Dare You to Run (16 page)

Maybe that wasn't such a bad card to play.

“I'm … doing … it.” She made sure her voice shook as she nodded with satisfaction. Let them think she was paralyzed by fear. That would be an advantage. She swallowed her distaste for the dark as she put the blindfold back in place.

“You done yet?” her host called from the other side of the door.

“Yes.”

“I'm going to bust your jaw if you're lying to me.”

She heard the door being opened. “Okay,” he said in response to finding her as he'd instructed. He pulled her back down the aisle and pushed her into a seat. There was a moment of fussing around with the seat belt before she heard him drop into a seat nearby.

“Let's get this can off the ground!”

“Yeah.… Waiting on the boss man,” the pilot responded.

There was a buzz from the guy next to her.

“Yeah, we got her.… Okay. I'll get it.”

There was a sniff and a shift of fabric. “Open the door back up, boss is sending Reni back for a little evidence.”

There was a click in front of her face that made her wince. “Now you listen to me bitch. You're going to sit there and take what I give you or the next time the boss wants a piece of you, I'll take something you'll miss more. Like one of them fingers. Doctors need fingers the last time I heard.”

The word “piece” set off a panic inside her but her host had already jammed his arm under her chin and pinned her against the side of the plane. She felt the knife touch her upper ear a second before pain blinded her. It was white hot, her scream strangled on the gag as she bit down on it, actually grateful for it because it saved her tongue.

“So shut the fuck up.”

She was free, and the scent of blood filled the air. She fought off a wave of nausea out of desperation because she didn't want to choke when the gag trapped the contents of her stomach inside her mouth. Her head spun in a dizzy circle, making her grateful for the seat belt. It gave her a fixed point. Something to help her feel grounded as the pain centered on the top of her ear in a throbbing mass. Tears had made wet spots in her blindfold as the plane rocked and someone came aboard.

“That's what the boss wants you to deliver.”

She was still reeling as she heard the door close and lock. There was a sniff and another rustle of fabric as the guy sat back down. She felt him looking at her, and she turned toward the heat of the sunlight coming through the window. The pain was nearly overwhelming, but she drew in deep breaths and steadied herself. As her brain cleared, she decided to let out some whimpers.

“That's right, you remember what you get if you even think about giving me shit.”

The plane jerked as it moved, the engines revving up.

*   *   *

“You didn't have to take that much.”

Damascus stood still, which took a monumental amount of self-control as she was being inspected. Someone had a hand in her hair, pushing it back to look at the slice missing from her left ear.

“Just a bit off the top.” Her airplane companion replied in a bored tone. “Never miss it with that mop on her head.”

“Better hope the client agrees with you. He made a point of making sure we know her image is important.”

“If you wanted me to take a toe, you should have said so,” he groused. “You were pushing for us to get off the ground, so I didn't take a lot of time thinking about it.”

The quarter. It made sense now, the French Quarter in New Orleans. She connected the accents with the scent of boiled crawfish in the air.

“We won't have her for long,” whoever was looking at her ear said as he released her. She made a point of shivering. “But we have to wait until the rest of the deal comes together.”

He suddenly gripped her hair, pulling it with a savage grip while his breath hit her lips. She recoiled as nausea gripped her.

“Got a little warning for you,” he said as he shook her head with his grip. “Learn to do what you're told. When you don't, the price will be higher than you like.”

She tried to jerk free, but he held her by tightening his grip until she couldn't control the cry that escaped as a muffled sound through her gag.

“I'm going to wait for your lover to come looking for you and then I am going to let you watch me splatter his brains all over the place.”

She cried out as her captor snickered.

“You heard that right.” He cooed against her ear. “So you just spend a little time thinking about what happens when you step out of line. Give me any trouble and I'll cut you, until you stop.”

He released her and gave her a hard shove. She stumbled, running into a wall before he pushed her again. This time she went a lot further, not stopping until she hit the edge of a bed and landed on it in a tangle of limbs.

