Theda tried to crane her neck to catch Ezekiel's gaze, but she still couldn't straighten up enough to do so. She had to settle for trying to speak to him instead.
"Don't believe him," she croaked out and the Beast laughed at her pitiful attempt to be heard.
Ezekiel made a sound that could have been a protest, but there was a strange sort of questioning at the end of it that made Theda's heart stutter.
She gave up trying to straighten and collapsed to her knees. One hand went to the floor to support her and she finally found the energy to stare up at the Beast. She watched the serpentine grin slither across the Beast's face again, imagined she saw within his expression genuine humor.
"Feel free to rid the order of this disobedient bitch, General Eazy," he said, eyeing Theda. "She won't be able to withstand your rage no matter how strong she is. Yours is a righteous anger; no one can overcome righteous anger."
The Beast backed away almost as if he was trying to fade into the background. He motioned for his henchmen to gather around him.
"I think we've used her as much as we can. And you look like you could use another hit of your favorite drug. Go on, General."
Hypnotism, that's what the Beast was doing. His voice was a soothing barrage of white noise, mesmerizing Ezekiel. Breaking him down like waves eroded a shore. And Ezekiel had been conditioned to listen. What chance did she have against that?
Theda's mouth went dry. This was it. She didn't even have the time to change her mind about Henrik's vision. The Beast didn't care about that leverage anymore, it was clear, and Ezekiel was close enough now that she could see the murderous look in his eye. The Beast had glamoured him into believing she was truly the Red General. He believed the Red General had killed Theda. He believed he'd just made love to Kat under pretense of her being Theda. It was all a big jumbled mess, and she imagined that in his mind, any deadly blow would be too quick.
Even so, she wasn't prepared for the way he lifted her by her hair and pulled her to stand in front of him. His green eyes had turned to shards of cold glass that sliced into her as they took her in.
"I want you to tell me exactly how you killed her," he husked. "I want you to give me every specific detail, because that's exactly what I'm going to do to you. Except I'm not going to deal the final blow. I'm going to find some imaginative ways to extend your torture."
"Please, Ezekiel," she whimpered, trying to block out the pain of her scalp shrieking messages to her voice box to scream. She had to reach him. She was aware that behind her the Beast waited, a gloating air settling around him.
"Don't beg," Ezekiel said. "Don't. Speak. One. Word."
She clamped her mouth closed, frantic to find some other way to reach him. There had to be something.
He yanked on her hair, pulling her forward and she stumbled, twisting her other ankle in the high boots. When she staggered and nearly fell, she heard some of her hair pull free of its roots and she yelped. She tottered for several seconds, trying to find her footing, but he didn't care to wait. Instead, he dragged her with him as he strode for the back of the room.
"I know you're afraid of fire," he said. "You better hope that it's out in there."
"It's me," she pleaded. "Ezekiel. You have to know that."
He shook her and more of her hair pulled free. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wasn't sure if it was from the pain or fear.
"I told you: not one word."
Something in her broke; how could she get to this man when he already believed she was dead. When the Beast had used his own power to feed Ezekiel's fear. More powerful even than addiction, fear had a way of distorting things. She understood that better than anyone. As far as she could see, she had but one option. Pretend to be Kat.
"But if I can't speak, how will I tell you how I killed her?" It was a risk, a terrible terrible risk, but it was the only option she had that she could think of.
Instead of answering, He pressed her against the metal door, and where her cheek touched, she felt the heat of the room inside. In seconds, the heat that had been stored in the metal burned her skin. She sobbed.
He eyed her dispassionately. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't let the fire do that much damage. Not yet anyway."
"But if you burn me, Ezekiel," she said as slyly as she could manage. "Then how will you ever find out where Bridget is?"
The tension in her hair slackened. She had him. Maybe Theda was gone in his mind, but he could still save his sister.
"That's right, Ezekiel. I know where the Beast has put her. Play your cards right, and I'll make sure you get her back."
