by Maya Banks
hatred and defiance. She stared the men down holding her husband as if to tell them you can’t win. He’ll kill you. He’ll find a way and he’ll kill you.
Not if Ari had anything to do with it. She was going to take these bastards out herself or die trying.
Some causes were noble and just, even when steeped in violence, blood and . . . murder. Some fights, regardless of impossible odds, were still meant to be fought because unless you fought back there really was no hope. And Ari had to believe that somehow, someway, she would prevail and save her parents. Even if she herself was forfeit in the process.
Some things were simply worth fighting for. Worth it to the bitter end, with the very last breath. And Ari could think of no better reason than . . . love. Love for her parents. Love for Beau.
Defeat was merely the absence of hope. And until she’d exhausted every last avenue of hope then she would not—would never—concede. It was a vow echoing through her mind, shutting all else out.
Until her mother’s pained scream broke through the dark shadow of Ari’s thoughts. Through plans for death and retribution. She froze when a thin trickle of blood slithered down her mother’s neck as the asshole holding her sliced a shallow cut through her delicate skin.
Her father went crazy, his bellows of rage, his promises of retribution echoing her own thoughts. He managed to break free from his captors, and he flung himself across the cell, prepared to take apart with his bare hands the man hurting his wife.
And then her father’s body arced, bowing backward, his face contorted with pain as his extremities shook and twitched violently.
The cowardly bastards had tased him from behind. For one brief moment Ari thought her father would actually fight through the devastating effects of the stun gun, his determination to safeguard his wife overriding all else. But then another shot from one of the other guards dropped him like a stone and Ginger cried out, her movements causing more blood to flow from the cut that was now deeper because she’d instinctively lunged forward in a desperate attempt to shield her husband.
“Stop!” Ari cried. “Don’t kill her! For God’s sake, you’ve done enough! You’ve incapacitated my father, and if the bastard holding a knife to her throat makes one wrong move, he’ll kill her!”
“Then perhaps you should reconsider your rejection of our plans,” Goon A said coolly. “Because I have no compunction whatsoever about slicing her throat and letting you watch her bleed out, seeing her take her last breath and then letting her husband wake up in a pool of her blood next to her lifeless body.”
Ari shivered at the emotionless threat. But no, it wasn’t a threat. She could see his absolute resolve. Knew he’d carry out his promise if she offered any further resistance. Could she hold it together? Endure whatever they meted out so as not to be completely crippled afterward, so she would be able to destroy this awful place and every single person inside it except her parents.
Without knowing whether Beau was alive, she had to operate under the assumption he was so she made the right choices. This was no time to allow emotion to interfere with cold logic and what she knew to be absolutely true.
This man would order her mother’s death and suffer not one iota of remorse. And God only knew what they’d then do to her father when they no longer had her mother to force her compliance with.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she said with calm she had no idea could be summoned in a situation that would normally have her paralyzed with fear, helpless to do anything but be some damn shrinking violet.
Fuck violets. She’d never liked them anyway. And the use of the F-word just strengthened her resolve to be the warrior Beau was. The warrior her parents needed. The warrior she must become.
Hardening herself for the ordeal ahead so she wouldn’t be incapacitated afterward would be the toughest test of her endurance yet. Beau wasn’t here to pick up the pieces, to coddle and comfort her.
But for her parents. For herself. For Beau. She could and would endure. And God help them all when she finally unleashed the full fury of her powers. Her gift. One, that for the first time in her life, she was grateful for and that she wholly embraced.
THIRTY-ONE
GAVIN Rochester flinched when he heard the telltale sound of the door leading into the hallway where the cells were aligned open. Then the thump of booted feet. More than one set.
His entire body was still on fire, but this time . . . he’d kill the bastards with his bare hands. Rip out their spinal cords and force them down their throats.
They’d put their filthy hands on his wife. They’d made her bleed. Worse, they’d terrified her, and he’d been rendered incapable of stopping any of it. He’d been stripped of power. Any decisions or choices. Not since he was a child eking out a living in squalor had he had his choices taken away and no say-so in his future.
