Nightingale (The Awakening Book 3)

by Keri Armstrong

  I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I’d heard some scary stuff about the Awakened since being at the training center and didn’t feel equipped to deal with them. In spite of years of practicing Wicca and my defense training the past couple of days, my level of power was spotty at best.

  Nevertheless, I wouldn’t mind delivering pay-back to the Gerards.

  Hot acid rolled through my stomach as a flashback to the Ostara celebration took over my brain. The family had been unusually good to me in the weeks leading up to it. I’d turned sixteen a few months before, and after years of being mistreated at worst or benignly neglected at best, I was so grateful for the positive attention I hadn’t realized what they were doing: prepping the virgin sacrifice.

  I gasped as a hazy, alcohol-soaked memory of their son, David, looming over me escaped the mental vault where I usually kept it locked away.

  “Al, are you okay?” Alex’s voice pierced my thoughts.

  I blinked a few times and took a shaky drink of water. “Yeah. Peachy.”

  I was saved from further comment as our server—Lynn, according to her nametag—brought forth a feast of chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, orange juice and coffee.

  A shame I’d lost my appetite.

  My smiled thanks wobbled, and Alex made up for it with his usual charm. There was something irrepressible about his mischievous good nature; even older ladies from Oklahoma weren’t immune to his charm. She gave him a wink and left him with a warning to behave.

  “I promise it will be fine,” he said as I picked at the food. “We’ll get her back, you’ll see.”

  I nodded. Between the food and my nerves, I needed to take another trip to the restroom. “I’ll be right back.”

  I wove through the tables to the dimly lit alcove separating the washrooms and kitchen from the dining area. In the short time we’d been there, the restaurant had filled with people. I had to wait in the little hall outside the one-person bathroom for my turn, which my churning insides didn’t appreciate. Servers and busboys maneuvered around me going in and out of the kitchen door on one side of the hall, occasionally knocking me into the fake wood paneling.

  I pounded on the women’s room door again.

  “Just a minute,” a voice called out.

  “You said that three minutes ago,” I complained.

  There was no response. A sharp pain cramped my stomach, and I doubled over, clutching my belly. At the same time, something pricked the back of my neck. The world slipped away as I was whisked through a side door.

  * * * * *

  I came to slowly, my head throbbing as if it had been jabbed with knitting needles. A horrible smell, like a combination of moldy carpet and diarrhea, pierced my senses. Without opening my eyes, I tried to cover my nose but my hand wouldn’t move. In fact, neither of my arms would move. They felt pinned to my body. Panic built until I remembered I’d had been in a similar situation recently, in the ambulance.

  I forced my eyes open, to be greeted by nothing but darkness. The air around was stale and foul. Overlaying the stench of wet feces and mold was … metal. Fear clutched my throat. Where was I? I moved my head and something like rough carpet scratched my cheek. That was when I noticed another smell: gasoline.

  Oh, God.

  I tried to scream but my mouth wouldn’t open—taped, glued, I didn’t know. My face, slightly numb, tingled like a shot of Novocain wearing off. As sensation and movement trickled painfully through my body, I fought against the suffocating prison. My lungs struggled as my heart raced and tiny bits of air wheezed through my nose. I couldn’t pass out. I needed to think. But thinking was too hard. My head spun from lack of oxygen and whatever drug I must have been given.

  Greater panic set in. Think, Allie, think!

  From the smell, I guessed I was confined in a car trunk. A flash of memory spurred me on. If this was a newer vehicle, a latch to open the trunk should be located somewhere around me. After several desperate attempts to find it, all I ended with were scratches on my hands and face. Despair threatened to overwhelm my fight instincts until I remembered another tactic: Punch or kick out the lights from their backside.

  My legs were also bound at the ankles, but I thrashed in the small space, kicking out until my body was sore and sweating. I kept at it, even when I made no progress on the lights. The car wasn’t moving, so it had to be parked somewhere. I made as much noise as possible, hoping to attract someone’s attention.

