezed. “Nothing yet. Ezra and Saint are listening to the police scanners, looking for any usual activity. You were pretty insistent about keeping the cops out of this. You sure about that?”
Enver nodded. “It’s obvious Zoie was fed bogus intel. No way to know who to trust at this point. I appreciate the concern, but let’s just keep it with us for now. Things get too hot, we’ll bring them in.”
“Act first, ask for forgiveness later. Got it. Maddy fired up her masked unit and is trying to run a trace.”
“Going to be hard if he turned off the phone after sending the images,” Maddy tossed over her shoulder. “Not impossible to track a cell that’s shut down, but it’ll take some work.”
“Have you tried searching cell towers?” Saint stretched out his fingers for a split second before continuing.
“Working on that right now.” She fell quiet for a few moments, her focus shifting to the task.
Enver noticed a few red marks above the collar of her shirt. A pang of regret stabbed at him. He’d obviously interrupted a private moment, but he hadn’t known who else to call.
“Mothertrucker,” Maddy swore loudly. “Signals bouncing all over the place. I can’t get a good lock.”
Enver didn’t want to consider what that meant. His fingers itched to do something—anything—but the computer experts were already hard at work. He’d just be in the way.
“Let’s get everyone some fuel,” Boyce offered as he tapped Enver on the arm. “Watched pot never boils and all that. Come on.”
Enver gratefully accepted the escape and followed Boyce downstairs to the kitchen. Boyce headed straight for the pot and went about making coffee.
A sense of fragility and uncertainty swamped Enver, causing his knees to weaken and his heart to hammer solidly against his rib cage. He stumbled to the table, clutching the edge of it, slowly lowering himself into the seat as he tried to keep his breathing calm and even, tried his damnedest not to freak out. Thought he’d succeeded until a sheen of cold sweat erupted across his forehead and his hands started to shake. He pressed his fingers against the table, using the force in an effort to quell the trembling. A wave of emotion crashed against him as powerful as a tsunami colliding with the shoreline.
A glass filled with several fingers of amber liquid slid between his splayed hands. “Take the edge off.”
Enver downed the entire contents without a second thought. The burn down his throat stole his breath and broke through the sense of utter defeat threatening to drown him. “Thanks.” He hated the fact his voice broke and paused until he was certain he had everything under control again. “Thank you, Boyce. I’m just...out of sorts.”
“Long as you don’t beat yourself up about it. Happens again, let me know. Love to put a few dents in Kochran’s top-shelf bourbon. Alcohol isn’t the best thing for a panic attack, but this isn’t exactly normal.” Boyce tapped the table, his gaze searching Enver’s. “Need a few more minutes?”
“No, I’m good.” Feeling more settled, Enver rose and set the empty glass in the sink. “I’m just...helpless.” A twinge of panic started to creep in again, but he muscled it back, determined he was not going to succumb to another wave of panic. Instead, he fell into the simple task of preparing several carafes full of coffee for the crew working upstairs while Boyce starting pulling together items from the fridge for sandwiches.
In a few minutes, they had a hearty spread that they started stacking on several trays Boyce found in one of the cabinets. Pleased with their efforts, they hefted the trays and were halfway up the stairs when a surge of yells erupted on the next level.
Grae appeared, her green eyes wild as she tried to snatch the tray from Enver. “Maddy found them in Richvale. Small farming community about two hours north of here. House was recently purchased by a bogus corporation.” She muscled the tray away from him, shooing him as she passed. “Go. I’ve got this.” When he hesitated, she narrowed her eyes. “I’m pregnant, Enver, my arms and legs aren’t broken. Go. Now.”
“Text me the address,” he demanded over his shoulder as he passed the flurry of activity.
Any sort of rational thought about contacting the local authorities like he’d promised Kochran never even crossed his mind as he vaulted the stairs, taking them three at a time. His priority was to find the house and stop a madman.