Since the day he’d killed the monster—his sperm donor, because he would not give such a man the honor or respect of ever naming him father, biological or not—he’d taken control of his own destiny. His mother, too far gone into the murky world of drugs and addiction, had been grateful to Gavin for ridding them of the man who abused them both. Grateful, for fuck’s sake. A polite thank-you rendered unemotionally as though she were thanking a stranger for a small act of kindness.
When he’d begged her to leave with him. To seek out better. A better life. A better existence, panic had swirled in her eyes, and he knew the source of her panic was being cut off from her drug supply, something more precious than even her own child.
After that, Gavin had left his old life behind. Every single aspect of it. Not even Ginger knew the whole of it. Only that his parents had been the worst sort of people. People who should have never been allowed to procreate. But he’d never confessed to her that he’d killed his own father in cold blood.
She knew much about his past. Knew he was steeped in gray and that he’d crossed a lot of lines, or blurred them at the very least. But she didn’t know he was a murderer, and until now, until that little selfish, spoiled rich brat bastard had gone after his daughter, until a man had drawn his wife’s blood, he’d never considered descending into the world of cold-blooded killing again.
But now he craved it with every part of his heart and soul. He burned with rage and the need to shed the blood of the men who’d made his wife and daughter—the two people he loved most in the world, the only people he loved—hurt and afraid.
He knew the point had come when he had to act. Had to take a calculated risk and escape as quickly as possible. Because God, somewhere out there, scared and alone, was his precious daughter. Who likely thought her mother and father had simply abandoned her. At a time when she needed them the most.
He couldn’t even think about what circumstances Ari might presently be in without going insane. He had to focus on only what he could control. His and his beloved wife’s escape so they could see to their daughter. And when this was over, he was moving his family as far away as possible. Never to return here. Complete identity changes. Completely new lives. In a place where he could be certain they’d never be touched by violence again. He should have never returned to the States. But it was useless to indulge in regret for actions already taken. But he could ensure he never made the same mistake again.
When Ginger cried out, Gavin soared to his feet, his head coming up, searching for what threat was posed, what had made his wife cry out in anguish. But no one was even in the cell at this moment and yet Ginger’s face was writhing with pain, stress and fear radiating from her in tangible waves. He could feel her utter panic, see her body tremble in extreme agitation.
Tears streaked down her cheeks and her gaze was fastened down the hallway, down a sight line Gavin wasn’t privy to because he’d put Ginger in the far corner and instructed her to remain there, as far from the entrance and where the men would force their way in and where Gavin intended to kill them.
Failure simply wasn’t an option. Earlier, they hadn’t been treated badly
. In fact, they been treated with indifference, viewed with simmering impatience as if they awaited something else entirely and Gavin and Ginger were mere obstacles in their way.
So why keep them? Why kidnap them at all? If it was a demand for ransom, Ari wouldn’t know how to liquidate enough assets to pay what would likely be an outrageous sum, nor would he want her to. The very last thing he wanted was his daughter remotely connected to any danger.
But with the sudden shift in the tide earlier and the menace he’d seen in their captor’s eyes. The way they’d terrorized Ginger, tased him, as if the entire thing was a carefully orchestrated play. Everything had changed on a dime. But for whose benefit came the sudden shift in urgency? What was happening, even now, behind the scenes? Circumstances he wasn’t privy to.
Gavin swiftly moved in front of Ginger, obscuring her view so he could see what she was reacting to and so he could protect her from whatever threat loomed. To his surprise, Ginger shoved hard at him, causing him to stumble forward and she raced to the bars, fingers curling around them, gripping until the tips were completely white and bloodless.
“Ari!” she screamed. “Don’t touch her, you bastards!”
Gavin’s blood went ice cold as dread filled his heart. No. Oh God, no. Not Ari. Goddamn it! Not his daughter, too! Wasn’t it enough that his wife suffered? Did their only child have to be terrorized as well?