  I could only pray it would be the right attention.

  After an eternity, a creak of metal and a flash of light forced my eyes shut, and sent my heartbeat and cortisol levels skyrocketing. The face that greeted me sent wild hope shooting through me. I would have grinned if my lips weren’t forced shut.

  The desperate hope plummeted when Luke’s face showed no surprise as he reached in to pull me out.

  “Someone is waiting to see you, Allison.”

  He slung me over his shoulder like a trussed turkey, closed the car’s trunk with a resounding thump, and set out through a twilight-darkened wood.

  Even from my awkward position, I wriggled and fought with everything I had. I didn’t know where he was taking me, but I wasn’t going to make it easy. I bounced against his back, my head pounding from the blood rushing to it. I tried to see where we were, but most of my vision was of dark dirt and the back of his legs.

  After several minutes, he walked up a couple of wooden steps. I heard a door open and he passed through, dumping me into a wooden chair with a blow that jarred my tailbone.

  “Whoa, there,” he said, when I nearly toppled over.

  A voice from my nightmares came from behind Luke. “Tie her to it.”

  I frantically shook my head, begging Luke with my eyes. Please, please, please no.

  David Gerard moved in front of me.

  “Hello, Allie.”

  Eleven

  I lurched backward as he leaned toward me. His laughter followed as the chair and I both crashed to the floor. My head bounced against the wood and silvery-gray specks dotted my vision. My shoulders and back throbbed. The curses I made were only animal sounds behind my taped mouth. I could see now that my ankles were wrapped with duct tape; I assumed my mouth, as well my wrists—which were behind my back—were bound with it as well.

  David grinned while Luke watched under half-lowered lids. His bored expression said this was just another day’s work for him. I glared at him with all the hatred and betrayal I felt, and was mortified when a tear fell.

  His face didn’t change. “Do you still want me to tie her to the chair?” he asked David. “She might need to change position. She’s been knocked out like that for the past twelve hours.”

  Twelve hours? A whimper worked through my throat. The damp clothes I wore weren’t what I’d been wearing earlier. What had happened, and where was Alex? Where was I?

  David glanced at me. “Check her circulation. If it’s fine, leave her. Otherwise, it will take both of us to get her into a new position. She’s a fighter.”

  Luke’s brows raised a fraction. One corner of the bastard’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. I wished I could kick it in, along with all his teeth. He moved behind me, and I twisted in vain. His knee in my aching back kept me in place as he examined my hands.

  “We’ll have to be quick.” He tugged at the duct tape. “This will hurt like a bitch the second it comes off and blood flows freely again through the area. That’s the time to move her arms to the front then switch to the legs.”

  “I’ll be happy to help, but I have another plan.” The excitement in David’s voice was a stark contrast to the neutral professionalism of Luke’s.

  The prick hadn’t lied. The minute they cut the tape and moved my arms, it hurt like hell, but I fought as best I could. Panic made me strong, but they were stronger. Fifteen minutes later I was bound, spread-eagled on a bed while the two of them discussed the merits of taking off the gag.

  “She’s got to
eat eventually,” Luke said.

  David’s nose wrinkled. “She still smells like the shit you rinsed off her. Not sure I want any more food going in there yet.” He leaned over and patted my stomach, letting his hand drift to linger a moment over the crotch of my pants before moving back.

  Fear, so cold it burned, froze me in place. The ceiling blurred as a tear slid out of the corner of my eye and dripped into my ear. The wig had been discarded, and my shaved head no longer felt badass. I was shorn and vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been for years.

  The damp clothes I wore clung to my chilled skin, and I shook so hard the handcuffs rattled against the bed. My legs ached from my time cramped in the car and now stretched out and tied to the bed.

  Luke’s voice penetrated the murkiness of my thoughts. “I’ll be adding a cleaning bill to my invoice,” he said. “My car needs detailing. The clothes were ruined.”

