He shot away; the slam of the metal door echoed in the vacuous warehouse. So much for her brother sticking up for her, although she didn’t blame him. There wasn’t much anyone could do against a deranged, inhumanly strong monster like Brandon.
“Speaking of idiots, Miss Thing, where is the ass clown you’ve been hanging out with? I thought he’d be on your ugly tail.”
“Left him behind,” she choked out. “He has no idea where I am.”
“We’ll see.”
When he pulled her by her arm, her transfer-torn shoulder threatened to dislocate. She screamed.
“Shut it, bitch.”
He trailed the metal tips of the whip over her neck, scoring fire across her damaged skin.
“Part of the problem is that you’re more delicate than we’d like. We’ll have to toughen you up so you can be more useful to us.”
“Go to hell.” Her jaw ached with the act of speaking.
He hauled her to the opposite shelf, lashed her leg to the thick metal column, and tied her hands behind her back. Throwing her glasses far into the darkness, he shoved down a black toboggan over her entire head and neck.
Trapped in the dark again, she had only pain and her endless screams for company.
• • •
Slamming the Jeep into a gear-grinding stop next to his abandoned Hummer, Dante sprinted across the parking lot.
A figure wove in and out of the shadows of the warehouse floodlights.
Dante froze, went into a stalk, and waited next to the building.
Blood darkened most of the person’s face and clothing, and the hunched shoulders made it impossible to identify the figure. Heart in his throat, Dante reached out of his hiding area to grab the person.
The male yell cut short as Dante identified the man midswing and pushed Scott into the wall. Dante blinked as he studied the guy. Although his shirt was torn, there were no cuts on his skin. A few small bruises on his face, but no major injuries. Only some dried blood.
“Where is Hannah?” Dante growled, fighting the knife’s call to kill someone evil. This oåkting, Hannah’s brother, would suit just fine.
“Hey, meathead, you’re too late. Brandon forced her to heal me after that sick fuck tried to torture me to death.” Scott tried to kick, but Dante sidestepped him.
Dante saw red. “You didn’t stay and help her?” He shoved the man harder against the warehouse wall. Scott gurgled until Dante let up the pressure enough for him to talk again.
“And do what? He’s going to kill someone tonight, and I got the golden ticket to escape, so I took it.”
“And abandoned your sister?”
“Nothing else I could do,” he whined. “Look, man, I love her. She’s my sister. But there’s nothing but death back there. We’ve gotten mixed up in a ton of messed up shit. I’m just glad to be free of it.”
“So you did nothing to help her? Your own flesh and blood?”
He looked at the ground and mumbled. “I told her not to heal me.”
“That’s it? You’re not a man. You’re an embarrassment.”
He flung Scott away like toxic waste.
“Run away like the scum you are. Trust me, you don’t want me to ever see you again, understand?”
“Won’t matter. Dude, you’re dead too if you go in there. Brandon wants you to show up. That’s exactly what he’s hoping for.”
“So?”
“So at least sneak in any other way than the obvious approach. Maybe you’ll have a snowball’s chance.”
“You disgust me.”
“At least I’m alive. More’n I can say about you if you decide to play hero again.”
Scott disappeared into the darkness.
Staring at the massive building before him, Dante fought the hard-wired instinct to rush headfirst to the loading dock, exactly where Brandon’s text instructed Hannah to go. So Dante quickly circled the large building. On the side of the warehouse nearest the river, he spotted a window. It was ajar.
He easily leapt up six feet to grab the casing with one hand and hung on while he carefully opened the window. A rusty creak froze him for a minute until, hearing no answering sound from within, he continued.
With barely enough room for him to squeeze through the gap, he balanced his torso on the sill, ignoring how the casing cut into his belly. He gauged the contents of the room. Someone’s office.
Careful of the knickknacks and pens, he descended onto a bare area of the desk and silently dropped onto the floor. Unlocking the door, he stepped into the main warehouse. A small amount of light filtered down from the end of the warehouse. He held still, listening. Dante heard scratches of boots on dusty concrete at the far end of the structure and an occasional soft feminine groan and whimper. Jåvlar. Hannah.