Something shifted in his gaze. Subtle, but definitely a shift. She pressed it.
"Your precious Theda is gone, but Bridget is still alive."
She could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage as she waited for his reaction. When both hands went round her biceps and he lifted her level to his face, she knew she had reached him.
"Tell me."
"The box," she said. "She's in the box."
"That box is in pieces," he drawled. "I kicked through it myself."
She had to think fast, but all that came to her was the tank. "Not that one," she said. "The other cylinder."
"There was no other cylinder."
"Are you sure? You thought I was Theda."
He shook her until her teeth clicked together. "Careful, bitch."
It stung, even though she knew he wasn't really calling her names, that he thought he was talking to Kat. She had to bite her tongue to keep from ruining the ruse. She just hoped that the fire in the boutique was actually out, that the inner sanctum was still untouched.
"She was right there with you all along, you know that don't you?"
It was tricky, goading him, but she had to believe that since he thought she was Kat, that anything was possible. She had to plant the doubt.
"I know where that tank is. Let me show you, and then you can decide if I should be killed."
"You do deserve to be killed. Slowly. In pain."
"Yes, yes, of course, but maybe not so much pain if I'm telling the truth?"
He grunted and then turned back toward the Beast.
"Fire," he shouted. "That's the way she'll go. Just like any other heretical whore."
Even from the distance, Theda could swear the Beast looked smug.
"Yes," he said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Fire will do nicely, General."
Chapter 4
Fortunately, Sasha had been right about the air exchangers pulling the fuel from the fire, forcing it to die before it did too much damage. Unfortunately, his being right about that meant the fire had sucked all of the air from the room. She wasn't prepared to feel as though she was drowning without a molecule of water in sight. She clutched at her throat instinctively, scanning the room for escape.
Ezekiel seemed unfazed by the lack of oxygen. Apparently, he'd been smart enough to pull in a lung full before he pushed through the door after the Beast had released the controls. He gripped her by the elbow and yanked her along as he fled for the other end of the room. Theda's legs gave out halfway across as she gave into the blackness that swam at the edges of her vision. She almost expected him to lift her and carry her the rest of the way, but she realized that he wouldn't carry Kat. He would drag Kat. And that's exactly what he was doing, pulling her along the rest of the way as if she was a limp rag doll and nothing more.
She had to fight for her consciousness, telling herself that if she lost it, then she'd lose a hell of a lot more. She stopped trying to hold her breath and instead began sucking in heat. Her lungs burned. Panic bloomed in her chest, sending spores out to each muscle, where they sprouted enough fear that everything began to twitch as it realized it's very movement would kill it.
She was just about to blackout for good when they reached the lounge door. Without pause, he threw it open and thrust her inside so that she fell to the floor, gasping hunched over on her hands and knees. She was still dragging in air when he
lifted her by her arms and shook her violently.
"Where is she?"
She lifted a feeble finger toward the cylinder.
"It's empty. You know it's empty. Where is the other one?"
Not trusting that she had enough air to speak yet, she shook her head. She tried to catch his eye, to read what he was thinking, but the black still hadn't receded. She needed to get a grip. She needed to inhale more deliberately. It was obvious she was hyperventilating and not feeding her tissues. She closed her mouth and inhale through her nose.
He gave her another shake. "Tell me where she is."
All she could read in his face was barely contained fury. She imagined that the only thing keeping him from succumbing to his desire to kill was his worry for his sister. She had to use that. Just a few moments longer.
This time when she pointed to the cylinder, her hand didn't shake. Good. She was calming down. Focus, girl. Get this thing done.
She assumed it was the mix of the two strong emotions: rage and worry that kept Ezekiel from rationalizing any further that the cylinder had to be empty. He wanted to believe Bridget was there. He wanted to believe it so badly that he released the tight grip he had on Theda's arms. He grunted at her with barely concealed suspicion, but she had him. She knew she did. Now she just prayed he was too preoccupied to pay attention to her as he turned toward the cylinder. She bent and yanked off her boot, then the other, holding each one of them in her hands. She tiptoed along behind him as he crept closer to the cylinder.