He sped up as he neared the door, bursting through it at a full run. A distant storm splashed lightning across the horizon as he reached the truck. He cursed the fact Zoie hadn’t driven her cruiser last night. He would have looked forward to hearing that noisy siren go woo-woo after all.
* * *
Everything inside Marcus went cold as Davis touched Zoie on the top of her head. She yelled, jerking away from his touch. But with her restricted movement, there was only so far that she could go.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was to decide who to take out first? The high school teacher who flaunted his immoral lifestyle on his students, or the rookie bitch who couldn’t leave well enough alone?” Davis crouched, touching Zoie on the shoulder. She growled at him, but the noise only seemed to feed Davis’s hatred. “I had to be patient. So, so patient. Prison taught me that. Taught me how to use that time wisely to plan. But when I saw you together that night in Sacramento, I almost fucked up. I listened to Jeff’s taunts that I should kill Marcus right then and there. But that wasn’t part of the plan. So he had to go first. Then I could focus on what really mattered.”
“You killed him.” The knowledge was like a lead weight in Marcus’s stomach. Lighting flickered outside, splashing everything white for a split second. A loud boom followed several minutes later.
“No,” Davis insisted with a shake of his head. “I set him free. Just as I’m going to do with both of you.”
He touched the side of Zoie’s face with an almost tender caress.
Consciousness seemed to fully take hold of her then. She screamed, bucking and pulling at the chains wrapped around her body. The noise twisted Davis’s face into a mask of something Marcus’s couldn’t recognize.
“You are just as vile as he is. Filthy. Disgusting.” Davis backhanded Zoie, her head jerking to the side as she absorbed the blow.
“Leave her alone, Davis. It’s me you want.”
“This repulsive gash kept me away from my family.”
“You dug your own grave, asshole.” Zoie spit blood, growling softly. “Be a man and own your shit. You’re going back to prison, you know that, right? Or maybe playing with the boys again is what you want.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
But Marcus knew that Zoie wasn’t going to be swayed.
“I saw your files.” She lowered her voice. “Your parole officer was more than happy to share your records with me when they were trying to find you. You’re not telling Marcus the whole story. The same one I didn’t tell him to spare him the details about what you’ve been up to
. Seems like you made a special friend a few months after your sentence. Ink was barely dry on the paperwork and Dante Esposito had already made you his bitch.”
“I said shut up.” Davis reeled back with his fist, but Zoie tipped herself over so he instead connected hard with the column she was still secured to. His howl of pain echoed through the empty house. He shifted, turning so he was at a better angle to where she was now writhing on the floor in an effort to get away.
Zoie grunted when Davis’s foot connected with her midsection.
“Stop!” Marcus shouted, desperation racing through his blood stream. “Leave her alone, Davis. I know what you’re going through. You’re confused. Maybe scared and angry too. I can help you with your feelings. I can help you sort it out.”
Davis looked up, his body strung tight and clearly ready to continue the beating. “Can you make me straight? Fix me so I don’t want a guy’s dick shoved up my ass?”
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, convinced the situation couldn’t get any worse.
“You don’t need to be fixed, Davis. Just let Zoie go and I’ll stay. I’ll help you.” Marcus’s blood ran cold when he noticed a shadow darkening the doorway behind Davis’s shoulder. He’d been wrong.
This whole scenario could get monumentally worse.
A flash of lightning from the approaching storm illuminated the planes of Enver’s face. Marcus needed to keep Davis talking because damn it if he was going to let this fuckwad get the better of him again. Enver may have promised to keep him safe, but Marcus had brought this all down on all of their heads. He couldn’t live knowing he’d been the one responsible for any more death and destruction.
He risked a glance directly at Enver as he approached, but the older man just held his stare, clearly ignoring Marcus’s silent pleas to go away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He recognized that determined set of Enver’s eyes. Knew there was nothing he could say or do that would sway Enver’s mission. Maybe he could distract Davis. Give Enver some kind of advantage.
