Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals Book 1)

by Heather Long

  He’d dragged a shirt onto me, and then more people had walked in, and frankly, I didn’t know any of them. Well, I knew the one tech guy—both tech guys—sort of. I had no idea what their names were or why they were here. The redhead had helped me I thought, or he’d tried to when Eric cornered me.

  Fuck, my head hurt so bad, I swore my heartbeat pulsed inside my skull. My wrist hurt, and so did my leg. Every muscle on my body had a protest, and they were screaming. I could barely focus. When they’d tried to make me get on the bed, I’d grabbed the silver tray and hit the redhead across the shoulder and swung it at the older guy when he suggested sedating me.

  Hell no.

  I had to get out of here.

  If they called my parents…

  The tech with the arm sleeve tattoo and the colorful hands—they were nice hands, broad palms and thick fingers—had just asked me if I would sit down when Kestrel strode through the open door. I’d never been so relieved to see someone in my life.

  I hurled myself between the other two in a rush to get to him. My driver had had my back all week. He caught me as I all but fell into him, and I had to swallow back the pain clawing up my throat.

  “Kestrel.” I had to shove the words past the pain. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t betray how much it hurt or the fact my stomach lurched with every swaying breath I took. How hard had Eric hit me this time? “You didn’t abandon me.”

  No sooner had those words slipped out of me than I wanted to take them back.

  Had they seen it?

  Of course, they’d seen it. Why else would I be here with a bunch of strangers?

  “You’re safe,” Kestrel soothed, and he closed his arms around me. The cage of his arms was strong enough, it pressed me tight into him without squeezing me. Even the labored huff of my breathing warned me my ribs were hurting. “You’re safe.”

  No, I wasn’t. The words had me stiffening. I shouldn’t have bared a weakness, especially when I still didn’t know where I was. I pulled away from Kestrel and ignored the white-hot pain shooting up my leg. I’d performed on worse, and frankly, nothing compared to the hammering inside my skull.

  Which brought me back to the question no one had answered. “Where the hell am I?” I repeated, swinging my gaze from the redhead with brown eyes so pale, they bordered on topaz, to the tech who’d installed my lock and gave me a cigarette. He had longer hair and a beard, but they didn’t detract from his appearance in the slightest. The appeal of the sexy bad boy wasn’t lost on me, but I had long since learned my lesson.

  Everyone lied.

  Everyone betrayed.

  Everyone wanted something.

  I dragged my gaze off his chilly gray eyes and looked back at the redhead. Shirtless, most of his tattoos were on display. That wasn’t a good idea either, so I swung around to face Kestrel again, suddenly aware of his hand on my arm, and that was one step too far.

  My stomach revolted, and my leg buckled in the same breath.

  “Fuck,” Kestrel swore, but he didn’t let me go. If anything, he caught my weight and turned me away. Redhead with the beautiful eyes slid a pan in front of me, and to my utter humiliation, I threw up into it. Every gag brought up nothing but bile—thank fuck I never ate before a performance. Usually. Luckily the burger was hours before. The worst part though was the spikes retching drove through my skull.

  The world swayed, and as soon as the gagging stopped, strong arms lifted me, and it took me a minute to identify who held me. Even then, the panic clawing through me wanted him to put me down. “No,” I ordered him and had to fight crying out when I tried to pull away and bashed my arm. Pain shrieked along it to compete with the cacophony in my brain.

  “Stop,” a harsh, gravelly voice ordered, and then there were cool fingers on my chin. The man lifting my gaze up was the oldest one in the room, I thought. He had a dusting of stubble over his face, and his eyes were dark and intent. While his fingers were gentle, they didn’t let me pull away. “That’s enough,” he said. “You have a concussion and a lot of other damage. I’m going to look after you, and you’re going to let me. I’ll throw these three fuckers out if that’s what you need to rest, but right now, you stop flailing about. You’re going to hurt yourself, and we can’t have that.”

