Deadly Game

by Christine Feehan

  Ken shook his head. "I'll be fine. This is my war, Jack. You just watch yourself up there. If he sees you climbing and thinks you're me, he could very well go after you or try to take you out with a nice, well-placed shot."

  Jack shrugged. "Then you'd better be in position covering me."

  Ken nodded and went into the shop, emerging a few minutes later with a blond wig on his head. He hunched, trying to make himself smaller, staying to the thicker foliage so anyone watching would only catch glimpses of him. Sean needed to see Jack, to believe it was Ken climbing the rock face. It would further the illusion that Mari was hiking in the woods by herself. Ken took up a position, sitting on a boulder near the spring, lacy fern fronds covering most of his body as he waited for Sean to spot him. All the while his gaze searched the ridges to make certain the enemy wasn't lying in wait to get a shot off at Jack.

  Minutes passed. Fifteen. He could see Jack moving up the sheer face of the rock to his favorite lookout spot. To an outsider he appeared to be engaging in a little recreational rock climbing. Ken knew that once Jack was at the top, he would slide into the shadow of the cliff, right into a neat little depression where no one could spot him, and he would have a bird's-eye view of the surrounding region.

  Twenty minutes. Ken bent, picked up a few small pebbles, and idly tossed them into the spring. The back of his neck prickled. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades. There was the whisper of leaves brushing against clothing. It would all be on instinct now, and Ken had survival instincts honed from his childhood, when his father entered the house drunk, intent on inflicting as much pain and damage as he could on his sons. He knew when he was in danger. He was being stalked.

  Ken bent down again as though picking up more pebbles. He stayed low, sweeping the area with a casual glance around. He made a great show of selecting flat stones for throwing. A twig snapped off to his left on the narrow deer trail that crisscrossed the hills. The deer had a favorite spot to lie in the shade near the spring. Ken glanced toward the area where the grasses were perpetually trampled and saw part of a pant leg. He palmed the knife in his boot as he straightened, taking care to stay in the middle of the overgrown ferns.

  "Hello Mari," Sean greeted. "If you stay very, very quiet, I might let everyone but your lover live. If you give me trouble, the first person I kill is your whoring sister."

  Ken turned slowly, concealing the knife along his wrist. "Watch your mouth when you talk about my sister-in-law."

  "You!" Sean scowled, anger flitting across his face; then his mouth pulled tight in a snarling grin. "Just the bastard I wanted to meet."

  "You're not very smart, are you?" Ken asked, taking a step to his right to see if Sean would follow. "Did you think I wouldn't protect her?"

  Sean circled Ken, eyes restlessly searching the area around them, measuring the distance separating them. "I saw you on the mountain, climbing," he said conversationally. "How the hell could you be up here?"

  "My brother, Jack," Ken replied without emotion. All rage had disappeared, and he felt the inevitable ice flowing in his veins, slowing down time, tunneling so that all he saw was a man with targets painted on his body.

  "You can't have her. I know you took her from me."

  "She was never yours. She's her own person, Sean. You can't treat her like a possession. She has her own mind and her own will." Even as Ken said the words aloud, his heart sank. He was as bad as Sean, trying to hold her to him when he knew she needed to fly free. He couldn't change his nature any more than Sean could undo whatever he had allowed Whitney to do to him.

  Sean palmed his knife. "It's going to be a pleasure to kill you."

  "Do you really think it's going to be that easy? You sold out, asshole, and you didn't even do it gracefully. You must have loved her once, loved her enough to decide you could just take her--own her."

  "Like you? I saw what you did to her."

  Ken backed away from the spring, luring Sean toward open ground where Jack could get a clear shot at him. "You loved her so much you let those bastards strip her naked and photograph her. You let the doctor stick his fingers inside her, touch her when you knew how much she hated it. You don't deserve her."

  Sean tossed the knife back and forth between his hands, all the while circling, forcing Ken to continue to give ground. His smile never wavered, a small, evil grin, his gaze hard as he compelled Ken to back a few more feet. Ken was aware that he was close to the crumbling edge of the bluff. He shifted on the balls of his feet--waiting.

  Sean feigned an attack. Ken didn't respond. The smirk faded just a little. "She was always meant for me. Whitney promised her to me."

