Stygian

by Nashoda Rose

  “Well, I don’t like him.” I heard a snort and looked up at Damien who muttered ditto. “I have the flu, so I didn’t open the gallery today. You can tell the Neanderthal to leave.”

  “I’m coming over to check on you.”

  “No. I don’t want to see you.”

  “Too bad,” Anstice replied. “See you soon.” Before I could respond the line went dead.

  I pressed the End button and passed the cell back to Damien. “You can leave now.”

  “Yeah, that’s not happening,” he said and pocketed his cell.

  I was about to argue when a sharp cramp hit my stomach. I leaned back against the headboard, closing my eyes as I felt a drip of sweat trickled down my forehead to my cheek.

  “You look like shit.”

  “No fuck, Sherlock,” I said while clenching my teeth. “You’re a real genius.”

  “Listen, baby doll, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here, so cut the sarcasm and we’ll be able to tolerate one another until Anstice gets here. I do have more important shit to do.”

  “Then leave. I’m not stopping you. And call me baby doll one more time and I’ll—” A spasm of pain sliced into my abdomen and I curled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Jesus. It had to be food poisoning.

  I thought he was leaving when he started walking away. Instead, he disappeared into my bathroom and I could hear him shuffling through my cupboards. The sound of my things falling into the sink pierced my ears, and I raised my hands to cover them.

  “Take these,” Damien said, now standing beside the bed.

  I couldn’t speak any longer, so he placed three tiny white pills in my mouth and poured water down my throat. I coughed and sputtered, water dripping down my chin, and then I began tossing again, clutching my stomach as the pain became continuous.

  Maybe I was dying. I thought I heard a phone ring minutes later, but deciphering sounds become too much to bear. I closed my eyes and slipped into the darkness of my mind.

  “Let me out!” I gripped the bars of the iron cage. “Jesus Christ, get me the hell out of here.”

  I yanked on the door. It rattled but refused to give way. The cage was hoisted three stories in the air, dangling by a chain that was attached to the ceiling of some sort of cave.

  Shit, I was underground. In a goddamn cage like an animal.

  I peered down at two men standing beside a steel table. The room was dark, except for an enormous stone fireplace that gave off an orange glow.

  I heard a grunt and my eyes went back to the table. Oh, God—a man was shackled there.

  “Who the hell are you people?” I yelled. “What do you want?” Neither man paid attention to me.

  The last thing I remembered was a group of men grabbing me in the alley. Anstice? What happened to Anstice? And Keir? He was being attacked and then . . . nothing.

  I paced the five-by-five-foot cage, my fear escalating. Who the hell were these psychos? Shit, what did they want from me? Some fetish they wanted to live out. God, I prayed not.

  A loud crack sounded.

  I scrambled to the side of the cage and grabbed the bars, looking down. My eyes widened, and then I screamed, horror ripping through me. Oh, God. No. Jesus. No. A sledgehammer came crashing down on the man’s leg again and again.

  They were torturing a man. I wanted to look away, but I was frozen, staring at him. His eyes were open and he didn’t even flinch as the sledgehammer came down on him. Was he dead already? How could he just lie there?

  Was I next?

  I staggered backward, my spine banging into the bars. I had to get out of here. But there was no escape, even if I managed the impossibility of getting through the bars. I was twenty feet in the air with nothing to break my fall if I jumped. I covered my ears as the crack came again.

  Crack.

  The man grunted.

  Crack.

  A groan.

  Laughter.

  “Stop! Stop it,” I screamed.

  I slid down the cage bars to my butt and curled my legs up to my chest, put my hands over my ears, and rocked back and forth. Tears leaked from my eyes as the reality of what I faced came hurtling at me.

  Whoever these men were, they enjoyed the suffering. They were laughing. Oh, God. What would they do to me? What did they want? Why were they doing that to him?

  My head snapped up. Chains clanged as another cage was hoisted upward. I scrambled to my feet and looked down again.

