The Bastard (Baddest Boys in History)

by Inez Kelley

  The knife was heavier than she thought. Cool metal dug into her tongue as her teeth bit into the soft leather wrapping the hilt. She strained until she was sitting up. Her jaw throbbed already. If she laid the back of the blade along her arm and sawed up at the rope, it might work.

  Her gaze fell on the clock and she timed herself. She had to take a break three times to rest her pulsing shoulders and sore teeth but it only took seventeen minutes for the very tip of the blade to saw through the rope. The leather restraints broke free of the nylon.

  She sprang from the demolished bed and ripped the cuffs from her wrists. She was free! And she had to pee so bad she could taste it.

  She peed quickly then yanked jeans off a hanger. If she was running, barefoot and in her nightshirt in November wasn’t the way to go. She pulled the pants on under her nightshirt and jammed her feet into new Converse sneakers. She found a new dark purple thermal that was perfect for this kind of weather. She even had clean bras in the drawer. Erik had paid for them all and the thought was rebelliously fitting right now.

  The knife hilt felt huge in her hands, but she was suddenly extremely fond of this dagger and had no intentions of leaving it behind. Unrolling the paper towels, she fashioned a semi-sheath for the blade out of the cardboard tube and stuck it in the back of her jeans as she’d seen Dray do. No amount of searching revealed her purse. With no remorse, she swiped three one hundred dollar bills from Erik’s sock drawer. That should be enough to bribe any driver she could flag down to take her to the nearest police station.

  She hurried to the door, looking around the apartment with a surprising sense of loss. She’d come to love this tiny place. That was before she realized she was sleeping with a jerk who had no qualms about kidnapping her. A voice whispered in her ear that he hadn’t hurt her, could have inflicted so much more pain. She told that voice to shut the hell up and turned the knob.

  The front door was locked. No amount of tugging, twisting or shaking budged the thing. Iron will firmed her throbbing face. There was no way a locked door was going to undo all her efforts. She spun toward the balcony.

  Cold night wind made her teeth chatter. Frosty moonlight shone on the ground below and she estimated the height. She could probably jump it and not break her neck. Of course, she also might sprain an ankle. She wasn’t going to end up like some heel-wearing bimbo in a slasher film, reduced to maniac-food because of a sprained ankle.

  There was another balcony several feet away. If she could find something to use as a bridge, she could get into another apartment, one of the empty ones, and slip out an unlocked door. Running back inside, she looked around. What could she use? The skis might be long enough, but they were so skinny. She flashed on the rope that had restrained her and ran back into the bedroom. Damn, even knotted together, they wouldn’t be long enough to reach the ground.

  Her eyes fell on the closet door. If she took that off the hinges…

  “Lacy, you stupid moron. Use your head.”

  Erik had different size screwdrivers and all sorts of tools in a box beside the couch he used for his timers and bomb-making. In minutes, she’d pried the hinges off and moved the locked door aside. A harsh wind gust licked up her back from the gaping balcony door. It was almost winter. A perfectly good coat in her size hung in the closet, with the tags still attached. She ripped them off and strode down the hall, shoving her arms inside.

  Inside the left pocket, paper crumpled in her hand. She pulled out a folded note, opening it before thinking.

  Lace, if I can’t hold you and keep you warm, then use this until you come back to me. Love, Erik.

  She sucked in a watery breath before carefully refolding the note and tucking it back into her pocket. Love, Erik. Damn him.

  The corridor was eerily silent. Where were the guys? She wanted to avoid them all if she could. She contemplated the stairs, but instead headed for the elevator. She’d skip the ground floor and head straight to the below-ground garage. After that, into the night and run like a bat out of hell.

  The few moments in the elevator raised the hair on the back of her neck. In this tiny box, she was a sitting duck. She held her breath until the silver doors slid open in the garage. Freedom beckoned and she bolted from the elevator.

  Her sneakers squeaked on the pavement and echoed back to her. She raced past the battered remains of Erik’s truck, a motorcycle, an old jeep, a couple SUVs and a sports car that looked more like a UFO than an automobile. The incline leading into the garage wasn’t lit well and she slowed, eyes darting into the shadows. No one was following her.

