by Devyn Quinn
Chapter 18
The man was naked, sitting in a dark corner of a chamber lit only by the fire in a wide, deep hearth. Aside from that single amenity, there was nothing else in the cold stone room.
The vast chamber was under the main floors of the opulent mansion, deep enough underground that no one could hear the screams that probably issued from this evil place at one time or another. The stone beneath her white heels was dark with stains. Though the stains were dried and crusty, their musky scent filled her nostrils.
Jesse’s stomach clenched when she saw the man. She had a bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling. “You must be Razor.”
Dark fathomless eyes pinned her down. “I am.” A cruel smile twisted his lips as he stood up, revealing every inch of his big brawny body. “Since you will not take blood willingly, I am going to help you cross over.” His gaze never deviated from hers.
The flickering light from the fire caressed his pale skin, revealing the multitude of long thin scars marring his neck, arms, and chest. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of him that didn’t have some sort of disfigurement. As he padded toward her, a flash of metal glinted around his neck.
Jesse blanched. The object he wore looked like a golden razor blade.
He had a weapon. He had a victim.
She stared in shock as panic clawed its way up her spine. Her palms started to sweat. Shit.
Razor smiled, hovering like a spider that waited to drop down from its web on a fly. Feeding on her fear and anticipation, he was going to suck the sanity right out of her.
Disoriented, she turned away, and then stumbled back, blindly seeking the exit. But the heavy door had been shut and locked. There was no way out. She stifled a groan. Her captor had her exactly where she wanted her—trapped and vulnerable.
If he’s going to take me down, I won’t go without a fight.
Jesse whirled. Thinking fast, she kicked off her heels, grabbing one up. She brandished the sharp spike. “Don’t come near me,” she warned, looking him squarely in the eye. She knew he would fight her every effort to stop him, but her anger and determination gave her the strength to defend herself.
Her assailant simply laughed. Crossing the void separating them, he grabbed for the hand wielding the shoe. “The harder you fight,” he said, “the more I will hurt you.”
Jesse dodged his bulk, striking out fiercely with her makeshift weapon. The edge of the heel snagged his upper arm, dragging a deep trench into his skin. Blood seeped from the narrow wound.
The naked man barely gave the damage a glance. “Soon enough you’ll taste me,” he said darkly.
Jesse took another swing with the sharp heel. “We’ll see about that,” she retorted.
This time Razor dodged her with surprising grace. Ducking, he came up under her arm and tackled her with a body-crushing blow. Expertly tripping her, he slammed her against the floor.
Knocked flat, Jesse couldn’t roll away fast enough to avoid the battering impact of his body coming down on top of her. Reacting on pure instinct, she attempted to knee him in the groin. “Let me go, you bastard!”
Her assailant easily straddled her, assuming the superior position. Thick fingers curled around her wrist, delivering a vicious twist.
Jesse howled. Her weapon dropped from her hand.
Razor’s hand shot out, catching her squarely on the cheek. The blow stunned her. Her face stung from the smack of flesh against flesh. “I think you know what I am going to do.” As he studied her, his sinister smile reflected the cruel glint in his eyes. The message was crystal clear. She was free to choose, submitting either easily or by force.
Jesse licked dry lips. “No,” she wavered. “Don’t—please.”
A chuckle slid from the back of his throat. Catching her other wrist, he pinned her arms above her head. At the same time, he forced one thick leg between her thighs. The pressure of his knee was right against her crotch.
The friction was uncomfortable, verging on painful. Jesse forced herself not to wince.
“Instead of resisting,” he said through an obscene leer, “you should embrace the darkness.” His heavy-lidded gaze smoldered with something almost akin to ecstasy.
Jesse vehemently shook her head. “I don’t want it,” she grated. “I don’t want to be a monster.”
Razor moved his leg, replacing it with his groping hand. Sliding it between her legs, he began to probe her. “I can make it good for you.” His deep voice turned husky. “Sensual. At the height of orgasm, you will want to drink.”