  A man dressed in all black cranked a lever and another man walked across the room and then disappeared behind a pillar. I heard the creak of a door opening and closing.

  The cage came to a swinging halt a foot away from mine. I sucked in air as I saw the man they’d tortured lying on the metal floor, his leg in an odd position. His jeans were ripped; his black T-shirt was torn across his chest where blood seeped from two deep gashes. The scream inside my throat pulsated, threatened to emerge at the horrific sight. I swallowed several times, trying to keep the vomit from rising.

  “Mister. Hey, mister.”

  His broad shoulders jerked and his head shifted to the side, his eyes still closed, his face pale and haggard. God, how long had he been here? I heard the sound of water crawl through pipes and then watched as it trickled into a device on top of his cage. It sprayed water onto him, and then stopped. A few minutes later it sprayed again.

  The man groaned as he pulled himself up to lean against the bars of the cage. He used his hands to pull his mangled leg to a more normal position.

  “Oh, God, what have they done to you?”

  His eyes flashed open. I trembled as the sharp green irises met mine. They were dark and tortured, fierce like a wild animal ready to attack. His lips pursed together and his sharp angular jaw clenched. He looked like he was mentally ready for battle, but his body was so ravaged with pain that his muscles refused to cooperate. He had tattoos running the length of his muscular arms. Actually, he was muscular all over. If we weren’t in such a fucked up scenario right now, I’d say the guy was hot. Like badass hot, but from the looks of him now, the guys below were trying to break any badass he had in him.

  “What do they want from us?”

  His eyes locked on mine, watching, steady and calm. The men torturing him hadn’t broken him yet. “Pain,” he said.

  My heart pounded faster, harder, and the nausea swirled inside like a tornado threatening to sweep across me and take any sanity I had left. “Why? I don’t even know who these psychos are.”

  His head tilted to the side and I gasped when I saw the ravaged area on his neck. My hand went to the bruise just below my right ear. His smile was cruel, eyebrows rising as he watched my reaction.

  “Yeah, blood too,” he said.

  I ran to the corner of the cage, fell to my knees, and vomited. I had a will of iron, but that had burned right through it.

  His voice was deep and ragged as he continued, “They’ve no feelings, no remorse. And . . .”

  I wiped my mouth with my arm and turned my head. “What?” I had to know. I needed to know what they’d do to me.

  “He’ll never give up until he has what he wants,” he said.

  “And what does he want? I’ve never seen these bastards in my life.”

  “A woman. A powerful woman who will make him stronger.” He ran a hand over his face, wiping the water away. “You?” He shrugged and then grunted at the slight motion. “I don’t know what he wants with you.”

  I kept on my knees and slid across the metal floor until I was closer to him. “How long have you been here? Who are they?”

  He remained silent, eyes delving into mine, scanning down my body and then back up to my face. A throbbing rose in my head as if his magnificent eyes were drilling into it. Then suddenly it stopped.

  “A week maybe, not sure. Time tends to get away from you here.” He ran his hand through his wet umber hair. “Don’t fight him.”

  “Are you crazy? The first chance I get, I’m getti
ng out of here.” He scowled and I nodded to the device that sprayed him. “Why the water?”

  He stayed silent.

  I saw the pain in his features, his brows lowering, eyes closing, and the lines in his face accentuating. “Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not with what they did to you. How can you still be conscious?”

  “Do not fight him,” he repeated. “If you do, it’ll be worse.”

  “Fuck that. You might just sit and take what’s dished out, but I sure as hell won’t. One chance, that’s all I need, and I’m out of here.”

  “A chance you will never get.” He laid his head back against the bars and closed his eyes.

  I sat and wrapped my arms around my legs. I hated the silence, the sparks of the fire below the only sound in the underground hell. “What’s your name?”

  “Balen.”

  “I’m Danielle—Danni. These bastards grabbed me walking back from dinner with my friend. I think it was the same guys who were attacking this guy my friend is dating.” I heard him curse beneath his breath. I thought he said, “I’m so screwed,” but it was too muttered to be certain. “Are these guys wanted by the police? Are they at least looking for us?”

