Faithless

by E. S. Carter

  He laughs.

  “That’s your job, bitch. And he’s gonna fuck you real good. In every hole you have. So, get fucking dressed.”

  The door slides shut.

  Keys clank against metal.

  My mother whispers once more.

  “Now, Lily. Do as he says. The shoes are so pretty. The shoes are so pretty.”

  I push myself up, my stomach twisting at the pain that pulses and grows bigger with every movement. The dim light from the single strip bulb illuminates a blood-red dress, no more than a scrap of clingy fabric that will barely cover my body, and a pair of matching red stiletto heels.

  I push myself to stand, my body weak, my legs barely strong enough to hold my weight. I eyeball the shoes, and a feeble laugh escapes my dry lips.

  I can barely walk, let alone wear those ridiculous things.

  “You can and you will,” she whispers once more. “Blood is the key to all life, Lily. The shoes are so pretty, don’t you think. The shoes are life.”

  Like I said, hearing her voice is a blessing and a curse. Sometimes her rambles make no sense, and these are the times I know they’ve broken me.

  I’ve lost my freedom and my mind.

  I’m less than a whore.

  Less than a woman.

  Less than a human.

  I am no longer Lily.

  I’m a black hole.

  Eight

  Luke

  * * *

  I watched him as we waited.

  I observed his every move, every breath, and every contained emotion.

  He’d like to think himself unreadable. But he wasn’t to me. I am the hunter who has mastered the art of patience and control.

  Before the crash, I knew where we were headed—he was mine to use as I saw fit.

  We both knew it. We both craved it.

  But now, I watch as he tries to sever the dark thread that links us, taking an axe to our bond and distancing himself. What he didn’t know was I wouldn’t allow it. He was trying to cleave a crack into that which could not be broken.

  It was stronger than him, and at times, it was stronger than me.

  This need.

  This desire to claim.

  James Cooper could try to hide from it, but it would find him. I would make sure of that. But until then, I allowed him his space. I was adept at playing the long game when it came to hunting my prey. I knew that eventually survival instincts would force my quarry to turn from hunted to hunter. James would evolve from prey to predator, and then the fun would begin. Hunter and predator, a seductive if lethal combination and one I anticipated would ruin us both.

  * * *

  “He’s not like you.”

  Plummer’s voice is level, but his underlying warning is clear.

  “And what, do tell, am I?”

  He snorts, and I watch him pull himself up from his sprawled position on the ground until he’s propped up with his back to the side of the car.

  “Everything he is not. So, stop tracking his every movement, and find another plaything, pretty boy.”

  Words are futile when responding to a man like Plummer. He’s simple, an idiot if you will—I like to think of men like him as show and tellers. So, that’s exactly what I do. I show then tell and let my Pretty Polly Killer speak for me when I press her barrel into his temple before resting my foot threateningly on his fucked-up ankle.

  The stupid bastard laughs at me.

  “Do it. Pull the fucking trigger. It won’t change the fact that Cooper doesn’t share your filthy fucking perversions.”

  The harsh braying sound that explodes from his throat as I press down on his leg is pure ecstasy.

  “I do enjoy this game we’re playing,” I confess, as I ease off the pressure. “You spout out some asinine observations, and I earn a louder scream. Please, continue.” I smile down at him relishing the way his fingers twitch on the butt of his weapon. He’s itching to draw it on me, and I wonder just how far I need to push him before he does.

  “Fuck you.”

  My smile turns into a quiet, mocking laugh. “Oh, Mr Plummer, I’m sure you can do better than that. That response is becoming a little repetitive even for a moron like you.”

  I press down harder on his busted joint, loving the way his teeth clamp shut and his whole body shakes as sweat breaks out across his blood-stained forehead. His entire frame quakes as he swallows down a pain-filled scream, only serving to make me push more of my weight onto his broken and abused limb.

  “You motherfucker,” he grinds out seconds before his fingers tighten around his gun.