Jesse felt his fingers tugging at her lacy tights, ripping them away to make contact with her sex. Thick fingers attempted to stroke her softness. “No,” she moaned. “I won’t do it.”
“You have no choice. I will make you drink of me.” His mouth covered hers in a wet, sloppy kiss, his tongue slipping in like a snake.
Jesse twisted her head to one side. It was all she could do to keep from gagging and puking. Her gaze fell upon one of the pumps. The spiked heel lay nearby. If only she could get a hand free, she could reach it.
She began to form a plan. Whether it would succeed or not remained to be seen.
Jesse let herself go limp, as though losing all desire to fight. “Just do it,” she said, speaking in a tone laced with defeat. “Do whatever you have to and get it over with.”
Razor reared up. Surprise colored his features. He’d clearly been looking forward to forcing her. “You want me to . . . ?”
Rolling her eyes, Jesse heaved a bored breath. “Yeah. Let’s do it.” Though she fought to keep her voice even, inside she was a quivering mess. What if her plan failed? She’d be screwed for sure.
He arched an interested brow. “I can make it good for you.”
Jesse allowed a nod. “Then do it.” Her eyes traveled to the gash she’d inflicted in his arm. “Let me taste you.”
His mouth curved. “The scent of blood draws you.”
Her stomach twisted at the notion. “Yes,” she lied.
Razor slowly released her wrists. One big hand stroked down her cheek. “Embrace the darkness inside.”
His caress made Jesse’s skin crawl. She forced herself to swallow back the bile rising in her stomach. She needed to distract him—just for a moment.
Drawing a deep breath to steady her head, she met his gaze with determination. “I’ve wanted to—” A tremble shook her from head to foot. That, she wasn’t faking. Much to her surprise, Razor helped her sit up. Moving her hair off her damp forehead, he stroked her face. “It is easy to cross,” he said softly. “All you have to do is drink of me.”
Jesse exhaled the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “I’ve been so afraid.”
Razor reached up, snapping the thin chain holding the blade around his neck. Turning the blade, he forced the sharp edge into his skin. With a quick downward jerk, he opened a deep slice over one dusky nipple. Warm red blood trickled down his pale skin.
“Don’t think about it,” he murmured, cupping her head with one big palm. “Just swallow.” He guided her mouth toward the slice.
Closing her eyes, Jesse felt her lips make contact with his warm skin. Though her mouth was closed, his blood seeped along the seam between her lips.
“A taste,” her demon whispered from the shadows deep inside her mind. “Give me a taste.”
Jesse shook with restrained need, a need so strong that it both consumed and unnerved her. Sensation took over. She simultaneously felt exquisite pleasure and unendurable revulsion at what she was about to do.
The demon within unexpectedly seized control. For a terrible instant, she was caught between her mind and the demon’s, as if they were temporarily merging together. Though she ordered the beast inside to let go, it suddenly wouldn’t obey. Unbound hunger was threatening to overtake her.
Without quite willing the movement, she opened her mouth. A warm, coppery sweet trickle rolled across her tongue.
“More,” Razor purred. “As much as you can.”
Something in his voice prodded the remnants of her sanity. Wrenching away from Razor’s chest, she blindly groped for, and found, the shoe she’d dropped. Gripping the silky thing as hard as she could, she swung it in an arc toward his head. The sharp spiked heel found its mark, penetrating his temple with sickening ease.
His face turning white as a sheet, Razor’s eyes went wide and blank. He looked puzzled. All he could do was stare.
Instantly scrambling backward, Jesse quickly assessed the damage she’d dealt. The heel of the shoe was embedded right in the side of his head.
Slowly regaining control of his limbs, Razor pawed at his head in an attempt to dislodge the sharp spike even as he sank to the floor. The bloodied thing fell away. He pitched forward as blood spurted like a geyser from the small hole. Seconds later, a gurgling death rattle echoed through the chamber.
Although he lay quiet and still, Jesse didn’t dare move. “Razor?” she said, wiping at her stained mouth with the back of her hand. “You still alive, asshole?”
He didn’t move.