  "In return for betrayal? Did you report the women's conversations? Their plans for escape? You were the one who told him Mari was going to try to talk to the senator about Whitney's disgusting baby factory. He was really angry over that one, wasn't he? He gave you the heavier dose of Zenith, and you injected it in her like the good little toad you are."

  Sean hissed a breath out, feigning another attack, moving forward with incredible speed and striking with a flowing roundhouse punch. Ken just managed to jerk his head out of the way and pull in his belly enough to avoid the slice of the knife.

  "I had no idea it would kill her. He said if she got hurt it would heal her. I wouldn't ever let him harm Mari."

  "No, you'd just let a perverted doctor touch her and take pictures to plaster all over his wall so he could jack off at night." Ken glided forward, a blurring figure, his wrist flicking several times, as he moved on past Sean. He was now only a few feet from the edge of the bluff. "You'd just beat her bloody and rape her. You sick, twisted fuck."

  Sean stared down at the blood dripping from his arm, belly, and chest. Thin lines stretched across his skin. He swore and lunged again, this time, blade up, going for the softer parts of the body. At the last second Ken pivoted, allowing Sean's forward momentum to carry him past, the wrist flicking again. This time Sean's left cheek, neck, hip, and thigh sported long wicked-looking cuts.

  Sean screamed, fury burning in his eyes. He danced in, a big man, light on his feet, snapping a quick thrust and following it with a hard forward snap kick to Ken's thigh. The second kick took Ken in exactly the same spot, deadening his leg. Before Sean could retract the leg, Ken drove the point of his knife deep into the man's calf, twisted, and jumped back, precariously near the edge of the cliff.

  It was a particularly brutal injury. Blood sprayed in wide arcs, and Sean yelled obscenities, desperation creeping into his eyes. "You fucking freak. You really think Mari could want a man like you? Maybe if you wear a mask to cover the horror of your face." He spat at Ken, reached down as if to pull the knife from his calf, but snapped upright, throwing his own knife at Ken's chest.

  Ken moved with blurring speed, tucking his shoulder and rolling to the side to avoid the weapon. It burned across his right bicep, shaving skin. Sean followed the knife, rushing Ken, certain his heavier body would send Ken over the edge. Ken gripped Sean with two hands, one at his throat, the other on his upper arm, superhuman strength, a vise steadily closing, crushing. Sheer terror swept through Sean. He had been counting on his own enhanced strength and his hatred of this man, but he never expected the enormous strength in Ken's body.

  Sean fought like a wild animal, desperately attempting to knock the legs out from under Ken, twice more finding the spot on the thigh he'd kicked. Ken seemed inhuman, a monster! Nothing affected him, that grip relentlessly tightening. Choking, coughing, Sean flung himself backward with all his weight, his feet scraping for a purchase as the earth crumbled and gave way beneath him.

  The weight of Sean's body suddenly was a deadweight on the end of Ken's arm. His grip on Sean's throat was the only thing preventing the man from falling. They stared at each other, Ken on his knees, trying to find a way to dig his toes into the soft dirt for a purchase, to prevent himself from going over the edge with his enemy. Sean gripped Ken's arm, determined that if he went crashing to the rocks below, h
e would take Ken with him. Blood made his grip slippery, but desperation gave him added strength. He dug his fingers into Ken's skin. The edge crumbled more, sent dirt skittering down the cliff face. Ken opened his hand to allow Sean to fall, but the man clamped on his wrist with both hands.

  "I go, you go," he snarled. "Pull me up, damn you."

  "Not in this lifetime, you son of bitch. You're out of her life forever."

  "So are you then." Sean's teeth clenched, his grip tightening like a vise.

  The edge was giving way, more dirt and rock tumbling down, Ken sliding with the weight of Sean's body pulling him. He had no leverage to fight, nothing to hang onto, and the earth around him was shifting and sliding.

  Don't move. Jack's voice was utterly calm.

  Hell. Ken swore at his brother, trying to stay absolutely still. He was moving, sliding down the cliff while Sean hung on like a terrier.