  “Yes,” my monster growls, finally excited by Plummer’s reaction, and the promise of bloodshed. It prowls restlessly at the edge of its cage waiting for me to unlock the door and set it free.

  “Think you can get a shot off?” I ask through a smile, tilting my chin towards his twitching hands.

  “Fuck—” Plummer’s hand grips the weapon as he leans to the side ready to fire, but I’d anticipated his movements, and as my foot stomps down on his ankle, my free hand comes out to knock the gun from his hands. A split second later, I fire a single round from my PPK into the thigh of his previously uninjured leg, narrowly missing the main artery.

  “You,” I finish for him as he lands on his side and bellows like an anguished beast while gripping his profusely bleeding wound. “I’m going to make an educated guess and say you were about to yell ‘Fuck you’. Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Fuuucckkk you,” he roars. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” He tucks and rolls onto his belly, his arm outstretched in a last-ditch attempt to grab his gun.

  “I’ve told you before, you’re not my type. Now, shut the fuck up before I do everyone a favour and put my next bullet into your brain.”

  “What the hell is going on over here?” James demands as he sprints across the field, weapon raised. “Did you fucking shoot him?” His mouth is agape as he takes in the man writhing in agony in the dirt, and his eyes widen as they flit from me to Jason and back again.

  I smile but keep my gun trained on the thrashing and angry man on the floor. The man who is torn between needing to attend to his fresh wound, and the desperate desire to grab his weapon and unload its entire magazine into my head.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” James continues. “Why the fuck would you shoot him?”

  “Because I see what the fucker is doing,” Jason interjects with a sneer as he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt and ties it around his upper thigh, his murderous eyes still trained on me.

  “Careful, not-so-pretty-boy,” I warn, more than willing to end him.

  James dismisses me by turning his back and kneeling on the floor beside Jason, he then uses his free hand to put pressure on the other man’s wound. He doesn’t let go of his gun, and I briefly wonder if it’s to protect himself from me, but then I see his profile as he lifts his head, and I watch as his eyes track Jason’s face. The warning look he gives his head of security tells me that his gun remains firmly in hand to ensure the man he’s helping doesn’t do anything rash. The look his lieutenant gives him back before turning his livid stare on me, says James was right to hold on tight. If Plummer could get his hands on James’ weapon, I’d be dead. Or, at the very least, he’d try his best to kill me—he’d still fail.

  I allow my mask to slip as I return a feral smile to Plummer’s murderous glare. Without taking my eyes from his, I flick the barrel of my gun towards his new injury.

  “That—” I point out, “was a final warning.”

  With fury in his eyes he opens his mouth to speak, but I shut him down. “I know, I know, ‘Fuck you’.” I lower my weapon and begin to walk towards the spare gun that I’d knocked from Jason’s hand. I pick it up before straightening to my full height and with all hint of humour gone I warn, “Stay out of my way, and my business, Plummer. Then, I might let you live. And while you’re at it, keep your mouth shut from here on out. I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want
to hear you.”

  The fucking idiot’s mouth opens, but before he can utter a single word, James tightens the makeshift tourniquet around his leg, and his lieutenant roars in agony.

  My eyes lock with James’, and I expect to see annoyance reflected back, but what I see is nothingness. Not anger, nor frustration. He’s shut me out. Locked down everything inside him and bolted the door.

  That won’t do. I’m not done with you yet.

  I debate shooting his man in the head to force a reaction from him. I want him to fight me. I want the battle because I know it’s one I will never lose.

  But I equally crave his submission. How sweet it will taste. My monster licks his lips. Oh, yes. How fucking sweet it will taste.

  I take my time to turn my back on them both. I don’t expect a bullet between my shoulder blades, but I can’t discount the possibility. I’m their only way out of here. It’s leverage I can afford to exploit, and if there’s one thing I excel at, it’s identifying weaknesses and using them to my advantage.