  The combination of command and humor helped, but the panic was a real thing shuddering inside my skin. I really needed Kestrel to put me down. He was sexy and sweet and he’d even come to the show and then he was here, but… “Put me down,” I said in a voice shaking way more than I liked. “Please.”

  The man holding my chin gave me a studying look and then said, “Let me help you back onto the bed, all right? Would that be all right? We just need to make sure you don’t hurt anything else.”

  The shaking seemed to be coming from deep inside.

  “Put her down, Kestrel,” the man ordered. “What’s your name, sweetheart? None of these idiots bothered to tell me.”

  I should totally lie. But my head hurt too much. “Emersyn.”

  “Nice name,” he commented as Kestrel set me on my feet. My ankle protested violently, but I forced my footing to stay steady.

  “I’m Mickey,” the man said as he held out a hand to me. “Most of them just call me Doc, but here, brace yourself on my arm and we’ll get you squared away.”

  I didn’t know if it was the pain or the soothing patience in his voice, but I put a hand on his arm just like he said and started forward. The sensation of hot and cold washed over me in waves and my stomach rolled, but I had always been good at ignoring the protests my body made. If only my head would stop.

  “Easy there, Emersyn, that’s a sweetheart, almost there. Lean more on me and keep your weight off that foot.”

  A shuffle of movement had me stiffening, and I jerked to find gray eyes right behind me. Where had Kestrel gone?

  “Back the fuck off, Hawk,” Doc ordered in a tone made of corded steel. “Ignore him,” Doc said to me in a far gentler tone. “Kestrel was right—you’re safe here, and they’re backing off now.”

  “I’m not fucking leaving, Doc. Stop telling her bullshit.”

  We were finally at the bed—though it was more of a table. The cool air on my bare legs reminded me I just had on a T-shirt. I had to assume it was the guy with the pretty tattoos all over his chest and arms. But I didn’t much care right now.

  Hawk.

  Kestrel.

  Why were they all named after birds?

  Wait, Doc wasn’t named after a bird.

  “If she needs you to step the fuck out, Hawk,” Doc growled out, “then you’ll damn well do it, and if you fight me on this, you’ll lose. She comes first. She’s the patient. You’re just an asshole.”

  That was almost funny, only the room kind of blurred around the edges. I put my hand on the table, and all at once, I couldn’t figure out how I was going to climb up there. My tongue felt thick, and my lips numbed.

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  The first time I’d dropped from the silks, I’d done it under orders. You couldn’t learn to fly if you didn’t know how to fall.

  This was a lot like that. Everything went weightless, and I crumpled.

  Only instead of bouncing into the net, I found myself staring up into a pair of fierce gray eyes so filled with fury, I was kind of glad I was about to pass out.

  Whatever I’d done to piss off this man, I had a feeling they wouldn’t find my body.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  The next time I opened my eyes, the room was dim with almost no light, save for a sliver of it on the far side of the room. The bed was soft under me, softer than most of the mattresses I’d ever had. I needed something firm to support my back. Soft encouraged laziness. The cool air was still there, but the antiseptic smell was gone. I couldn’t sort my thoughts into a straight line, but when I tried to sit up, my stomach lurched again.

  “Easy,” a warm, almost honeyed male voice said, and there was a steadying hand on me. “Got
the pail right here if you gotta upchuck again, though I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t.”

  I frowned. “You’re not Doc.” My voice came out super scratchy and rough. Had I swallowed glass?

  There was something icy and cold at my lips, and I opened my mouth to take the ice, half aware of the warm fingers chasing the ice in so it didn’t fall out. Fuck, I was all kinds of sloppy. Why couldn’t I focus?

  “I’d offer you water, but we have you on an IV,” the honeyed voice told me. “Doc’s orders. He’ll be here in a couple of hours to check on you.”

  He had to go?

  “Want me to settle another pillow behind you, let you sit up some?”