  Misty breaths unfurled in front of her mouth as she neared the night sky. Her face crashed into nothing. The force knocked her back.

  “What the hell…?”

  She walked forward holding her hand out. It touched something she couldn’t see. Star Trek episodes flashed through her mind and screamed force field but that was crazy. Those things didn’t really exist. But why couldn’t she get out?

  Her fist banged on air that was hard and unforgiving. Panic shot through her. She crawled along the floor, feeling for a gap, and inched close to the cement sides but she couldn’t get even a finger past the exit. How in the hell did they drive through that?

  Realization trembled along her bones. All the patio doors led to the courtyard. She’d never seen any way outside the complex except the garage. She couldn’t get out. She was still a prisoner. Determination balled in her stomach. No. She’d gotten this far. There had to be a way out of here. Maybe one of those empty rooms on the first floor had a doorway. Whirling on her heels, she ran back to the elevator.

  Her finger hovered over the white One button. At the bottom of the panel sat that black circle she’d never touched. She pressed that sinister color.

  For the entire elevator ride, Vike stifled the pain. He was no longer her hero. He was just a bastard. That word had never hit so hard or hurt so badly before. His brain told him to stop being a wuss and deal with it. A couple weeks for her Immunity to grow and he could drop her off, back into her normal human life, content that she’d live a long time hating him.

  The doors slid silently open in the Hall of Infamy and he entered, his mind spinning with a set of pale brown eyes flaring with hate. His clothes melted away, replaced with the brush of fine silk as he strode to his normal place. Only then, when he raised his eyes, did his stomach bottom out.

  Sela stood at the center of the circle, her swirling eyes blazing with anger. Black silk matching her unbound hair skimmed her body in a simple sheath free of any adornment. In her hand, a long whip curled like a seductive snake around her bare feet. Suspended from the hidden ceiling, two long chains ended with manacles directly behind her. His heart boomed with ramming speed. This was for him.

  “Eiríkr Haraldsson, come forward for judgment.”

  His name, his true name, falling from her lips stiffened his spine. He should have known this was coming. She’d healed him because they had a job to do, one that was gathering speed and hurtling toward Armageddon. Normally, fights were allowed but he’d broken the one cardinal rule he’d pledged on his immortal soul to uphold — to guard his teammates’ backs. Instead, he’d hurled an axe at his leader and intended to dust him. He couldn’t muster regret.

  With his chin held high, he walked calmly to the center and held out his arms. Sela fumed as she snapped the cuffs shut, the metal biting into his wrists. She lifted her fingers and he rose, the chains stretching him taut until his toes barely scraped the floor. He was captive and at her mercy. Sela had no mercy when it came to her men. Not even for her men if they disobeyed her.

  Sela’s voice was a frosty wind that licked along his skin. “Repeat to me your vow.”

  Try as he might to remain silent, the words spilled from his lips in a language he rarely spoke any more but which brought bittersweet memories to his heart.

  “I, Eiríkr Haraldsson, do swear by my blood and my soul to obey you, Sela, called Josiel under the Creator of All, to use all o
f my wits and strength to defeat those who would destroy all good. In exchange for mercy, I kneel before you and accept your Mark. I vow to fight the horde of evil, to defend those whose blood sings to me and to guard my brethren from all harm.”

  Ire crackled around Sela, a tangible storm that stung his skin with invisible bee stings. “Did you break that vow and use your gifted weapon of choice against your brethren?”

  He locked his sight on Zale’s blank face and answered in English. “Yes.”

  “Do you repent and regret this action?

  “Absolutely not.”

  Sela inhaled. “Defiance?”

  “I did it and I’ll do it again. I won’t rest until that asshole’s dust covers my feet.”

  Her eyes blazed with the fire of Holy anger. “You stand here, hanging by chains and ready to feel my vengeance, and still you keep your hatred and vow to enact kareth upon your brethren?”

