Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (27 page)

“Better talk to that sister of yours. No one else needs to know about your appointment with the PB. Certainly not Daisy.” A knowing gleam in his awful eyes, Griggs smirked, threatening her with Daisy the Destroyer. A woman doing time for a triple homicide and known for her brutality to other inmates. “You could turn it all around. An encouraging word or two from you and...”

A gust twisted through the yard, blowing stone dust across the pavement. The smell of stale grass whipped in
its wake, mixing with Griggs’s corrupt stench as he trailed off, letting the implication of sexual favors lie. And J.J.’s stomach rolled, disgust joining terror on her top two hit parade. As it beat on her like a drum, she looked away to stare across the yard.

It wasn’t fair. Not to her. Not to Tania, either.

They were so close. So amazingly close to winning. And Griggs...the goddamned asshole...threatened to ruin it all. But no matter what he said—or how hard he pushed—she would never give up her sister. Would risk death to protect Tania. She’d done it before and would do it again without a moment’s hesitation.

“Your life for one night with her.” Utility belt creaking, Griggs leaned toward her. J.J. fought the urge to cringe. She refused to give anything away, but fear took its pound of flesh anyway as he whispered, “Not too much to ask, is it?”

She didn’t answer. Simply walked away without a single word or backward glance. Time for a new plan. One that included calling the lawyer Tania retained on her behalf. She needed out of general population and into protective custody...lightning fast. Before Griggs made good on his promise and sent Daisy after her. Before she ended up with a shank between her shoulder blades.

The voices came from far away, traveling through a pain-filled tunnel. Agony flicked through Venom and grew sharper, lighting his skin on fire. As sensation burned across his abdomen, sound warped, funneling into a long, vicious hiss. Fighting through the sensory static, he struggled to open his eyes. A no go. Nothing worked right. Not his body. Not his mind. Not even his eyes listened to the commands he gave them. But goddamn, he needed to snap out of it and get mobile...right now.

Staying still wasn’t an option.

Not while Razorbacks circled. Hunted. Searched for an opening to deal the deathblow.

Planting his palm, Venom pushed up, fighting to get himself vertical. The ground beneath him squished inward, feeling...well, kind of spongy and soft. He managed to crack his eyelids. Bright light burned the backs of his retinas. A wave of black spots screwed with his vision. Something crawled over his belly, poking at a sore spot.

Pain rippled through him.

Venom bit down on a curse. Silence was imperative. The second he screamed the bastards would find him. Finish the job. Leave him ashed out in a pile of nothing special.

Another tug at his wound, this time along his hip. Anguish splintered, driving the needles of pain deeper. Raising his arm, he grabbed a fistful of the fabric beneath him and pulled, desperate to find a safe spot to hide, to wait the rogues out, but...

God, that hurt. Everything hurt: his head, his body, the red-hot poker burning a hole in his stomach.

The prodding contact came again. He shoved it away.

“Venom, don’t.” The soft voice sped toward him, tying him up with confusion. Who the hell was that? He went still. The person spoke again. “Hold still, honey. I’m almost through.”

Venom
and
honey
. Two words that never went together. At least before now.

But the combo was a good sign. He frowned. Wasn’t it?

Someone brushed the hair back from his forehead. Venom turned his face into it, testing his theory. Another soft stroke and...

Yeah. Definitely a friendly. He wasn’t alone. Didn’t need to be afraid, which meant one thing. Black Diamond. He was at home, safe inside the lair.

Relief sent him sideways, and, fighting a bad case of dry mouth, he croaked, “Myst?”

“Hey, welcome back.”

“Where’d I go?”

Shoes squeaked against the hospital-grade floor. “You’ve been unconscious for over twelve hours.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

Myst snorted.

Trying his vision again, Venom opened his eyes. His focus wavered a second and then sharpened. Eyes the color of violets met his, anchoring him in the here and now. Myst’s domain. He was safe, laid up inside one of Black Diamond’s recovery rooms. The white walls, glossy cabinets, and stainless steel countertops were a dead giveaway. The only sure thing that pierced through the mind-fog. Except...