  He huffed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The police will never come to your rescue, little one,” he said.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He opened his eyes, head rolling to the side so he could look at me. “You’re little compared to me.” Well, yeah, he looked over six feet. “And delicate.”

  Delicate? I hadn’t been called that since my father had died. Even though I was this rebellious, smartass kid who spoke her mind, my father refused to admit his daughter was anything but his delicate rose. My mouth had managed to get me into all kinds of trouble in school.

  “Hey, Balen, when I escape, I’ll get the police to come get you. Don’t think I’m just going to leave you here.”

  “You won’t escape.” He sighed. “Fuck, maybe if we’re lucky, others will find us, but without their help, we won’t ever escape this place.”

  “God, you’re negative.” I shook my head. I was beginning to feel better just talking to this guy. At least my stomach had settled. Normality. That was all I needed, some sort of normality. “Can’t you have some hope? I mean, people get out of bad situations all the time. All we need is one mistake and—”

  “You don’t get it. They aren’t normal.” He pounded his fist against the floor of his cage and the metal vibrated.

  Footsteps.

  I scrambled to my feet and gripped the bars as I peered down. It was that man, the one who held the sledgehammer. He strode across the stone floor as if he were floating. Calm, confident, and tall, with long black hair that reached past his shoulders. He gave a single nod to the man at the cranking device and then his head tilted up and our eyes met. Red. His eyes were red. God, what the hell kind of drugs was he on? I lost my footing as my cage began to lower.

  Fear pounded through me. I looked at Balen and he was gripping the bars, eyes intense and dark, almost black.

  “Do as I say. Don’t fuckin’ fight. Understand? He likes the fight. He enjoys seeing it. It only makes it worse.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Damn it, Danni. Don’t try to escape,”

  “I have to try.” He might be unable to walk, but I sure as hell could and I’d fight to my death if need be. No way in hell were these assholes getting me without a fight.

  The cage jerked to a halt as it settled on the floor. I kept my eyes riveted to the guy who looked like the one making all the calls. He stood with his hands behind his back in a casual stance beside the metal table. I shivered at the sight of his red eyes gleaming with the firelight. Shit, he looked strong.

  My eyes darted to the man who unlocked the padlock on the cage and the door swung open. The smell of black licorice barreled into me. I’d smelled it before when they’d taken me.

  He reached out to grab my arm.

  “Keep your filthy hands off me.” I jerked away, and looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon. If I could get by him and—

  His eyes narrowed and he shot forward, gripping my forearm and dragging me out of the cage. Screw this. I reacted, kicking him in the shin. Then I swung my arm and plowed my fist into his chest.

  His fingers tightened and I winced as his nails dug into my flesh. “Let me go, damn it.”

  He had no reaction as he pulled me toward the table. Shit, this wasn’t working out as planned. I renewed my effort as he shoved me against the steel table. I cried out as my hips rammed up against the hard surface. I placed my palms on the table and kicked out both legs. He grunted as my legs hit him in the stomach, but he didn’t let go.

  Suddenly, I felt something cold wrap around my left wrist from behind, and a chuckle emerged from the other guy.

  “It’s useless to fight, Danielle. If I desired, I could have you at my mercy with my voice alone.” He shrugged. “However, I like to see you struggle. It’s rather amusing.”

  Within seconds, I was lying on my back, shackled to the table with one hand above my head and my legs spread apart. “Let me go, you son of a bitch.”

  “A fighter. It will be such a pleasure to tame you.”

  I punched the lackey in the face as he struggled to get a manacle on my other wrist. He finally managed to grab hold of my arm and yanked it above my head and latched it down. I breathed hard as I continued to fight the unrelenting bonds, oblivious to the cuts surfacing on my wrists and ankles.

  “I’m Ryszard,” the asshole, sledgehammer wielding guy said. “And you . . . are magnificent when you fight like that.” He lowered his hand to my neck and I jerked my head side to the side, trying to avoid his touch. He had long, sharp fingernails, which pierced my skin.