  Kareth, the scattering of soul-dust so that it could not be Awoken come the End of Days was tantamount to erasing Zale’s existence. Zale could never be welcomed into Paradise should his sins be one day forgiven. His name would be forgotten by the ages and his soul set to wander forever, a shade without rest. It was the most grievous sin in existence and the deepest fear in all Awoken souls.

  “You’re damn right I do.”

  Sela shook her head, sorrow closing her eyes. “Why, my warrior? Tell me your heart so I may understand such hatred.”

  “He took Lacy to the medi-room. She didn’t understand what she saw. He had no fucking right!”

  “A woman caused this?” She rolled her eyes. “I cannot allow discord to fester among you. She dies. I’ll do this myself.”

  “No,” he roared. Fear whooshed with the same force as his anger and his torso swung from the strength of his shout. “Sela, please don’t. I beg you, don’t kill her. I love her.”

  “The vow you took is eternal.”

  “Dust me.” Her eyes widened but he forged on. “Right now, dust me and forget about me but if you have any care for me, please don’t kill Lacy.”

  Sela turned her back to him and looked around the room. “I don’t understand this. I’ve allowed all of you your human urges, asking only that you do not populate the land with offspring. A woman has never caused turmoil among you before. You have lived and fought and bled beside one another for thousands of years. Does loyalty mean so little to you?”

  Nomad’s jaw worked furiously but he didn’t speak. Rex and Dray lowered their heads, fixing their gaze firmly on the gold circle on the floor. Zale closed his eyes.

  “It’s not that loyalty means so little, Sela,” Myth said. Deeper than the richest Earth, his eyes were filled with longing. “It’s that love means so much. Vike didn’t look for it but he found it. Don’t punish him for being human.”

  She recoiled as if slapped. “His punishment is not for loving.”

  Rex exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “But it is for reacting like a man when someone he loved was hurt. Men will do anything to protect those they love, even kill.”

  “Man wasn’t meant to be alone.” A pain so raw it screamed bled from Nomad’s face. Vike blinked in shock. He’d never seen the grouch show any emotion except contempt. Now his voice carried a heavy burden, one of well-aged misery and loneliness that rocked Vike to his marrow. “It’s too much to ask, Sela, too much.”

  “Vike’s a hothead. We all know it.” Dray rubbed his chin then snapped his hand back to his side. “But Zale was a dick. Vike just…went too far.”

  Camaraderie swelled in his chest as his team looked to him. They understood and stood by him, even when faced with Sela’s anger. Never since being Awoken had he felt such a bond with his fellow warriors.

  Sela turned to Zale. “You had reason for your actions other than malice?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you regret your actions?”

  The team leader shook his head. Vike lunged but the chains held him tight.

  The whip trailed Sela’s walk, a slithering sound along the marble that raked against Vike’s nerves. Settling in her throne, her quiet could not hide her unfocused eyes, her mind swirling with thoughts. Time stretched. Not a single man shifted, just waiting. Vike’s thighs began to burn as he balanced. His wrists screamed with pain as the iron bit into his skin.

  He closed his eyes in relief as Sela powered from her seat, hair fanning out like a cape.

  “She is mortal. Each of you is threatened by her presence, by her existence within our ranks.” Sela coiled her whip into a looped circle and faced his team. “Each of you gave your opinions and so you must choose. If you wish to allow this woman to live, then you must acknowledge to her who you were in your first lives, no subterfuge, no hiding, no varnishing the truth. Will you lay bare your lives for his love?”

  Every single man frowned at him and his gut quivered. History had damned them all. People sneered when their names were spoken, spat and cursed them. They’d been reduced to comic book villains and low-budget movie killers. No one cared about or respected them. How could Lacy be any different?

  “I will,” Dray said loudly. His green eyes caught Vike’s with a twinkle. “She’s a great fucking cook. Plus she’s easy on the eyes.”

  “I agree. I like having a clean place to crash.” Rex grinned. “And she laughs at my jokes.”

  Nomad glared then shrugged. “Whatever. I’m used to her now, so might as well.”

  “Yes.” Myth’s chest filled with a deep inhale. “She brings a bit of gentleness to our lives. I like that.”

