by I. T. Lucas
“Mark? How about you? Feeling lighter?”
I need to hear her say it.
Nathalie turned to Amanda. “You need to tell him that you accept his forgiveness and that you no longer feel guilty.”
“I love you, Mark,” Amanda said instead. “And I always will. No matter where you are, I hope you can remember that. It’s so unfair that you’ve been taken away. You of all people, who were so kind and so gentle and so giving.” She was sobbing in earnest now, the tears streaming down her cheeks in two dirty rivulets of dissolved mascara and eyeliner, falling on her white T-shirt and staining it. “And if you find Aiden on the other side, tell him Mommy loves him too, and misses him and always will. Would you do this for me? Please?”
Watching Amanda fall apart, Nathalie started crying as well, it was impossible not to. Poor woman. For a mother, there was no greater tragedy than losing her child. Crap, they should have invited Dalhu. Amanda could’ve used his love and support to get through this. But Nathalie hadn’t expected things to become so emotional.
In her head, Mark sniffled. Tell Amanda, of course. I’ll do all I can to find Aiden and give him the message. Or perhaps he can find you and relay it through you?
By all means. But I’m not going to tell her that. I don’t want her waiting and wishing for it to happen and then it doesn’t work out. We’ll be doing her a great disservice.
You’re right.
“Mark says that he will do everything he can to find Aiden and give him your message.”
“Thank you.” Amanda lifted a shaky hand to wipe away her tears.
“Scoot,” Nathalie said, nudging Andrew to let her out. Someone needed to comfort Amanda.
She walked over to the other side of the booth and slid next to Amanda, wrapping her arm around her, “Shh… it’s okay, Just let it all out.”
Amanda collapsed into the embrace, sobbing on Nathalie’s shoulder until she was all sobbed out. “I’m sorry,” she said as she lifted her head.
Nathalie rubbed her back. “We all need a good cry from time to time.”
Grabbing a napkin, Amanda wiped her eyes then used it to blow her nose. “Sorry again. I know it’s gross.”
“Will you stop? That’s what girlfriends are for. Right?”
She nodded. “Thank you. And you too, Mark. I accept the gift of your forgiveness. I’m going to treasure it forever.”
You’re welcome. Goodbye, Amanda. See you on the other side. Hopefully, in a long, long time.
Chapter 7: Anandur
Today was the day Lana was going to tell him everything. Anandur had been pushing, gently but doggedly, and he felt she was ready. One last shove would do the trick.
It must.
If he failed to get information out of her again, Anandur was going to drop her and this whole line of investigation. He had already wasted too much time on it, and he was getting sick of Lana, and of pretending to feel for her more than he did.
She was a fine piece of ass, but not fine enough to keep coming back for more.
Besides, the owners of the boat they had been using as their shag-pad were due back the next day. If nothing else, this was reason enough to end things tonight.
“Here you are,” he greeted Lana as she finally showed up, pulling her into his arms, shopping bags and all. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here for over half an hour.”
She lifted the paper bags. “I go buy food. Renata no cooking today. She go with Geneva.”
That was a shame. Anandur had gotten used to Renata’s superb cooking. She was a wizard with fish and not too bad with meat either. Except for the goulash—a disgusting dish that was more a soup than a stew and that the Russians loved. She might have been the best cook of it in the world and it would still be disgusting.
“What you got in there?” He peeked into one of the bags.
“The usual. Steaks, corn, and frozen chips to heat up.”
“French fries, baby, not chips. Chips are the thin crispy things. If you want to become an American, you need to get your potatoes right.”
She flipped him the bird and shoved past him into the tiny kitchen.
Someone is in a bad mood.
He followed her in and put his hands on her shoulders, kneading the kinks as she emptied the contents of the bags on the counter. “What’s wrong, baby? You seem tense.”
The muscles in her shoulders were as hard as stone. It must’ve hurt. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He leaned and kissed her neck.
She stopped what she was doing, and for a moment he thought she would start talking, but then she shook her head. “After we eat. I’m hungry.”
“No problem. Anything I can do to help?”
“Start the coals in the barbecue.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He stepped out onto the deck and fired up the barbecue. A few minutes later, Lana brought the steaks, seasoned and ready for the grill.
He took the plate out of her hands. “I’ll take care of the meat. You prepare the French fries.”
As he got busy flipping, the smell filling his nostrils was making him hungry. There was nothing better than a steak fresh off the grill. Kian was missing out on the good stuff with his healthy vegan diet. They were immortals for fates’ sakes, there was no need to obsess about eating healthy.
When the meat looked just the way he liked it, Anandur heaped the five steaks on the plate and stepped inside. Lana was just finishing setting up the table with the usual. Corn on the cob, French fries, and a bottle of vodka.
He dropped two of the steaks on her plate and the remaining three on his.
“Let’s eat.” Stuffing the fabric napkin in the open collar of his shirt, Anandur got ready to attack the meat—fork in one hand and the knife with the other—when Lana cast him a baleful glance. He paused with both suspended in the air. Dipping her head over her steepled hands, she mumbled a quick grace in Russian then crossed herself.