She knew when he leaned over to look in that it was now or never. She raised both boots over her head and brought them down as hard as she could against the back of his skull. She knew it wouldn't knock him out, but it might surprise him enough that she could push him in. She knew she'd have only one chance, and that if she was smart, she wouldn't be where he imagined she stood when he turned in rage. So she scooted to the right and kicked at his back of his knees.
He grabbed for her as he fell, and she let her own survival instinct take over. She pummeled him with the heels of her boots while he was off balance, windmilling his face, his nose, his cheekbones. It didn't matter where she struck, so long as she struck hard enough to keep him from resurrecting. Twice, she almost laughed out loud to think that tiny little Theda could overpower the Pale Rider, but when he grabbed her by the neck and squeezed, she knew that given the chance, even a minute one, he would take the life from her is easily as she breathed.
"Bridget," she wheezed at him. "I told you she was here. Right there, you fool. Right there. Can't you see her?"
She couldn't imagine that it would work, and yet it did. He slackened his grip and twisted his head to the left, just enough that she could pull away and lunge for the cover. It slid all the way up and overtop of him, and she was just about to laugh in victory, when it caught on his hand as he shoved it to grip the edge.
He was strong enough, she knew, to push the cover straight back off. In a panic, she ran to the head of the cylinder and pounded on his knuckles with the heel of her boot. The other hand began to slip through the crack, sending fingers like spiders exploring the cover edge, seeking enough purchase to push it open.
She sobbed. It was over. She'd done her best. She might have fooled him enough to get him in the tank, but he wasn't going to stay there. She simply wasn't strong enough to corral him.
"Please, Ezekiel," she whimpered. "It's me. Don't you know it's me?"
She realized she wasn't going to win. Even if she did, how would she ever get out of this room with the Beast on the other side? All she'd managed to do was buy herself some time. No more than that. Without Ezekiel, she had no chance of surviving.
She fell back on her bottom, legs splayed. "It's me." She sounded pathetic even to her own ears.
She watched as the fingers doggedly revealed more and more of themselves until the palms sat on the edge of the cover, ready to push.
"Come get me," she said, defeated. "I'd rather it be you than the Beast. Fucken bastard."
The hands stilled. A muffled curse of realization came from within the box.
"Minou?"
She wasn't sure she'd heard right. Surely the fear was feeding her things she wanted to hear in her last moments. She sat up, leaning toward the cylinder, straining to hear again. She watched dumbfounded as the hands began to push the cylinder cover down to the foot. The motion had her mesmerized, revealing an inch at a time the man inside. Without realizing it, she rose to her knees, then to her feet, leaning over, looking in. When she saw the eyes, with blood running down into them from a wound on his forehead that she'd inflicted with her boot heel, when she saw that the gaze was that of her general's and not the Pale Rider, she she reached in tentatively, touching the ooze in regret. It was sticky and growing cold.
She locked her eyes on his, seeing the relief there, and she planted her palms on the top of the cover.
She gave it all of her weight, pushing with her back as well as her legs, but even as she gave a mighty shove, several pairs of hands pressed down on the cover next to hers. Bewildered, she craned her neck to look up.
Several horsemen peered back at her.
Too late, she realized that while she'd been mesmerized by the possibility of Ezekiel's return, the Beast and his henchmen had come in the room behind them.
"You didn't believe this fucken bastard would think it was that easy?" the Beast said. "Do you?"
Two men gripped her by the elbows and pulled her hands behind her back. The others managed to wrestle Ezekiel back into the box and push the cover closed. She heard the telltale click of the lock engaging.
She glared at the Beast.
"Go to hell."
"My dear, where do you think I came from?"