  Sela turned to Zale. “And you, my warrior? Will you welcome Lacy into your life?”

  “No.”

  His denial fell like a sonic boom, sucking all the air from Vike’s body. Teeth gritted in abhorrence, he silently vowed he’d not only dust the son of a bitch, he’d make it a game of ‘see how long Zale can bleed before he melts’.

  Black silk swished as Sela walked back to the center of the circle. “That is regrettable however, in this, majority rules. Lacy will live…for now.”

  Before Vike could smile in astonished gratitude, Sela’s gaze lasered into his.

  “But I cannot have disobedience in my ranks. Vow to me, before all assembled and to spare Lacy’s life, that you will never again seek to send your brethren into kareth. Reaffirm your oath to guard this team with everything you are.”

  In order to keep Lacy alive, he had to let his vengeance go, to work side by side with the man who’d betrayed him. His head hung back, his acceptance a given but a bitter drought to swallow. “I vow it.”

  “I accept your vow and give you one of my own. Should you break your word, I will end your woman’s life in a painful agony and scatter her dust myself before I deal the same to you.”

  He nodded, knowing in his marrow she meant every word. Sela snapped her whip. The leather was lined with razor thin but jagged wire. It flicked out, scoring the air with a sharp hiss.

  “For raising your weapon and striking Zale in the back with the intent to kill, my sentence is four lashes. There will be an additional three lashes for each man here to remind you that you’re to guard them as they guard you, not endanger them with your temper. And for the vow to me you broke, I give you five lashes. Accept or deny?”

  Twenty-four. His stomach quivered. Never before had he felt the bite of more than five of her whip. If he denied her, he’d be dust before his next breath and Lacy would follow him. If he accepted, the whip would split his skin twenty-four times. His back would heal with sleep but the lashes that fell on his Forsaken Mark would not. That burn was dead to any sensation except the touch of a Scion or Sela. She was going to make sure he remembered this punishment.

  Resignation hung his head. Lacy was worth more than a little of his blood.

  “I accept.”

  She gave him one small nod then stepped behind him. Nothing she did was accidental. He would take his punishment staring at the men who he’d vowed to protect, that he relied on to protect him. Each la
sh would drive that reminder home.

  He listened, trying to keep his muscles relaxed, to not tense in anticipation and harden the flesh for her blow. He never heard a thing. His back exploded in pain, his Mark screaming in agony. His fingers wrapped around the chains. Iron links dug onto his hands but all he could feel was fire slicing at him.

  Her arm rose and fell, the whip eating into his Mark with a bite each time. Sela never missed. Blood dripped down his body, pooling on the floor under his toes. He slipped, jerking his wrists against each whip crack. As she intended, he focused on his teammates as misery careened through him. These were the men he’d pledged his life to, who in turn had pledged their lives to him. He found commiseration on some faces, encouragement on others. Only one held passive disdain.

  Despite his strength, despite his muscles, despite his Awoken soul, his body was still only human. Pain rained down with every strike. It never ebbed, building, growing, until if consumed him. He lost count of the blows. His teeth ached from biting back his screams until he had no control and cried out with every lash. Had he been completely mortal, he’d have lost consciousness long ago, but here in the Hall of Infamy, not even the healing sleep would spare him.

  “What the hell are you doing to him, you bitch?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lacy gaped in horror at a scene straight from the pages of a Clive Barker novel. Before the silver doors had slid open, she’d been consumed with anger at Erik. Now it shifted, from her kidnapper to his torturer. What the hell kind of kinky scene was this? All the guys wore black silk pajama pants and watched while Sela wielded a whip until Erik’s back was bloody. What was next, hot wax and nipple clamps with a saltwater bath?

  Sela charged from behind Erik’s limp, hanging frame. “You are not permitted here.”

  The metal rings around his wrists opened by an unseen hand and Erik crumpled to the floor into a puddle of his own blood. Lacy’s feet moved without thought. She’d been furious at him, plotted his torture, but that was hurt talking. Seeing him lifeless and wounded drained everything out of her except for a keening wail straight from her soul. Her heart broke seeing the man she loved in pain.