He yanked Ginger back, all but tossing her onto the cot, and then he pinned her with a stare that brooked no argument. “Do not fucking move,” he said harshly. “You stay here, and do not interfere, not matter what happens. Do you understand me?”
“But—!”
Gavin held up a hand to his wife, something he never did, though God knew he’d never raise his hand to her in violence. He’d never before given her the disrespect of cutting off anything she chose to say by being so dismissive as to reject her words with his body language or to so abruptly call a halt to her words or argument.
In this moment, he didn’t care. He wanted compliance. Instant and unquestioning obedience. He locked his fierce gaze with his wife’s equally fierce stare. Because if by forcing her compliance, she stayed alive—unharmed—she could be pissed at him for the next twenty years and he’d be more than happy to grovel every single day of those two decades.
“I can’t lose you both,” Gavin said hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay where you are, Ginger! Let me see to Ari. I can’t afford to have my concentration split between you and our daughter. I need to know you are out of harm’s way. Do this for me. Please.”
Some of the stark, vulnerable fear that weakened him to his knees must have shone in his face because Ginger’s eyes softened, and she simply nodded, though her gaze immediately flitted beyond Gavin, her eyes anxious and seeking now as they awaited their daughter.
For one brief moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes. His sweet, loving and forgiving wife. It was bad enough that she’d endured such torment over the last days. But now these fuckers had Ari? The only solace they’d found was in the fact that Ari hadn’t been taken. Despair shoved aside the hope that she was someplace safe. Out of harm’s way. Because she wasn’t. She was here. In this hell with him and her mother and he’d never felt so goddamn helpless in his life at his inability to protect the people who mattered the most to him.
He reluctantly broke away from his wife, but he had to see what had been done to his daughter. He rushed back to the bars, straining forward to better see in the dimly lit hallway. The cell was lit by only a single bulb, one he purposely turned off at night when he slept, Ginger between him and the wall so he was a barrier between her and anyone coming into the cell.
His reason was twofold. One, in the darkness, holding, touching his wife, he—they—could forget for the space of a few stolen moments that they were being held captive by unknown people for an equally unknown reason. And two, darkness bothered Ginger immensely, except for at night when she slept, curled into his protective embrace. If he left it lit all the time, it would eventually burn out and it was doubtful it would be replaced, especially if Ginger displayed any sign of distress over the loss of the single source of illumination.
He strained his eyes, only seeing what Ginger had seen. The unmistakable color of Ari’s hair, though her head was downcast, only the crown of her hair visible. He tensed, realizing she was being dragged between two men and neither was taking the slightest bit of care in their handling of her.
He bit back a string of oaths, knowing that they would derive great pleasure in giving him even more reason to protest, and the last thing he wanted was more hurt for his daughter.
He watched for any sign of . . . life. Movement. His chest burned, oxygen trapped in his lungs as they compressed and squeezed even tighter in sheer, gut-wrenching panic.
She was listless. Unmoving on her own. She was jerked along like a puppet or rather a doll being dragged behind a child by a single arm. Her hair was tousled, strands going in a dozen different directions. It looked tangled and in complete disarray.
His gut clenched even harder as he imagined all the possible reasons for a woman to look as she did. He turned, ensuring Ginger was heeding his order, something he never gave his wife unless it had to do with her or Ari’s safety.
Her gaze leapt to his in question, her entire body surging forward, though she gripped the edge of the cot with her fingers as though to prevent herself from flying forward to see for herself. God, if he could only shield her from this. If he could have only shielded her and Ari both. The weight of his mistakes, his failures, weighed heavily on his heart and mind, but for now he had to push past his guilt and overwhelming sense of helplessness and figure out a way to get his family out.
Finally the long path down the hallway brought Ari close enough for Gavin to look closer. Still unmoving, hair in disarray, bruises . . . He bit back a savage oath as he took in the purple blotches, the size of fingerprints, on her arms and shoulders. She was wearing only a thin tank top and then he froze when one of the guards jerked her in his direction so the other could unlock the cell.