At that, he turned toward the door where another six men were carrying a cylinder through the door as if they were pallbearers at a funeral. They struggled into the room and dropped the cylinder next to Ezekiel's. Despite their size, a couple of the horsemen were panting from the exertion.
"No way," Theda said, realizing the Beast planned to put her in there.
"What choice do you have? Die?"
"It's what Henrik chose."
"Henrik wasn't a pathetic junkie. In his weird way, his was a moral choice."
Despite herself, Theda realized there was a touch of admiration in the Beast's voice.
"Well you'll have to beat this pathetic junkie to a bloody pulp before she'll get in there." She struggled against the arms that held her, glaring at the Beast with all the bravado she could muster.
He seemed unimpressed. "I wouldn't dream of harming a hair on your head. Not yet anyway. I need to make sure you're recognizable when you're executed."
Ezekiel's cylinder began emitting thunderous noises. She imagined he was doing his best to kick his way free. She knew it would be impossible, of course. Even the cover had taken everything she had to push it open, and she could tell it was a ferociously strong structure. She tried not to look at it. She tried to keep her knees from giving out.
"Then at least let Ezekiel out. I'll tell you what you want to know."
"You've spent that chip. I told you, I no longer care."
She chewed her lip. She might be worthless to the Beast, but he hadn't yet disposed of Ezekiel. That had to mean something.
"But Ezekiel. You need him."
"Need him? He's useless now. Oh, I can still control him in some small way, certainly. But what good is a death addict who won't kill anymore?"
"He did kill. You saw those men." She was frantic now to at least save Ezekiel.
The Beast twisted his mouth into a regretful moue. "Not exactly the kind of killing I would appreciate, unfortunately. That was all done for you. Not me. Big difference."
He crossed the room to plant his index finger tip on her chin. It took everything she had not to scoop that finger into her mouth and clamp down on it. He must've realized her inner struggle and chuckled at her resolve.
He might look as if he didn't ca
re, but he had to. He would have killed her long ago if the information was as worthless as he let on. He wouldn't have tried to reeducate her, to coax her, to bully her like he'd said if that were the case. If Ezekiel was the winnings, she would have to play her last chip and call the Beast's bluff.
"Henrik thought he was Jesus," she blurted out, thinking only of Ezekiel in that tank, wanting him out, afraid of how it would feel to him being all cooped up inside. "I saw him on the cross. I felt him suffer."
For a long moment, the Beast considered her and she stared back at him, trying to ignore the thunderous banging coming from Ezekiel's cylinder. As if he didn't hear it either, the Beast crossed his arms and inclined his head at one of the horsemen.
"Take your pistol and point it into the air hole."
Theda yanked hard against her captors' grips. "It's the truth. I swear it."
"Such a ridiculous truth," he said. "What is a man supposed to do with such a ludicrous statement?"
The way he said man, the way he delivered the entire comment, made Theda squint at him, trying to assess exactly what he thought of her information. He'd shown no reaction. In fact, he appeared to be far too focused on showing no reaction. She strained once more against her hold, but when she heard the nose of the gun clunk against the metal cover, she struggled even harder. She couldn't see how far in the nose went, but she imagined it was pointing straight at Ezekiel's temple.
"Please," she said.
"Please?" He let go a huff of air as though disappointed. "The religion-monger begs. How can a man hold out against such martyrdom?"
Theda ignored the insult. She had to concentrate on Ezekiel. "You need him."
"Oh, don't worry, Theda," the Beast waived his horseman with the gun away from the cylinder and Theda went limp from relief in her captors' arms. Safe. He would live. Her gaze was pinned to the horseman closest to the lock on the cover. She willed him to free it. Instead, several others gathered around it; four of them pushing wheel dollies to the four corners.
"Now for you," the Beast said. "Time for you to get in."
She tried to root her feet to the floor. "Ezekiel. Let him out first."
Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy) Page 39