  “Take a load off,” I call over my shoulder as I walk around to the driver’s side of the old car. “My men should be here by midnight, and I’d hate for you to be too exhausted by our day’s adventure to appreciate the hospitality they will bestow upon you.”

  * * *

  The fat and bloated moon hangs low in the sky when we finally hear the vehicles approaching.

  Despite us assuming they were friendlies, we still took the precaution of taking cover until the first men exited the vehicles, and I almost laughed as Grim called out in a sing-song voice for us to, “Come out, come out, wherever you are. We know you’re hiding behind that rust-bucket of a car.”

  “Your brother is a poet,” I state flatly to James, watching Plummer’s eye widen at the information, and I find it interesting his head of security didn’t know about his employer’s psychotic sibling.

  “He won’t appreciate you calling him my brother. We both know he’s here for you, not me.”

  “True.”

  I stand and walk out from behind the vehicle, every one of my men now out of the dark four-wheel drives including my older brother, Cole.

  “Brothers,” I address them both. “I wasn’t expecting the entire cavalry to attend to my distress call. How loving of you both to worry about my wellbeing.”

  Grim flicks one of his knives through his fingers as he smiles at my approach. “I only came for the killing. There will be plenty of killing, right?”

  “I’m sure there will,” I reply, before turning my head to call over my shoulder, “Come out and say hello to everyone. I know at least one person who is dying to meet you both.”

  Each one of my men stands to alert, all eyes fixed on the surrounding darkness waiting to see who survived along with me.

  James stands, the headlights from the vehicles a harsh spotlight on his movements. He bends and helps Jason up, the bigger man all but dragging James down to the ground as he struggles to pull himself to standing, both his legs fucked up and unable to hold his weight.

  “Thanks for the help,” James calls when no one offers to aid the two men.

  Cole and Grim come to stand on either side of me.

  “Who’s the gimp?” Grim asks me, his eyes avoiding his brother and landing on Jason.

  “Jason Plummer, head of this doomed operation, former SAS, and the last surviving member of James’ security team.”

  “Gunshot wounds in both legs? That’s unlucky,” Cole states. All of us continue to be entertained by the two men who have yet to move more than a few inches.

  “He has an unlucky mouth,” I offer in reply.

  “Well, as fascinating as this is, we need to debrief and head out of here.” Cole gives one of his men the nod, and moments later James is relieved of his gimp duty, and Jason is hoisted in the air between two men bigger than him and deposited less than gently in the back of one of the vehicles.

  “Hen—” James begins as he approaches the three of us, then corrects himself. “Grim—” he nods once at his brother in greeting and then addresses Cole. “—I appreciate the assistance. Thanks for coming out to get us. The operation didn’t quite go as planned. Our intelligence and our team were compromised.”

  Grim steps forward and invades James’ personal space.

  “We didn’t come for you. We came for Luke.”

  James nods once. “I know. I’m still thankful for the help.”

  Both men are a similar height and build, and up close, despite Grim’s scars, their sibling similarities are quite striking.

  Grim doesn’t back down. His stance remains intimidating and aggressive, and we all wait to see if he will attack for no other reason than he can.

  James may view Grim as his brother, but all my scarred friend sees when he looks at his kin is a threat that needs annihilating.

  “Are you done measuring each other’s cocks, brother?” Cole asks after a minute or so of watching the two born as Renshaws facing-off. “Because I’d like to hear all about this shit-fest and then get back to Hunter Lodge.”

  “Just having some fun,” Grim replies. “With my brother from the same whore of a mother.”

  He backhands James’ chest in a dismissive gesture but doesn’t hold off on the force of the strike before saying through a tight smile, “Besides, my cock is bigger. We don’t need to measure.” Then he turns and swaggers towards the lead vehicle, his ever-present knife twirling through his fingers in an off-hand display of his skill.

  “He’ll come around,” Cole offers James when Grim is out of earshot. “Or he won’t. I guess it depends if you’re planning on sticking around long enough to find out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” James replies, his eyes fixed on the now dark interior of the SUV. “He’ll just have to get used to me.”