The movement sent the hair that tumbled forward over her shoulders, covering most of her chest, to the side and he saw the white tank top turn scarlet before his very eyes. His heart seized, terror slamming his airway shut.
It—and she—were bathed in blood.
“Back up!” the guard with the key barked at Gavin.
As if reinforcing the other guard’s demand, the man holding Ari hauled her more upright, shaking her like the rag doll Gavin had likened her to as she’d been dragged down the hall. Behind him, Ginger gasped in horror and then cried out in utter despair, “Ari!”
His wife’s agonized cry shook Gavin from his momentary stupor and torment. He lunged for the bars, hitting them so hard they shook and rattled as he roared his rage, forgetting all about his worry that his reaction would incite them to further malice.
Desperately, he thrust his arms through the thick bars, straining forward, trying to reach his daughter. Trying to get his hands on the men responsible.
“Get back!” one of the men snarled, though he took a hasty step backward even as he uttered the command, ensuring he was well out of Gavin’s reach.
The one not holding Ari brandished a stun gun, the same one he’d used on Gavin before. This time he aimed it not at Gavin, but at Ginger, who now stood upright beside the cot, her face sheet-white as she stared at her bloodied daughter.
“Perhaps you forgot what happened last time you forgot your place,” the guard said in a menacing voice. “Get back or I’ll shock your wife, and you can forget seeing your precious daughter.”
It took every ounce of Gavin’s discipline to simply stand down, to slowly back away, ensuring his body once more stood between Ginger and the guard holding the Taser. He wanted to go after them both as soon as the door was opened, wanted to take them apart, piece by bloody piece. Spill their blood as they’d spilled Ari’s.
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br /> When the guard was satisfied that Gavin was a sufficient distance back, he inserted the key into the lock, but his gaze never left Gavin and Ginger, and the hand holding the gun was steady, never lowering.
With a groan, the cell door strained to open, years of rust and neglect eating away at it. Gavin had spent the entire first forty-eight hours of confinement ruthlessly and tirelessly testing every square inch of the cell, looking for any deficit, any weakness to exploit. Anything that could prove a possible escape route. Only to come up empty-handed.
Not even entering the cell, perhaps rightfully wary of Gavin’s savage rage that Gavin knew was clearly outlined on his face and in his eyes, and evidently not wanting to afford Gavin any opportunity to lash out, the guard holding Ari stopped just shy of the open doorway while his partner took position between them, the Taser pointed in Gavin and Ginger’s direction.
Then the guard simply propelled Ari forward, her slight weight momentarily becoming airborne at his vicious shove. She hit the floor with a resounding thud that made Ginger cry out again, and Gavin flinched at his daughter’s motionless body lying on the floor like a broken doll.
She lay there, eyes open, but completely unaware. Blood streamed from her nose, her mouth. God, it looked like it was coming from her ears and even her eyes.
The guards beat a hasty retreat, closing and locking the cell door before hurrying away, disappearing from sight.
Gavin rushed the few feet over to Ari, sinking to his knees, his hands automatically running over her body, afraid of what he’d find. Ginger joined him, her eyes red and swollen, so much worry reflected in her tormented gaze.
“There’s so much blood!” Ginger choked out around a sob. “Oh God, Gavin, is she . . . Is she even alive?”
Gavin’s eyes briefly closed even as he carefully smoothed Ari’s hair from her neck so he could check for a pulse. His own heart was about to beat out of his chest. His hands were shaking so badly that his fingers kept glancing off her skin before he could ascertain the strength of her pulse. Or if she even had one.
Finally he forced himself to calm enough that his hand steadied, and he pressed the area over her carotid artery. He sagged, nearly toppling over with relief when he felt the erratic flutter against his fingertips.
“She’s alive,” he said quietly.
“Oh thank God,” Ginger whispered brokenly. Then she touched his arm to get his attention, her terrified gaze finding his. “How can we know how badly she’s injured? What if we do her more harm by moving her?”