  “Please,” I said and tried to focus, but I couldn’t see anything. He lifted me with care, and then there was another soft pillow behind me. When he settled me back against them, he did with such smoothness, my stomach didn’t protest.

  Before I could ask anything else, he pressed more ice chips to my lips, and I sucked on them gratefully. A few more of those, and my next words weren’t so harsh. “Why is it dark?”

  “You have a concussion,” he told me in that melodious voice. The rich, deep timbre of it was something I could listen to for hours. “Doc explained the light in the clinic probably contributed to your symptoms worsening when you woke up earlier. So we’ll keep them off for now. I can see what you need.”

  That shouldn’t be comforting. “Where am I?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  I licked my lips. “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one you’re getting right now, Dove.”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “But it suits you.” There was an element of laughter in his voice. Was he laughing at me or with me?

  The thud of my skull made trying to puzzle that out hard. I was so tired. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Vaughn,” he told me.

  “So you’re not named after a bird?” Oh what was it with them and birds?

  He chuckled for real this time. “Sometimes they call me Falcon. But my name is Vaughn.”

  Huh.

  I thought I might have fallen asleep, but when I jerked awake, he was right there again, all soothing, deep voice in the dark. “You’re safe, Dove.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Nah,” he said, almost teasing. “I like it. Besides, you’re more like a wounded bird right now.”

  Wounded. “Has someone called my parents?” Dread curled through me. “Or the company?”

  “Nope,” he told me. “No one knows where you are.”

  The sinking sensation gave way to relief and then to sinking all over again. If the company didn’t know where I was, then Eric couldn’t bribe someone and show up. If my parents didn’t know, then they hadn’t dispatched some handler to deal with me. But I didn’t know these people…

  “You’re the one who gave me your shirt.”

  “Yep,” he said. “Looked good on you too. Though it kind of fit you more like a dress.”

  I wheezed a little laugh. “I should say thank you.”

  “Nah, you were having a shit night. Pretty sure you still are, Dove. You should try to sleep. Doc came and checked on you a little while ago. He’s wrapped your ankle and your wrist. Checked the stitches in your head. And I’ll go back to putting ice on your chest and sides here soon. We’re in the twenty minutes off portion.”

  “I’m so tired,” I admitted. “But I need to…” I needed to do something. But fuck if I knew what. I thought that I could handle Eric, that he would do what he did but he wouldn’t go any further. I never expected him to drag me out into the alley or whatever he was going to…

  “You don’t need to do anything but rest, Dove. We’ll take care of everything else.”

  That sounded too good to be true.

  “Why?”

  Instead of playing dumb, he just said, “Why not?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “You’re a petulant little thing, aren’t you?” That rich tone of amusement drifted back into his voice. “Go to sleep, Dove. Plenty of time to argue tomorrow. Soon as you can handle it, I’ll get you another steel tray to whack me with.”

  I laughed, and it hurt. I couldn’t quite keep the gasp of breath to myself. Almost immediately, he stroked a warmed calloused hand over my cheek and up to my hair. “Shh, easy,” he murmured. “No more jokes. Sleep is the best thing for you.”

  “I need…”

  “What do you need?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing I could ask for. I didn’t even know why they were doing this. Or who they were…but he was stroking my hair, and my eyes got heavier and heavier.

  “It’s all right, Dove, you sleep. Nothing is going to touch you here.” At least that’s what I thought he said before I plunged back into darkness.

  Chapter 6

  Emersyn

  The headache awaiting me the next time I opened my eyes promised me the night before hadn’t been a series of stop-motion filled nightmares. I was still in a soft bed, in a mostly dark room, though the light in the corner was a little brighter and the sliver had become a soft pool. Everything hurt, not as bad as it had, but the body aches stretched and threatened me as I rolled over.

  Instead of an IV in my hand, there was a Band-Aid across the back of the right one. My left was coated in a splint while also being wrapped in an Ace bandage. I shifted again and my ankle immediately protested, but I could feel the wrap on it and how it extended over my foot.