  Before James moves to follow Cole towards the lead car, his eyes find mine. Even in shadow, I can feel their penetrating stare, and I wonder if his words weren’t merely for Grim. Something in my chest shifts and moves and my monster growls in protest.

  “Do not think about mentioning the Craven sister, do you understand?” I demand once Cole is out of earshot. “Alec Craven’s daughter is mine to do with as I see fit.”

  James blinks slowly, his gaze trying to gauge my motives for keeping this information from my men and my brothers, especially Cole.

  “As you wish,” he agrees tonelessly. Then he breaks eye contact and strides towards the vehicles before climbing into the back seat of the lead one, directly behind Cole.

  Initially, something inside me had wanted to soothe him about Grim. The words ‘He’ll come around’ were on the tip of my tongue, so instead I locked that shit down tight and staked a further claim on a girl I have no interest in other than finding her and using her to my advantage.

  I don’t mollycoddle others. I don’t deal with any emotions other than desire, want, greed, lust, and occasionally anger.

  Something inside me is off kilter. I can feel it, and my monster feels it too. It prowls his cage before charging at the bars at full pelt. Whatever this shit is that bubbles up inside my chest, neither one of us is happy about it.

  Nine

  James

  * * *

  On the drive to the safe house that Cole and Grim’s team had procured for us, I filled them both in on Sasha Federov’s operation and the assassination attempt that took out almost my entire team except for Jason.

  “Federov knows that me and Faye survived? How is that possible?” Cole probed once I’d offered up all my information minus the intelligence about his wife’s younger sister, Lily—a half-sibling she doesn’t know exists.

  “My best guess,” I offer with a shrug. “You have a leak or a double-agent. Possibly more than one if the way that Federov infiltrated my men is any indication of his reach.”

  “When do we kill the fucker?”

  All eyes turn to Grim. It is impossible not to feel his somewhat erratic and frantic emotions. My estranged brother is like an
unlit match, one strike and he could take out an entire forest and still keep burning. The energy he’s expelling makes me nervous. It’s chaotic, unpredictable and frenzied. Yet, Cole and Luke seemed unaffected, merely amused.

  “Soon, brother,” Cole responds. “But let’s not make the same mistake twice.”

  “I agree,” I add, gaining everyone’s focus, even Grim’s. “My intelligence on Federov was obviously compromised. We need more men, and more time to plan.”

  Cole nods. Grim grunts in assent while continuing to do tricks with his knife at a speed that would’ve caused any other person to lose a couple of digits, and Luke stares unnervingly at me.

  “What?” I demand at length when the younger Hunter brother continues to glare silently at me. “You disagree?”

  “We stay,” he states coolly. “The others can go back and regroup then join us in a couple of days. We can collect solid intel on the ground, and between us have all our bases covered.”

  I stare at Luke a beat before my eyes stray from him to Cole who, in turn, is watching his brother with one eyebrow raised. Then my gaze finds Grim who leers at me with a shark-like grin on his scarred face. Finally—with my breath caught somewhere in my chest—my eyes once more find Luke’s whose attention has never drifted from me for even a second.

  I could refuse—it would be the smart thing to do—but I came here to collect someone. I owe Donovan his daughter back, and I won’t leave until I get her.

  “Fine,” I agree flatly. “We stay.”

  A frisson of electricity skates up my spine at the heat that flickers to life in Luke Hunter’s dark eyes. It’s not the red-hot flame of a campfire, it’s the almost white-blue heat that incinerates everything in its path.

  I could lie to myself and pretend that staying with him was purely a selfless act, but, I was tired of lying.

  I was ready to fall into the abyss.

  * * *

  With Cole, Grim and their men making plans to return to Hungary in three to four days’ time, Luke and I are taken to a fortified safe house located on the outskirts of a village that I estimate to be around fifty miles from Federov’s operation.