  He squeezed my windpipe.

  My limbs strained against the bonds, body flailing as I struggled to breathe. As soon as he loosened his grip, I sucked air into my lungs as hard and fast as I could.

  His brows rose. “Breath is life, Danielle. I can take it away in a second.”

  “Fuck you.” I spat at him, just missing his cheek. His hand came down, slapping me across the face. I gritted my teeth, refusing to allow him any satisfaction at seeing my pain. Then he smiled and the terror was like a bullet slamming into my chest.

  Fangs. The bastard had fucking fangs.

  I screamed, my struggles wild and my mind and body gripped with madness. Blood trickled down my wrists and ankles, metal sliced into my skin. I saw him lick his lips, his grin widening. Oh, God, this guy had more than a few screws loose. Balen’s words haunted my mind. Don’t fight. How could I do that when all I wanted to do was get free?

  “Don’t do this.” I knew what he was going to do. Knew his intent with those fangs. “God, no.”

  “But I must, sugar. You’re too tempting to resist.”

  I screamed.

  “DANIELLE . . . DANNI, WAKE UP.”

  My eyes flew open and my hand went to my neck. He had fangs. He was going to bite me. I shivered uncontrollably, my mind reeling with the images of the cages, the torture—the unimaginable.

  Balen.

  Anstice sat on the edge of the bed, tears in her eyes as she stoked my hair. “You were having a nightmare, sweetie. You okay?”

  No. Fuck, no.

  A large shadow stood over in the corner of the room, arms crossed as he leaned up against the wall. “Balen?” His head turned—Keir. My heart dropped and I closed my eyes, wrapping the blanket up around myself to try and stop the trembling.

  He’d been there. Balen had been trapped in a cage, tortured by that man—Ryszard. The agony he must have suffered. How could he have recovered from something like that? His leg. His leg had been mangled, yet he didn’t even have a limp now.

  “How are you feeling?” Anstice kept her tone a whisper as if she knew my head was still throbbing. But it wasn’t from pain, it was from trying to decipher memories that were all fu
cked up. It felt like an explosion of my brain was imminent. Thankfully, the cramping in my stomach was gone.

  “How long have I slept?”

  “Six hours,” Anstice replied.

  “Six hours?” Holy shit. “Where’s that other guy?”

  “Damien?”

  “Yeah, the asshole.”

  Keir chuckled then covered it up by clearing his throat.

  “He’s gone. He’s a friend of Keir’s and was only here visiting. He needed to catch his flight back to Florida. How’s your stomach?” Anstice asked.

  “Fine. A few ibuprofen and I’ll be good.” A lie of course. I knew nothing would be the same again.

  “I think you should stay with us for a little while.” Anstice felt my forehead with the back of her hand.

  She glanced over at Keir and he shook his head, scowling. They were still hiding shit from me. So much for friendship.

  Anstice sighed. “Keir thinks we should take you to the hospital. They’ll do some tests and—”

  Like hell I was going to the hospital. “Balen. The guy from my painting.” I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest. “He was with me. He was there, Anstice. We were in cages and he was tortured. Ryszard . . . That’s who kidnapped me. We have to go to the police.”

  Anstice jerked away as if she’d been burned. “Oh, God.”

  My eyes narrowed, watching her. What the hell? Why was she so freaked over finally getting some answers?

  “I’ll carry you to the car.” Keir approached the bed and Anstice got up, avoiding my eyes.

  “No. I don’t need a hospital. I need Balen. He came to see me and—”

  “No,” Keir interrupted.

  “I need you to find him.”

  “No, sweetie,” Anstice said. “Balen’s in Spain. Let’s get the doctors to check you—”

  What the fuck? “You know him? You know Balen? The man in my paintings?” It all made sense. Anstice hating the paintings. Never wanting to talk about the ‘episode.’ Balen finding me at Anstice’s the other night. How did Anstice know him? Did she know Balen had been kidnapped with me?