For an indefinite time, she stared with dazed horror at his motionless form. Despite the fire burning in the nearby hearth, there seemed to be no warmth in the room.
Grabbing her remaining shoe, she hurried on hands and knees to his side. As she came closer, the scent of his sweat and blood scorched her nostrils. The smell was maddening.
Revulsion coiled tightly in her gut. Flashbacks of the last frantic moments of struggle dominated her mind. For some reason she was unable to move, unable to tear her gaze from Razor’s body.
Then, to Jesse’s deepening shock, he suddenly heaved himself up off the floor.
A strangled cry escaped her. Disbelief seared through her, curdling the acid in her stomach. He should be dead . . .
He wasn’t.
Roused out of his stupor, Razor, red-rimmed eyes gleaming, at first regarded her with profound bewilderment, but this swiftly turned to contempt. He lifted one hand to show he was still armed. “I don’t die that easily,” he gurgled, his gravelly voice chillingly eerie thanks to the chamber’s acoustics.
Jesse’s vision zoomed in on the blood coagulating on the razor he held. She fought to keep herself from gagging, although the response hammered at the back of her throat. But she knew one gag would trigger vomiting. Vomiting would trigger panic. Panic would trigger hysteria. “N-no,” she screamed. “I killed you.”
Razor’s face was grotesquely darkened and ravaged with hatred as he slashed his weapon at her.
Ducking instinctively, Jesse covered her face before the sharp edge penetrated her skin. A stinging pain shot down her forearm as a wide slice opened in her skin. Seconds later, she felt the warmth of her blood pour from the cut.
A curse tore past her lips. “Damn.” Apprehension pulsed through her veins. He’d gotten her good.
Covering the wound with her right palm to staunch the bleeding, Jesse skittered back, gaping in disbelief. Blood dripped through her fingers, leaving a crimson trail in her wake. Her senses started to spin.
Can’t lose it now.
Razor staggered to his feet. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the bullet-sized hole the heel had inflicted in his temple. His big body shuddered as he fought for control. “Bitch,” he muttered. “I’ll get you.”
Though her instinct warned her to flee, there was no place in the narrow chamber for her to hide. It was a fight to the death. She had to take him down and get that razor out of his hand. Otherwise he’d probably carve her up into dozens of tiny pieces.
Jesse’s survival instinct shifted into overdrive. Rage surged through her. “Not if I get you first,” she shot back.
I’ve got to do this!
Dashing across the void separating them, Jesse charged forward, grabbing Razor’s slashing arm. When she felt the big brute try to shake her off, she used the advantage of her standing position to throw her weight behind, smashing his hand against the wall. She knew he would fight her every effort to stop him, but anger and determination gave her the strength to keep fighting to the bitter end.
Razor wildly tried to shove her away. He was like a wounded animal now, mindless and vicious, and reacting without thinking through his moves.
Shoving him backward, Jesse drove a knee into his groin as hard as she could. She kneed his vulnerable balls again before slamming the hand holding the razor against the cold marble.
Unleashing a howl, Razor released his weapon. “I’ll kill you, bitch,” he slurred. He was beginning to weaken.
Razor released garbled sounds as he sagged to his knees. As he struggled to regain his bearings, she sidestepped and rammed a knee into his side, toppling him over.
Groaning, the wounded man landed on his stomach, laid out flat. He grunted when Jesse threw herself on top of him, anchoring him to the floor. She swept the razor out of his reach. She questioned neither her actions nor how long she would be able to keep up the strenuous battle. Blood continued to pour from the slice in her arm. She was panting and light-headed. The odor of sweat, blood, and heat seared her nostrils. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear the dizzying stench.
The sound of her thudding heart roared in her ears. Time to end this, she thought grimly. Acting on instinct, she drove the heel of her hand into the back of his head. Razor’s brow smacked the floor with a sickening crack.
A terrifying stretch of silence followed.
Just like that it was over. Although Razor lay unmoving beneath her, Jesse didn’t dare move off him. She hoped the fucker was really dead this time.