Control the stalk. Do not rush in there.
Row after row of shipping boxes and materials filled the warehouse shelves. Using breaks in the shelves, Dante traveled through the aisles until the outer warehouse wall was at his back. He crawled into a space between boxes and pushed his head out until he could scan the area lit by a flashlight on the floor.
Brandon paced the aisle, muttering to himself as if he were having a conversation with an imaginary friend. Every few steps, he knocked the handle of a whip against his leg.
Laying on the cement floor, a small figure rocked back and forth, working her hands behind her back.
Kristus.
One of Hannah’s legs had been bound to the rack, her hands were tied with straps, and her head covered by a kind of hood. An occasional cry emanated from beneath the cloth as her arms kept twisting. At her whimper, Brandon knelt down and lifted her a few inches off the floor by her shirt collar. Dante nearly burst out of his hiding place at her strangled cough, but he fought for patience.
“Shut up, bitch.” Brandon dropped her onto the concrete with a stomach-turning thud.
When she didn’t move, Dante’s heart stopped. His hands curled into deadly fists.
After Brandon continued on his shuffling circuit, those hands behind her back twisted again. Pride welled in Dante’s heart at her determination.
Good girl. Keep fighting.
He crept down the back row until he positioned himself on the opposite side of the shelf as Hannah. A few boxes were missing, creating space to hide. If only he could move more boxes aside, then he could pull her through the shelf. Depending on the timing, maybe he had a chance to get her out of this hell.
He waited for Brandon to turn and walk back to the end of the row. Hearing the bastard’s footsteps fade away, Dante grasped a heavy box and scooted it over, inch by agonizingly slow inch, until it rested on the concrete floor. Now he had a clear view of Hannah’s back and shoulders as she continued to wiggle against the bonds.
Dante squeezed himself through the open shelf space and froze.
Brandon stopped in front of a now-still Hannah.
Dante was trapped in the tight darkness of the bottom shelf. He stared at the minion’s booted feet, planted two feet away.
“Where’s your boyfriend? He should’ve been here by now,” Brandon muttered.
When she didn’t answer, he prodded her stomach with his foot. Her entire body jumped as air whooshed out. Dante almost exploded from the shelf. Suppressing the natural urge to annihilate the minion who was hurting Hannah, he relaxed his entire body and cleared his mind. He slowed his breathing and remained motionless. If he drew the minion’s attention, everything would be lost, including Hannah’s life.
“Hmm. Where the hell is Blackstone?” Brandon walked away again.
Dante reached out and gently touched Hannah’s arm.
She jumped again, but he squeezed her arm and stroked the skin with his thumb. Although she stopped moving, tiny gasps escaped from under the hood. Her body quivered.
Please don’t move, ålskling.
He’d have to pull her across quickly and then get them the hell out of here. A long shot, but there was still a chance he might save her. Gras
ping the leather strap on her leg, he quietly tore it, the superhuman strength in his fingers serving him well.
What would they do to her if they had him, too? Herre Gud, he didn’t want to even think about it. All he wanted to do was remove the woman he loved from the nightmare in which she was trapped. An immortal nightmare he’d brought down on her tiny, human shoulders.
Brandon’s footsteps had grown faint but hadn’t stopped yet in a pivot at the end of the aisle.
Dante tightened his grip on her bound upper arms, cursing as she whimpered faintly.
The steps slowed.
Now.
He slid Hannah’s limp body over the metal pallet, hating her little squeak as she bumped on the shelf. In one motion, he ripped through the bonds holding her arms, hauled her to his chest, and tugged off the knit cap. He kissed her sweaty lips so desperately that their teeth scraped.
Helvete, he’d never wanted someone in his arms more than Hannah right this minute. Cradling her thin frame, he sprinted down the row.
A figure appeared out of the darkness.
Lurid, red light flared from the palm of a spidery hand.
“Going somewhere?”
Chapter 18
The thin voice of evil cut through the darkness like a lazily drawn blade. Not good. Dante lowered Hannah to her feet and tucked her into his side, holding on to her as she wobbled. How could Dante keep her safe when he had shown up?