“Now we eat,” she said.
The rest of the meal went by in silence. Perhaps because they were both hungry, or because Lana was nervous. Less so after chugging down most of the vodka, but still, he smelled the faint scent of her irritation.
Interesting. Lana seemed pissed about something but not fearful. Not a good sign as far as her spilling the beans went. Anandur assumed that if she were about to reveal her boss’s secrets, she would’ve been terrified.
When both of their plates were empty, Lana leaned back in her chair and rubbed her stomach. “It was good, da?”
“Very good. Thank you for a lovely meal.”
She reached for her shot glass and he refilled it for her. Shooting it back down her throat, she clanged the small glass on the table and pinned him with a pair of very pale blue eyes. “I want to ask you something.”
“Ask away.” He waved a hand.
“Did you find your cousin? The one that was taken?”
“No.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You say you are lion. How come you not find her?”
He smiled even though he was sure it looked more menacing than reassuring. “I’m a small one. But two very powerful lions are working on finding her and punishing those who took her.”
She nodded as if he told her something she wanted to hear. “These lions, are they willing to protect weasels from wolf?”
“How many weasels?”
“Six.”
The whole crew.
“What could the weasels offer the lions in exchange for their protection?”
“Information. About the wolf and the bad things he does. But the weasels also want new papers. They want to be Americans and start a new life far away from the wolf.”
“It’s a deal.” Anandur had no doubt Kian would approve. Arranging new identities for the crew and taking care of the women’s legal status was easy, maybe a little costly, but Kian wouldn’t even bat an eyelid before paying up. The information they could provide about Alex and what he was doing was well worth it.
&
nbsp; “How do you know the lions say yes? You didn’t ask.”
“I don’t need to. I know that they have the means to arrange for what you need and are willing to do it for information about your boss.” The time for allegories from the animal kingdom was over.
Lana narrowed her eyes. “Are you detective?”
“No, I’m not.”
“What are you? I know you’re no deck boy.”
If he wanted her to trust him, he needed to give her something. Apparently, Lana wasn’t as dumb as she pretended to be.
“You are right, I am not a deck boy. I work for one of the guys that can help you girls out. He is concerned about Alex’s illegal activity. I was sent to investigate. But I’m not a policeman or even a private detective.”
“You have sex with me for information?”
Anandur shrugged. “Not that it was such a chore. You’re a hot piece of ass, Lana. I enjoyed every moment of it.”
That seemed to mollify her. “The man you work for, is he like a Vor?”
Anandur chuckled. Kian would have been affronted to be compared to a mafia boss, but what the hell, for Lana this would be a good enough explanation.
“In a way. He is the head of a big organization, but what we do is mostly legal.”
Lana looked skeptical. Legal was not what she was after.
“Don’t worry. We have no problem arranging fake papers. In fact, we can provide you with the best papers money can buy. Foolproof. I can also include some cash in the deal to give you girls a head start on your new lives.”
She eyed him with a raised brow, her fleshy lips pursed. “What you want in exchange?”
“As I said, information. You practically already admitted to me that Alex is smuggling women and selling them to sex slavers. First, we want to know how he does it. Next, we want details about an upcoming transaction so we can find out who the buyers are.”
“I want to see papers first.”
Not surprisingly, Lana wasn’t going to take him up on his word. The Russian needed to see concrete proof that he could deliver what he was promising.”
“No problem. You girls get mug shots for the papers and tell me what names you want to use and I’ll have the papers ready for you the next day, and I’ll show you the cash. How much do you want? Just don’t go crazy with the money, I still need to sell the deal to my boss.”
“Twenty thousand each.”
Chump change.
“That’s reasonable.”
“Good.”
“Can you tell me at least how he does it?”
She considered for a moment. “They come for him. The girls. He promise them things. Alexander is handsome and rich. They like it. He drugs them and puts them behind the wall in his closet. They sleep all the way until he meets the buyer. Then he transfer them like cargo, and they keep sleeping.”
Chapter 8: Carol
Lying on her side Carol faced the wall, the note she’d scribbled for Robert clutched in her hand.
Her unlikely savior.
Each morning, he would show up with her breakfast and the two little pills that were making her existence a little more tolerable. Actually, she took it back. There was nothing tolerable about getting whipped, healing overnight, and getting whipped all over again the next day. Her torment was still horrendous, just a tiny little bit less excruciating. A never-ending cycle of fear and pain and misery.
How long did the sadist think she could endure this until her mind snapped? Did he even care?
The fucker would have been a complete idiot not to. What were his chances of capturing another indestructible whipping-toy?
None.
Unless he didn’t give a shit if she’d gone raving mad or conversely catatonic.
Robert was her only ray of hope. Except, with the surveillance camera monitoring her room twenty-four-seven there was little she could do to sway him to her side. He seemed a decent fellow, for a Doomer, that is, and he obviously didn’t approve of his commander’s sadistic treatment of her, but that didn’t mean he would be willing to help her escape.