“Shit.” Gulping in air, she pressed her torn arm between her breasts. The front of her white dress was soaked with blood. Tremors coursed through her. If she didn’t find a way to bandage it soon, she’d bleed to death. “Hey, asshole—”
Razor didn’t stir. This time he was as still as death.
Jesse stared at his motionless form. There seemed to be no air in the room—only coldness; stark, frightening coldness. She shook her head to clear away the haze that began to dance in front of her eyes, but it didn’t work.
Without really understanding what happened next, Jesse felt herself tumble off Razor’s body in slow motion, but in reality she hit the floor with bone-jarring force. She fought to penetrate the darkness that was slowly surrounding her, but the effort felt strangely futile. Numbness filled her—something akin to relief, not the fear or regret she’d expected to feel when death finally came to claim her.
She sprawled across the stone, unable to move a single inch. As she witnessed her blood rapidly staining the filthy gray stone, she felt herself pulling away from the scene, moving ever faster through time and space.
A tear slid down her cheek. Not like this . . .
Jesse tried to cry out, to call for help, but no one could hear her. She was trapped within the confines of her own mind, otherworldly hands pulling her down, down, into what she dared not contemplate.
Her shudders gradually subsided.
And then she passed out.
Maddox jammed the accelerator down. Picking up a burst of speed, Sam Chen’s Pontiac lurched forward. Thirty seconds later the huge cruiser slammed through the gates of Celeste St. Cyr’s estate. Metal screeched and iron tore. The guards working the gatehouse started, speechless and temporarily immobile.
“This is insane!” he screamed as he roared up the driveway. “What the hell are we thinking?” He wasn’t sure, but when Reyen had presented his plan for getting onto Celeste’s estate, it had seemed to be a good idea. Like the cavalry, they’d decided to go in with guns blazing—in broad daylight.
As though to reinforce his nerve, Reyen sped up beside him on his Harley. He gave a quick thumbs-up. “Let’s do this,” he yelled over the roar of engines pushed to the max.
Maddox put the pedal to the metal, aiming the Pontiac straight at the manor’s front door. The tires bounced over a wide marble veranda seconds before the hood smashed completely through the intricately wrought front door. Stone an
d wood rained down upon the hood.
Without bothering to look behind him, Maddox rammed the gearshift into reverse, peeling out of the hole he’d made. He’d barely had time to clear out of the way before Reyen launched his Harley through the newly made entrance.
Maddox reached for the gun holstered beneath his arm. By now the guards had figured out something catastrophic was happening. Guns drawn, they were rushing to the scene when he leapt out of the car. Its hood was crumpled like an accordion, beyond repair. Since he couldn’t be in on the job, Sam Chen had volunteered his wheels. He’d already called in a report that he’d been mugged and the car had been stolen.
Lifting his .38, Maddox fired. Blam! Blam! Blam! His aim was unerring. He didn’t miss.
Weapons skittering out of limp hands, two men abruptly slumped to the ground.
Maddox smiled. One minute in and two men were already dead. As insane as it was, they might just have a chance of pulling this off after all. Though he’d never really wanted to believe in fate, he finally felt at peace with his calling. He’d never had the grit and determination to really carry through with it. Now he knew if a man really wanted something, he had to make it happen.
Jesse had made him want to live—to fight.
Unbelievable, but it was true.
Figuring Reyen could use some backup about now, he scrambled over the debris littering the once-elegant foyer. His heart nearly seized in his chest when he saw Reyen’s Harley wrecked against the far wall. Skid marks were etched into the white marble floor, indication that the bike had been braked and abandoned fast. Two men lay sprawled nearby in a pool of their own blood. They’d been shot down before they could even draw their weapons.
Maddox quickly surveyed the fallen. Relief filled him when he realized neither man was the rangy Choctaw. Shouts and the sound of angry voices were beginning to multiply around him. Armed men were swarming outside. The place would soon be surrounded from all sides.
He’d worry about them later. What was happening inside the manor had his attention right now. A buzz of excitement seemed to be coming from one area in particular.