“Stupid cunt. I feel sorry for the poor bastard that was dumb enough to not know you're out of his league.” There was a grunt of disgust. “Maybe I'll cut you a few times anyway, for being a slut. You should know enough to be a smart whore and get the right price before giving out any samples.”

There was a slam and the sliding of a bolt. She wanted to vomit. Horror was gripping her, twisting her into a quivering ball of reactions, reducing her to nothing but raw emotion.

She had to resist it.

Damascus forced herself to sit up and swallow. No one was dead yet, so she'd better concentrate on making sure that didn't happen. Vitus wasn't stupid.

Yeah, well neither were the men holding her.

But you aren't either …

That thought helped her get a grip. Right. She'd found a way out of her sire's plans for her and she wouldn't be rolling over. No today, not ever. Vitus sure as shit wouldn't, so neither would she. The cut on her ear throbbed and she focused on it, letting the pain cut through her fear and fuel her determination.

What she needed was a plan.

Damascus was suddenly grateful to her sire's nutritionist because her butt was small enough for her to slip her arms over it and up in front of her. She yanked off the blindfold and gag, quelling the urge to throw them across the room. She might need them later so she put them back over her head and let them hang around her neck. She shivered with revulsion, but ordered herself to keep a grip. The lump of the dragonfly gave her enough hope to maintain her poise as she investigated her surroundings.

It was a dingy room to be sure—if the paint was less than ten years old, she'd be surprised. It was peeling in spots and long, dusty cobwebs decorated the corners and pretty much the entire perimeter of where the ceiling met the walls. The only window was eight feet up and covered with an iron grate. It was ornate, with leaves and acorns, but it was also very solid-looking, like it had been cast in the early part of the century.

Well, she wasn't going to let its look intimidate her. There was a chest of drawers in the room. She eased one of the drawers out, happy to see that it was as solid-looking at the iron grate. She sat it on its side and climbed up onto it. She slid the window open, but the grate was attached to the outside of the building.

But she could feel the screws.

She climbed down, cursing the handcuffs, which made it a lot harder. She looked around the room but there wasn't anything else. Despair tried to choke her right about then, rising up and pushing at the barrier she'd placed between herself and it.

No.… Keep your head.

She could bet her entire ear that Vitus wouldn't sit down and cry. But she did sit down, the evening setting in and taking the last of the sunlight with it. The bed groaned as it took her weight, and she stood up as the sound registered.

The bed was just as old as everything else. She got down onto the floor and looked beneath the mattress. There was a dated spring system holding a grate that the mattress sat on instead of a modern box frame. She flipped onto her back and started pulling at the springs. She had numerous cuts by the time she freed one, but she held it up to the light spilling in through the window and smiled. The curved end of it was sharp and hard. She climbed back onto the drawer and pushed her hands through the window to where she could feel the screwhead holding the grate in place. The outside of the building was brick. The clay crumbled a little as she dug into it, but the bolt stuck in place.

Well, she wasn't giving up.

Not until she was dead.

*   *   *

Vitus touched down in New Orleans. Frustration was driving him mad as he went down the stairs of the private jet and onto the tarmac. Saxon was right behind him, cell phone in hand as he waited for it to grab a location from the local cell tower.

Seconds ticked by like hours, the little icon on the screen going around and around while Vitus ground his teeth.

“She's in the French Quarter.”

Greer had already gone ahead and climbed behind the wheel of an unmarked car. He had the engine going before they made it into the vehicle and told him where to go. It was seamless teamwork, smooth, deliberate. The only thing missing was the detachment he'd always had when going out on an assignment.

That was a good way to get killed.

An even better way to tip off their perpetrators and arrive in time to find the body of their target still warm because the kill was that fresh.

He knew the facts, had trained until they were part of his thinking process, but tonight it didn't seem to mean a goddamn thing. His emotions were riding high, impossible to control.

His phone buzzed, and he opened the line on speaker.