Gavin had the same fear but he’d be damned if he left his daughter on the cold, hard floor of the dank cell. He would certainly handle her more carefully than the guards in their brutal treatment of her.
“Let me lay her down on the cot, darling,” Gavin said, forcing calm into his voice he neither believed nor felt.
Just as much as he didn’t want to panic Ginger, neither did he want her to see how precariously close he was to becoming utterly unhinged and losing any semblance of control.
He cursed softly as he began to shake again when he slid his arms underneath her body with frustrating slowness. His instincts screamed at him to gather her in his arms, hold her close and never let go, never let her back into the hands of monsters.
He was genuinely worried that his legs simply wouldn’t support Ari’s slight weight, much less his own. He sucked in several steadying breaths, trying valiantly to calm the raging fury storming through his veins.
Gently, he lifted, still crouched in a kneeling position. He drew her up and into his arms, cradling her against his chest. For a moment he paused, praying he wouldn’t falter when he tried to stand. Never had he had a more important reason to be so patient and careful.
“Here, let me help you,” Ginger said anxiously, anchoring her entire body, stiffening with all her might as she attempted to help haul him to his feet as he held Ari the entire time.
Though his petite, delicate wife, so much like Ari, despite not being her biological mother, hardly had the strength to accomplish such a task, he didn’t deny her aid because he sensed she was on the verge of completely falling apart and needed to do something—anything—to remain stalwart. A feat he admired since he was just as close to breaking down himself as he stared down at his bruised and bloodied daughter.
Tears burned the corners of his eyes as he ever so carefully placed her on the cot, inching his arms from underneath her. Though her eyes were fixed and glassy, she didn’t seem remotely aware of anything, almost as if she were unconscious despite her eyes being wide. But still, he didn’t want to do anything that would inadvertently cause her more pain, which was why he moved with extreme slowness, careful not to jostle her.
“Oh Gavin,” Gingerly said tearfully as she settled just above Ari’s head. “What did they do to her?” She shifted her pleading gaze to her husband, anger, fury and utter despair burning brightly in her brown eyes, which that were now nearly black. “What did they do?”
Sorrow was a heavy, suffocating blanket over the entire cell. Gavin couldn’t even form the words to offer his wife comfort when he had none to give. He couldn’t give her an answer that would appease her because he was afraid he would be telling her a complete lie.
There was so much blood. It soaked the entire front of her shirt, streaked from her ears down the sides of her neck, where it collected in large splattered spots atop the ridge between her shoulders and base of her neck. More blood covered her mouth, was drying in her nostrils and now that he was studying her closer he was able to confirm his earlier suspicion that she’d even bled from her eyes.
Had they beaten her so badly?
Despite the fact he’d already checked her pulse, his hand found its way to her neck again, seeking reassurance that he hadn’t imagined feeling the soft flutter of life beneath his fingertips. As before it was erratic, but it was strong against his touch. But his fear was of internal injuries, things he couldn’t see.
Despite his fear that she’d been badly beaten, he couldn’t find evidence of swelling or bruising on her face or head. The blood seemed inexplicable because the only bruises he found were those on her arms, as if she’d been grasped roughly. Ari had always bruised easily, and these somewhat small bruises looked to be fingertips. Nothing that would account for the blood so stark against her skin.
Ginger’s hand hovered over Ari’s face, her features rigid with consternation as she sought somewhere—anywhere—she could safely touch her daughter. Finally she laid her hand over Ari’s forehead, gently stroking up and over her scalp in a soothing motion.
Ari immediately flinched as though Ginger had struck her. It was the first time Ari had made any sort of movement or signaled any awareness of what was going on around her.
“Ari?” Gavin said urgently. “Ari, can you hear me? Are you awake? Please, sweetheart, open your eyes so your mother and I know you’re all right.”
To both their surprises, Ari brushed away her mother’s hand and then rolled away from them both to face the opposite direction. She pulled her legs up—a protective measure—to her chest and wrapped both arms solidly around them, seeming to pull herself into as small a ball as possible.
An agonized moan escaped her lips, and Gavin’s position was such that he