  A hole blossomed suddenly in the middle of Sean's forehead, and then Ken heard the crack of the shot. The bullet had passed close to the top of his head, shaving off a few hairs as it whistled past. Sean's grip loosened abruptly, his fingers sliding away as the body fell to the rocks below.

  Ken threw his body backward, rolled over, and stared up at the blue sky, his arm feeling as though it had been torn out of its socket. He was drenched in perspiration, and his leg, where Sean had landed several kicks, felt as if a sledgehammer had been taken to it. He dragged air into his lungs and waited there, knowing Jack would come.

  Clouds spun across the sky, casting shadows over the ground. Ken closed his eyes and felt exhaustion roll over him. He was sick inside, his body and mind fatigued. His scars throbbed painfully, too tight for his skin, reminding him that Sean was right. He could no longer hide what he was from the world. Mari knew. Mari saw him for what he was. He couldn't hide behind a handsome face anymore.

  And she would always have the contrast staring at her every morning if she did stay. How could she look at Jack and not be ashamed to be with Ken? Even so, it didn't matter. He was as pathetic as Sean. He wanted her to stay. To love him. He needed her, when he'd never allowed himself to need anything or anyone. Ken reached out to brush his mind against hers, needing the touch almost more than he needed the air he was fighting for.

  Mari. It's over.

  I know. Jack sent word to Briony. There was a small hesitation. You know I can't stay. You know I can't.

  He had known, but he couldn't accept it. His heart nearly stopped. Don't. Don't do this. I'm coming to you now, baby.

  I don't want you to. And then there was only a black void. Emptiness. No soft intimate brush, no echo of laughter or companionship. Simply emptiness. She was gone, shutting him out of her life. No more happiness. No more feeling alive. It was all gone.

  His gut clenched, and he rolled to his knees, sick with the idea of losing her. He retched over and over, knowing absolutely that she left. He couldn't blame her. It was the only smart thing to do, and Mari was smart. He smashed his fist into the ground. Once. Twice.

  "Ken." Jack was there, kneeling beside him. "I thought I'd lost you."

  He looked up at Jack, not really seeing him. Ken realized he was lost--he'd been lost for a long time. Mari had brought him back to life. "She's gone." His gaze jumped to Jack's face; he saw a hint of guilt creep into his eyes and fade. "You knew?"

  Jack sat back on his heels, his gaze watchful, wary. "Briony is crying. She told me Mari hugged her and said she couldn't stay--that she belonged with the other women."

  "And you didn't tell Logan to stop her?"

  "Mari is a trained soldier. I didn't want to risk Logan or Briony getting hurt. You can't keep Mari tied up for the rest of her life; you know you can't."

  "You son of a bitch."

  "Ken. Be reasonable."

  He didn't feel reasonable. He felt like his world was crumbling around him. His mind felt fractured, his head roaring, thunder crashing in his ears. "How long ago?"

  "Take it easy, Ken," Jack said to soothe him.

  "Damn it." Ken's fist slammed into the dirt, although he wanted to smash it into his brother's face. "How long ago?"

  "She left as soon as she knew Sean was dead."

  Ken surged to his feet, a sudden cold blast spreading through his body. The knots in his belly tightened to the point of pain. His mouth went dry, the air in his lungs rushing out, to leave him gasping. He had time. He had to have time to stop her.

  He shoved past Jack and began to trot down the mountain. He didn't dare run full-out; the trail was far too treacherous and his leg was on fire. His steady, ground-eating trot would get him there quickly. He tried to keep his mind a merciful blank, but her image insisted on crowding in. Her smile, her dark chocolate eyes, the way she tilted her chin. He choked back a sob, felt his heart exploding, tearing at his chest.

  The mountain, the forest, his world, his sanctuary, was a hostile, unyielding place. He couldn't see its beauty, didn't want its beauty.

  Nothing--no one--could take her from him. She was life. She was happiness. She was his only reason to keep going. He needed her desperately. Her sisters couldn't have her. They didn't need her the way he did. He had been so alone, so empty. Each day, he had worked, breathed, lived as an automation, and then she had come into his life and everything in him had come alive.