“My lord Jerahmeel.” Dante dipped his head in expected deference, trying to hide his panic. Surely the Lord Most Vile could hear the drumroll of Dante’s heart right now. “Uh, we were just leaving.”
“Of course you weren’t,” purred Jerahmeel.
In the dim shadows, the evil man flicked his nonilluminated hand, indicating the end of the warehouse, toward the dock area.
Deep, sickening dread dropped like lead into his gut, and Dante supported Hannah as they walked down the aisle. Her shaky legs gave out from under her after only a few steps.
Dante glared at the seething, sulfurous figure behind him and swept her into his arms. Damn it, she was beyond vulnerable. Watching her squint into the dark surroundings, Dante groaned. She couldn’t see her way out of this warehouse, much less stand a snowball’s chance against Jerahmeel and Brandon.
He considered his options to get her out of here. Nothing came to mind. This situation had no good ending.
Brandon met them at the end of the aisle. The blow the minion landed on Dante’s jaw rocked him back so violently, he nearly dropped Hannah. Dante spit out blood.
“You can’t take my bait.” Brandon snickered. “Well, actually you did!”
“Shut up, minion,” Jerahmeel growled.
They rounded the end of the aisle and stopped between the two racks. Dante stood still, trying not to see Hannah’s unspoken question as she peered up at him. He had no answers, only horrible options.
Jerahmeel and Brandon flanked them.
Waiting. Circling.
Jerahmeel brushed a piece of lint from his tailored silk shirt; a tiny finger of smoke rose from the fabric.
Kristus.
“You’ll want to set your human down for our little demonstration,” Jerahmeel said. He maintained only the thinnest veneer of decorum now.
How would Dante get her out of here?
Helvete. He wouldn’t.
Neither he nor Hannah would leave here alive. Or worse yet, they might leave here alive. Only it wouldn’t be on anyone’s terms but Jerahmeel’s.
Dante lowered her to stand again, but her knees buckled. His rage flared as lines of blood seeped through her clothes. She hung on to Dante’s arm but remained stooped over. Bruises purpled her delicate skin. She squinted up at him. Damn. She still believed he’d get her out of here. Unfortunately, he had nothing to offer but disappointment and pain.
The only sound in the cool warehouse was the minion snickering softly to himself. His red hair glowed eerily in the yellow rays of the flashlight.
“She’s an innocent, Jerahmeel. Let her go,” Dante said.
“This human is anything but innocent, my dear Dante, as you well know. Besides, she’s interesting. I want her.”
Dante’s hand curled into a hard fist.
“Ah, ah, ah. You can’t touch me.” Jerahmeel’s voice oozed like slime over Dante’s ears.
“And you can’t touch her.” Dante prayed for leverage.
A dark frown creased Jerahmeel’s normally unlined countenance, and he seethed, the smell of burnt eggs emanating from his fastidiously groomed appearance.
“But I sure can.” Brandon ogled Hannah.
“And I can compel her to do my bidding any way I see fit as long as I don’t touch her,” Jerahmeel rumbled. “I find this human’s ... abilities fascinating and would like to learn more. Just like Peter’s woman—her delicious blood was refreshing, unusual. Reminded me of someone else.” He stared into space for a minute until he blinked his coal-black eyes and focused on Hannah. “Perhaps a bit of experimentation is in order.”
“No,” Dante growled.
Hannah held her ground, keeping close by his side, but she swayed where she stood. Stark fear suffused her features.
“Let’s get started,” Jerahmeel said.
Brandon smirked, his thin lips disappearing.
Herre Gud, this would be bad.
Hannah straightened up and squared her shoulders. Unfortunately, even at full height, her tiny frame intimidated no one in this room. Dante’s heart swelled with pride at the effort.
“What exactly are you going to do?” She squinted in the general direction of Jerahmeel.
The Lord of Evil’s black, groomed eyebrows rose as he sketched a slight bow.