“Proof of life was delivered while you were in the air,” Kagan informed him. “A piece of her ear. Got it at the lab now for DNA, but blood type matches.”

“Fuck,” Vitus growled.

“Shit,” Saxon added.

Greer grunted something in Gaelic that really needed no translation.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Why does it look like you have Intel on her location?”

“We'll be in touch.” Vitus killed the call and shoved his phone into his shirt pocket. “If anyone wants out, now is the time.”

There was a long moment of nothing but road noise. Vitus cut Greer a hard look. “This is personal for me.”

“For us,” Saxon corrected him from the backseat.

“
I
screwed up,” Vitus insisted. “Not you.”

“Tyler has already come after me once, no way I'm sitting this out.” Saxon's tone made it clear he was digging in for the long haul. It was a stubbornness Vitus knew very well and very personally because he had his own share of it.

“Greer—”

“Shut your jaw.” Greer turned a corner and tightened his hands on the wheel. “About damn time I got to have a bit of fun.” He offered Vitus a grin. “You Americans spend too much time following the rules.”

“Well, we're about to go off the reservation,” Vitus declared. “So lock and load.”

Someone was going to die. The fact that it might be himself didn't really concern Vitus. There was also a chance that he might come out on top, and that was worth the risk.

Hell, Damascus was worth his fucking life.

*   *   *

Sweat was making her fingers slick.

It might have been blood, but Damascus refused to think about it. She had to focus on something other than the way her fingers were trying to cramp up or the fact that her neck was killing her from the angle she was holding it or the half-dozen other things that were screaming all over her body. She took a deep breath and dug the end of the spring into another place. She heard the brick crunch, felt a sprinkle of dust stick to the wet surface of her fingers before there was a pop and the bolt finally went flying into the alleyway. It clattered onto the pavement, making her cringe because it sounded so loud.

She froze on her perch, listening for any approaching footsteps. Her heart was hammering as she put the spring between her teeth and tested the iron grate. It pushed out but not enough. She set her sights on another bolt and went to work. Digging in, listening for the crunch of the brick, feeling the crumbling dust and waiting for the first hint of give on the bolt. She felt it and moved the spring a tiny amount around the head of the bolt to begin again.

Dig in.

Her confidence was growing, the way the grate vibrated feeding her resolve. She could smell the metallic scent of her blood, which only fanned her determination. She would get out. She would join Colonel Magnus's team.

She would be more than a princess.

The second bolt went sailing into the alleyway as she leaned against the wall. Her fingers were in agony, but that didn't stop the wave of accomplishment that swept through her. It left her smiling as she sagged against the peeling paint. Pleased with herself in a way she'd never really realized she might be, in some dark part of her mind, where the remnants of her last kidnapping still lived. She'd known it was there, all the doubt and helplessness that she had never been able to banish.

Tonight, she had to stand up against it or she was going to lose more than another piece of her ear. She let the throbbing pain take precedence, focusing on it as she determined which bolt to attack next. When that one popped free, there was enough music outside to cover the sound. She pushed on the iron grate, biting back a cry of victory as it pushed out a full two feet. She pulled her hands back inside and tucked the spring into her bra before reaching back up and lifting her body up to the window. She didn't dare move the dresser. Someone might hear that, so she struggled to hold her body weight and shove through the window. It was awkward to say the least, but she held onto the side of the grate that was still bolted to the wall and pushed with her feet against the side that was free. The windowsill gave her a narrow perch as she used all of her strength to hold tight to the iron grate; it also gave her the leverage to push her feet against the open side.

Her legs slid out as the iron gave way. Her knees and then her hips went through as she twisted and pushed herself out to her waist with her hands. The iron tore at her dress, leaving gouges in her skin. She kept pushing, stuck at her shoulders as she lost the angle to use her hands while her feet dangled uselessly in the air. She pulled her knees up and pushed against the outside of the building. The iron grabbed at her hair as her shoulder moved, and then gravity did the rest.