She had to try, though. No one was coming to her aid.
Having a male fall for her was something Carol was an expert at. Over the years, she’d perfected her seduction into a form of art. It was easy to seduce a guy’s body, but seducing his heart and soul required real mastery. Except, it was of little use when she had a total of about five minutes daily with the guy, and couldn’t say or do anything because of the fucking camera.
There was none in the bathroom, but it wasn’t as if Robert could join her there for a rendezvous. Nothing in his behavior could change or his boss would be onto him and her supply of pills would be gone.
It was obvious Robert was terrified of Sebastian. With good reason.
The sadist was a soulless monster.
It hadn’t been easy to come up with a sneaky way to write a note without arousing suspicion. Carol was pretty proud about the clever solution she’d come up with to fool whoever was watching the camera feed. They had seen her taking paper and pen into the bathroom, but they had also seen her emerging with a written page she’d pretended to hide in her closet. If anyone checked on it, they would discover a rambling journal entry describing her ordeal. She’d even gone one step further, writing shit Sebastian would find flattering. Perhaps he would go easier on her after reading it. What they wouldn’t discover, however, was the little note she was going to slip to Robert when he came in with her breakfast.
She’d wracked her sluggish brains trying to write something that would cause a guy to fall in love with her. Carol wasn’t a poet, or even a decent letter composer. Usually, her childlike innocent appearance combined with her sultry seduction technique was enough to fell the majority of men. She could count those who had resisted her charms on the fingers of one hand. The few men who had escaped her clutches had been already deeply in love with another woman, or just not interested in females in general.
Robert, obviously, didn’t belong to either group.
Excitement over giving Robert the note was making her restless, and when the knock came, she had to force herself to remain still and face the wall. Any change in behavior would’ve looked suspicious.
She had to play it cool.
“Good morning, Carol,” Robert said as he entered. “Today I have a special treat for you. A cold, fresh watermelon.”
Turning around slowly, she checked to see that he was blocking the camera with his wide back. Robert was quite good looking, for a Doomer. And tall, the way she liked her men—despite being a shorty, or maybe because of it. Carol smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you. It’s very kind of you.” She reached for his hand and exchanged the note for the three white pills he was holding.
Robert gaped, first at her face then down at his hand. He had never seen her smiling before. Out of her arsenal of seductive tools, it was the only one she could use under the circumstances.
Blushing like a schoolboy, Robert closed his hand over the note. “I’ll come later to collect the tray.”
She nodded, training her eyes meaningfully on his closed fist before turning back to the wall.
If Robert was indeed a good man, and she had a feeling that he was, he would at least answer her most pressing question. Was Ben here? And if not, did Robert know if he was dead or alive?
Of course, that hadn’t been the only thing she’d written in her note. Carol had made damn sure that it was clear Ben was her cousin and not her boyfriend. She’d complimented Robert on his bravery and had expressed her gratitude for his help, including a few subtle clues about how attractive she found him, and how under different circumstances there could’ve been something between them.
Anyone with any common sense would’ve figured out what she was trying to do, but Carol hoped Robert would fall for it. Obviously, the guy liked her, and as an immortal male and a Doomer, he’d never been around women long enough to learn all the manipulative tricks they used.
He had no reason to be jade
d, yet, and he might believe that she was genuine.
For real, though, it wasn’t a complete lie. She wasn’t attracted to him, not because he was lacking, but because she was in no state to feel anything other than rage. But if she had met him in a club and he were a human, she would’ve flirted with him for sure.
Anyway, if he ended up helping her, she was going to give the guy the best fucking of his life. Many times over. The trick would be to communicate the promise without sounding like the slut she was.
Carol knew men, and Robert was the kind of guy that would help her only if she kept up her sweet and innocent act.
There was no chance in hell he would risk his hide for a glorified ex-whore.
Chapter 9: Kian
Kian took his seat at the head of the conference table and laid a single printed sheet of paper on top of the glossy surface. The short list of items he’d composed last night had been emailed to each of the council members. In preparation for the brainstorming session he’d invited them to, Kian had asked them to look into possible solutions for a new location that would provide the clan with a secure keep.
The list was by no means complete.
Pushing up to his feet, he walked over to his desk, grabbed a notepad and his engraved Montblanc, then went back and sat down at the oblong table.
Just one more thing to peg him as an old timer, Kian thought while twirling the pen between his fingers. This current generation of millennials, or whatever they were called, no longer bothered with old-fashioned pen and paper—their quick fingers dancing over tablets and smartphones and laptops, typing up notes and memos at an enviable speed. Kian had given it a half-hearted try, only to go back to good old-fashioned handwritten notes. For some reason, his mind worked better when his hand penned the letters rather than tapped them.
The night before, Ben had woken up from his coma, but as Kian had anticipated, he had no information to add that was of any help to Carol. He remembered something about a van full of Doomers and running away while holding Carol’s hand. After that it was all hazy. Kian hadn’t pressed Ben for more. The guy couldn’t talk yet, and had had to write his answers with a hand that was as weak as an infant’s.