  David snickered and his earlier words came back to me.

  Shit Luke rinsed off me? A slow burn spread over my face as one of the last memories I had before waking up in the trunk came to me. I’d been standing outside the bathroom, stomach cramping.

  Surely not ….

  “How long are you planning on keeping her like this?” Luke asked in a tone of idle curiosity. “If you need her as leverage for information, you’ll have to keep her alive.”

  What? That pulled me right out of the embarrassed line of thinking I’d gone down. What information did they need from me?

  David’s voice hardened. “Your job is done. This is a family matter, and we’ll take it from here.”

  Luke shrugged. “As long as I get paid. With extra for the car wash.”

  David smirked again. “No problem.”

  After Luke went out, David left me alone for a while. I didn’t understand at first; I figured he’d want to torture me right away. In the background, I could hear his voice rise and fall in conversation, as if he were speaking to himself or on the phone. Periodically, his footsteps approached the bedroom door. Every time, my heart pounded harder against my ribs until I heard the footsteps recede again. And then I understood: He was torturing me. Letting me lay there, wondering when or if he’d come back. And what he would do to me once he did.

  In this sick version of the boy who cried wolf, I didn’t dare let my guard down, as he probably hoped I would. I spent the time quietly trying to weaken the metal poles to which the handcuffs were attached. While I moved my arms, rubbing metal against metal, I silently prayed and tried to cast protection spells for my loved ones. I’d never felt that fireball burst of energy described by the Mutts at the training center, and the witches said I was blocked. Something, or someone, had worked hard to hide who and what I really was. The only power I seemed to show was the odd bit of psychometry and the occasional hazy vision.

  I prayed to any god who might listen to let me transition now.

  Exhausted, dehydrated and craving rest, I was still too terrified to close my eyes. However, they slammed shut when David banged open the door and turned on the lights.

  “Allie, I’m home!”

  I swallowed reflexively against the copper and bile taste in my throat. There wasn’t enough saliva to wash it down. Only a rasping rawness that left me wondering if I would even be able to speak again, assuming the tape ever came off.

  He held up a water bottle. “Thirsty, my dear?”

  I threw my best nuclear eyebombs.

  His laughter skittered over my skin like rat’s nails. “I do love the way you look at me.”

  Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react.

  He moved next to the bed and bent over, his face next to mine. “Come give your big brother a kiss. You used to like it.”

  I jerked so hard against the bed frame, one of the metal poles bent.

  His brows rose. “You’re a lot stronger than you used to be. But then, so am I.” He pulled a small knife from his pant pocket and flipped it open.

  The tape covering my lips held back the scream.

  His hot breath swept over my face as he bent over me again, a sharp contrast to the cool blade he laid against my face. Using the dull edge of the knife, he gently ran it down my cheek like a lover’s caress.

  I went rigid, willing his hand not to slip. His other hand was already making its way down the front of my body, and it was all I could do not to squirm away.

  In one fluid movement, he jumped on the bed, straddling me. I bucked to throw him off, earning a blow to the side of my head with his fist. With his free hand, he grabbed my jaw and dug his fingers into my cheeks. “Don’t move.”

  I flinched as the blade neared my mouth and his other fingers tightened on my jaw. A squeak sounded in the back of my throat as he brought the knife down. The quick pressure against the tape, the sharp tearing noise, raised the hair on my arms. When he punched the small blade through the tape and between my lips, I couldn’t help it: I moved again. The taste of blood hit my tongue from the stinging cut on my lower lip. It mingled with the bitter salt of his finger when he shoved it through the hole he’d cut in the tape.

  “There, isn’t that better?” he crooned.

  I gagged as he jerked his finger from my mouth and replaced it with the open water bottle. The liquid went in too fast, choking me. The back of my nose burned, and I wondered if he planned on drowning me this way.

  Sadly, not yet. He pulled the bottle out and turned my head sideways as I coughed.

  He tsked. “You always were more of a spitter than a swallower.”