  They couldn't take her from him. The universe couldn't be that cruel. He wanted to scream his denial, but he needed to save his strength. He ran through the trees, leapt over rocks, foliage tearing at his skin. His damaged leg throbbed and burned right along with his lungs, but the image of her rising up to taunt him kept him running. Why had he left her? Why had he allowed them to be separated when she was so uncertain about their future? He had known she was wavering--feeling uncomfortable and unsure of herself in a foreign environment. He shouldn't have been so arrogant and bossy. He could have asked--not ordered--her to go into the tunnels.

  He wouldn't let anyone take her from him. She could understand his turbulent nature, his wild cravings, and he understood her need for freedom. He recognized strength in her, an iron will, the same as it was in him. He recognized her loyalty; it ran deep and pure, the same as it was in him. They fit together, two halves of the same whole. They belonged.

  He burst from the forest and half ran, half slid down the trail into the yard, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes a little wild. He ran across the uneven terrain. Dusk was falling. The house was dark, forbidding, silent. There were no lights on in the interior.

  He flung open the kitchen door, his heart pounding, a raw gaping wound growing in his gut. She was gone. He knew it with such certainty he didn't need to tear through the house, running insanely from room to room, screaming her name hoarsely, but he did it anyway.

  "Mari! Damn you, Mari, come back to me."

  He heard his own scream of anguish, thought it should splinter the windows, but there was only silence.

  Back in the kitchen he caught up the keys to the truck with a vague idea of going after her, but tears were blinding his vision. He stared, unseeing, at the tabletop, defeated, his broad shoulders slumped, his torn, dirt-streaked clothing clinging to his sweat-stained body.

  It had to be her choice or he was just as bad as Sean and Whitney and his father. He refused to let his father's legacy consume him. He wasn't that man, selfish and unable to see that a woman wasn't a possession. Mari had to choose him, want to be with him. She had to accept the flaws in him just as he would have had to accept the fact that she wasn't Briony, with her much more submissive personality.

  Love was a choice, and if Mari felt the need to be with her sisters, if the pull there was stronger than her feelings for him, he couldn't--and wouldn't--force her. He pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes and made no effort to stop the flow of tears because he loved her enough to let her go.

  He could hear the ticking of the clock. The passage of time. He couldn't stop the sobs tearing his chest apart, the tears that had never come for his lost face and his des
troyed manhood. He could hardly bear the pain this time. He had borne so much stoically, but losing Mari was losing life and hope all over again, and his throat burned raw with choking sorrow.

  "Ken?" A soft inquiry, a beautiful voice.

  He stiffened, not believing, not daring to believe. He passed a hand over his face, choked down the tight lump in his throat, and turned very slowly.

  Mari was standing in the doorway anxious and very disheveled. Sweat beaded on her skin; leaves and twigs were caught in her hair. There were scratches on her arms and a rip in her shirt. She was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

  "I thought you were gone." His voice was strangled.

  "I ran halfway down the road and then I couldn't run anymore. I just stopped and stood there crying. I didn't want to go any further. I don't care if I should be with my sisters. I love you. I know I do. I can't leave. I have no idea how to be anything you want me to be, but I'll try."

  He took a step toward her, gray eyes moving over her hungrily. "You've never said you love me before."

  She tilted her head to look up at him. "You look awful, Ken. Did you get hurt?"

  He waved the subject aside, gathering her into his arms. "I don't want you to be anything but what you are, Mari."

  "Well, that's a good thing because I was giving you a load of crap so you'd want me to stay." She pressed little kisses along his throat, over his rough jaw.

  The adrenaline surge was gone, leaving him feeling shaky and sick. His body roared at him, calling him all kinds of names for the abuse. He didn't care. Nothing mattered but that she was in his arms and he could stroke her body, pull her closer, fit her hips to his. And that he wanted to smile again. She made him smile again. "I knew that. You're always going to be a handful."

  "So true." Mari linked her hands around his neck, her body moving enticingly against his. "I'm glad you realize that."

  His mouth slanted over hers, forcing her lips apart to feed hungrily.

  "What about Sean?" she murmured when he lifted his head.

  "He's dead." He said it tersely. "Let that be the end of it."

  She nodded. "Sit down. Let me look at you." Already her hands were sliding over his body, searching for damage. She touched his face with gentle fingers. "I was afraid for you, Ken, and I needed to be with you, not stuck down in a tunnel somewhere."