“Why, we’re going to find out what skills you have, my dear. We’ll determine exactly what your limits are and how your talents can benefit me. And, as added incentive, if you cooperate, I might not destroy your lover.”
“What?” Paling, she looked up at Dante. “What?”
“Don’t listen to him. Listen to me. Just try to survive. Please.”
“Dante?” Tears welled in her soft, brown eyes—eyes he might not see again after tonight.
“Let’s begin.” Jerahmeel motioned to Brandon.
Dante tensed as he stepped in front of Hannah. If they were going to do her harm, they’d have to come through him first.
Brandon struck without warning.
Dante, intent on protecting Hannah from the minion, didn’t react fast enough when the ginger asshole’s fist shattered his cheekbone. Stars burst in his field of vision, but he had no time to regroup as Brandon pounded him in quick succession, splintering his ribs, rupturing God-knew-what else.
Finally recovering enough to respond, Dante fought back with bone-crushing blows, driving the minion back. One satisfying crunch of bone told him he’d destroyed the minion’s weasely nose. Utmarkt. Excellent.
Hannah’s terrified cry drew his attention. Jerahmeel had backed her up to the shelves, effectively trapping her. He didn’t touch her. He couldn’t. But she didn’t know that. At least Jerahmeel stuck with the rules.
Brandon’s violent punch blindsided Dante enough to drive him to the floor. Then there was silence. Why didn’t the minion finish it?
The swish caught his attention a split second before the whip dragged fingers of jagged metal through the skin of his back. Jåvla skit.
The minion grinned, brandishing the nasty weapon. Another strike and Dante’s arm opened up, bleeding in eight fiery tracks.
“Dante!” Hannah cried out.
Jerahmeel stepped aside with a magnanimous smile and a negligent wave of his arm.
“No, Hannah, stay back!” Dante yelled.
She ran to him right when Brandon struck again. The metal-tipped weapon shredded the skin of her upper chest. The horrible cry wrenched from her lips flayed Dante’s heart, and he caught her as she collapsed.
“Oh my, unanticipated collateral damage,” Jerahmeel said sarcastically. “Too bad. But,
since you’re there, my dear, would you please heal Dante’s wounds, too?”
“No!” Dante wheezed, pressing his hand against the knitting bones of his chest. With a sick pop, his cheekbone repaired itself. “She just healed her brother. You’ll kill her.”
“I think not. Besides, I want to discover her limits. Know what she can do for me.”
Jerahmeel licked his blood-red lips and steepled long, manicured fingers in a contemplative gesture. Dante didn’t buy the relaxed pose for a minute.
The top of Hannah’s T-shirt hung in bloody tatters.
Dante needed to kill someone. Now. Screaming fury filled his head as the knife vibrated against his leg, making its desires known.
Fists ready, he rose and spun around.
“Ah, ah, ah, Dante. Let her try to heal you, or we’ll flay her alive while you watch.” Jerahmeel’s avid grin never reached his eyes.
Brandon tapped the whip handle on his leg. Dante took grim satisfaction that the minion’s grin was missing a few teeth.
But not satisfying enough. Problem not solved.
Dante knelt back down over Hannah’s shaking body. He tried to move her but was unable to touch any part of her without causing pain.
She reached bloody hands up to him.
“Don’t. Don’t do this. Please,” he said.
Hannah suffered because of him. And this? This hell was what he had to offer a woman?
“If you’re okay, then it’s worth it,” she said.
Shame burned his face. He deserved none of her willingness to help him. Zero.
Kristus.
“No. Healing me will destroy you, ålskling. It’s not worth it.”
“If I don’t try, then they’ll destroy you. This may be your only chance to get out of here,” she whispered.
Her skin glistened with blood. Tears rolled over freshly bruised and swollen skin, the injuries she’d taken from her brother. How much could one human absorb and survive? Apparently, Jerahmeel wanted to find out.
Hugging him close, she put her mouth to his ear. Even in this hellish situation, her warm, low voice sent a frisson of desire into his groin. Always thinking with his cock; how sick could a man get? He focused on the words she whispered.
“Act like the healing doesn’t work. Might buy you time.”
Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) Page 21