  His face changed, and he wrapped his hands around my neck, squeezing hard. Tears, water, and mucous from nose mingled on my face. If I could only know Mia was safe from this monster, I wouldn’t care if he killed me.

  Which is why his next words shook me to the core.

  “Where’s my baby, Allison?”

  Cautious joy ripped through me. He didn’t have her? The reprieve didn’t last. If he didn’t have her, who did? Whoever took her wasn’t above murdering innocent people.

  Another tiny spark of crazy hope lit. I’d heard that people who stole babies usually didn’t hurt them. They just wanted children of their own. That hope also died a quick death. Mia was no longer an infant. She was a beautiful little girl.

  I screamed inside my head. Who had my baby girl?

  David’s grip tightened around my windpipe. I twisted and reared beneath him, begged with my eyes. I’d play whatever games he had in mind if it meant a chance to escape, to find out what happened to Mia.

  Dark stars spotted my vision when he let go. He stripped the rest of the tape from my mouth, taking a layer of skin with it. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he shook me until my head flopped back and forth against the bed. “Where is she?”

  It was too hard to speak, and there was nothing I wanted to say to him, anyway.

  He poured more water over my face. “Tell me where she is!”

  After several more minutes of abuse, words croaked past my split lips. “Don’t know.”

  I guess he didn’t believe me.

  He roared and pounded his fists into my face, chest, and stomach. A loud crack sounded as a particularly vicious blow landed on my ribcage.

  There was a moment’s respite when he paused, breathing harshly, arm still raised. Through my swollen lids, I could see his mottled face, his considering expression

  “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he panted. "The way you murdered that couple … impressive. You’ve grown, little Allie. I’m almost proud of you.”

  If I’d been surprised to discover he didn’t have Mia, I was stunned by that new revelation. He thought I’d killed the Myers? Or was this a new tactic in his game? My mind reeled. I didn’t know what to do. Play along? Tell the truth? Which, if either, would be to my advantage?

  He clearly wanted her. And, from the way he looked at me, I knew he wanted me, too. Even if only for torture.

  Inspiration struck.

  “Listen,” I said. The words came in short gasps, but I had to
try to win him over. “Wasn’t me. Thought … was … your parents.”

  He leaned back, his heavy weight settling over my thighs. The shift moved my ribs, and I groaned from the pain. I couldn’t pass out, I told myself.

  “My parents?” he said. “They were the ones who hired Luke to find you. We’ve been working for a while with a few high-level Awakened to find you.” He said that last part with a touch of pride, as if access to the Awakened was a sign of status.

  He waggled a finger. “You’ve been giving us the slip, you naughty girl.”

  Again, the pride on his face.

  I suspected my face was too battered to show much expression. I was completely baffled and hoped it didn’t show. But I knew his weaknesses, and it was time to poke the bear.

  “Are sure … didn’t … cut … you out?” I gasped.

  His face darkened. “Why would they? I was an integral part. Even though your blood is closer to the original line, I’m still needed to breed our line back to its original glory.”

  His face settled into an old familiar pout.

  I had to tread carefully. “That’s why … shame … to … take baby … and run. They … never … appreciate … you.”

  “They need me,” he screamed. He was rapidly becoming unhinged again.

  I changed tactics. “Of course ... your blood … purer.”

  He nodded.

  When my pregnancy was confirmed, his ecstatic parents had explained that they’d carefully chosen each other in an attempt to restore their family line. They were among a group of people—Mutts, truth be told—who were obsessed with restoring their Awakened lineage. They chose partners based on DNA levels. Apparently, mine was through the roof, so they snagged me for their son before anyone else discovered me.

  “But … baby … more pure … than us. Don’t … need … us.”

  He went very still. I thought he was letting that sink in when he toppled over me, knocking the last bit of breath from my lungs.

  “Finally. Thought that bastard would never go down.”

  Luke pulled David off me and unhooked my cuffs.