  Stiff didn’t begin to describe me. Every other time I’d woken, Vaughn had been here, a soothing presence in the dark, a melodious voice to chase away my nightmares and my protests. He told me very little, even while he spoke a lot. I half expected him to appear and begin stroking my hair again. I’d made it halfway to sitting by curling my abs, even as my chest and sides protested when I realized no, I wasn’t alone in the room.

  There was an oversized chair in the corner turned slightly sideways so the guy sleeping in it could stretch his legs out onto the foot of my bed. The puddle of yellow light highlighted the stranger sprawled there. He had a notebook pressed against his bare chest. Paint splattered his arms, and there were some in his blond hair. His arms were thick with muscle, and what I could see of his chest promised the same, but his legs were leaner. More like a runner.

  I made it all the way to sitting and took a moment to catch my breath. He let out the faintest of snores, and relief spilled through me. I didn’t know who he was or why he’d taken Vaughn’s place. I’d asked about Kestrel at one point, but I couldn’t remember his answer.

  Pushing the blanket away slowly, I tried to keep my movements controlled. I didn’t know this latest keeper, but if I could manage to move and get on my feet, then I could get to that door.

  Escape was the first item on my list.

  The dull throb of my headache pulsed with every movement, as if a warning. While my stomach didn’t lurch and the room didn’t waver, I paused frequently to let the pain ease back before I got my legs out and I stared down at my ankle. It had been taped well, and the bandage circled the arch of my foot to give it steadying support.

  Unless I’d actually broken it, when I didn’t think I had, I should be able to walk on it. Besides, my chest burned with every breath I took that threatened to try and expand my abused ribcage.

  How much worse could the ankle be?

  I was wearing a T-shirt and nothing else.

  That was a momentary flicker, but then I’d only been in a T-shirt in that clinic room I’d awoken in too. I didn’t feel any wetness on my thighs, and I had to pause right there at the edge of the bed and grip it with my right hand as I fought back the panic clawing up through my wheezing lungs.

  There was no wetness. Not once had I woken to Vaughn in the bed with me. He’d always been next to it, and I’d been under the covers.

  Head bowed, I forced deeper breaths. I couldn’t afford to freak out. Racing pulse and hot-cold sensation not
withstanding, I could do this. Up, Emersyn. On your feet. Focus on that step, then the next, and the one after that. Keep going until you can’t. Then get up and move some more.

  The mental litany did the trick. My heart still beat too fast and I still wanted to gulp air like I was drowning, but dance was as much about controlling my breath as my body. I needed to get out of here.

  Shooting a look over my shoulder, I checked that my blond guard hadn’t moved. The angle gave me a better look at him. There were definitely different colors of paint speckled over him, and one of his fingers was nearly blue like he’d been finger-painting. Or whatever.

  His ripped jeans were also stained liberally with paint. The rest of him was bare, from his blond head to his tapered waist. He had tattoos too, but I couldn’t make them out as more than shadows on his skin.

  I was pretty sure one was Celtic knotwork of some kind. I loved knotwork. I’d wanted one, but my body was always on display and why would I make a mess of it?

  Yeah, not sure how they justified the bruises when that was the bullshit excuse about tattoos.

  I was eighteen.

  Fuck it. I’d go get one as soon as I got out of wherever the fuck here was. I didn’t have to follow the rules anymore.

  Rising, I put most of my weight on the good ankle rather than the bad. No point in landing on my ass less than thirty seconds after I got out of the bed. The whole room swayed, and I wanted to curse. Curling the fingers of my right hand into my palm, I swallowed with a grimace. Or tried to.

  There was no spit in my mouth, and my throat, like my head, ached. The room teetered a little, and even with what little light there was in the room behind me, my eyes still watered.

  If I couldn’t stand up for long, I’d never make it out of here. I didn’t know why Kestrel and his friends took me, but kidnapping wasn’t out of the question. The last thing I wanted was to be ransomed back to my family. Yeah, I was sure that would go over well.