After a moment that cleared too. Memory rushed in, replaying the battle over Gig Harbor, the brutal hit he’d taken and—

Holy Christ. Wick. Where the hell was his best friend?

Worry spun him into action, giving him strength. With a groan, he propped himself on his elbow and looked around. Nothing but medical equipment, Bastian’s female, and...Sloan. Oh thank God. The male would know if Wick was AWOL or okay.

He pegged his buddy with a glare. “Where is he?”

“Around.” Dark eyes collided with his. Sloan rounded the end of the bed and unloaded his weight, making the mattress dip as he sat down. With a grunt, he swung his legs up, planted his big-ass boots on the coverlet, and crossed one over the other. “He brought you in, stuck around while Myst sewed you up, then fucked off.”

“Smart guy,” Myst said. “I wanted to do the same near the end.”

“Gave you a hard time, did I?”

“You’re a freaking pain in the butt to patch up, Venom. Swearing. Kicking. Being a regular pansy about getting stitched up.” Picking up a role of tape, she tore off three strips and, smoothing his bandage down, taped it in place. “So now you owe me one.”

Ah, hell. That didn’t sound good. “My penance?”

“You stay off your feet for two days. No sudden movements, which means...” Holding up one of her hands, she ticked off her fingers with the other. “No wrestling. No fighting. No active play video games. Or—”

“Ah, come on,” he said, sounding like a whiny brat.

“—hall hockey, either. In fact, go back to sleep for a while. It’ll help you heal.” He opened his mouth to object. She nailed him with one of her no-nonsense looks. “If you don’t listen to me, I’ll sic Bastian on you.”

All right, then. Game over. No way he wanted B riding his ass. About anything, but especially not for upsetting Myst. Nothing but a serious beat down lay in that direction, and...goddamn it. No video games? Seriously? What the hell did she expect him to do all day?

Oh, right...sleep.

Terrific advice. Too bad he didn’t feel like taking it. He was wide-awake now, nowhere ready to go back to la-la land. He wanted to move, stretch his sore muscles, and test his strength. Not lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. He was already bored, and he’d only just opened his eyes.

Myst’s eyes narrowed on him. “I mean it, Venom.”

Venom grumbled but settled back against the sheets. No sense arguing with her. He was a fast learner, and watching Bastian the last couple of weeks had taught him plenty...like females rarely—if ever—lost an argument. Hell, Myst would eat him alive if he tried. Just KO his ass before he even got out of the gate.

“Good boy.” Myst patted him on the shoulder.

Sloan snorted in amusement.

Which, naturally, made Venom want to kill something. And since it couldn’t be B’s female, Sloan jumped to the top of his hit list. “Traitor.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Sloan said.

Myst rolled her eyes. Giving him one last love tap, she tossed the tape on the side table and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour to check on you. Behave while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, glaring at his buddy.

Grinning, Sloan watched Myst retreat. As the door opened then closed behind her, his buddy’s gaze settled back on him. “You hungry?”

No, he wasn’t. But if it meant getting rid of Sloan? He was 100 percent on board with that plan. “I could eat.”

“I’ll grab you something.”

A “thanks,” twenty seconds later, and—

The door to the recovery room closed. Silence descended, and Venom sighed in relief. Alone at last. With time and plenty to disobey a direct order. Myst wouldn’t be happy, but that was too flipping bad. He refused to stay flat on his back in the recovery room. Not while his own bed awaited in the aboveground lair. At least there he had books to read and...yeah, an Xbox to keep him busy while he waited for the dragon DNA to get with the program and heal him up tight.

Looking forward to a round of
Halo
, Venom conjured a pair of track pants. An instant later, he flipped the covers back and pushed himself upright. Weak from blood loss, his arms shook as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pain spiraled around his rib cage, then took a side trip up his spine. With a muttered curse, he gripped the edge of the mattress, searching for steady in a sea of topsy-turvy. It didn’t go well. His brain kept sloshing around inside his skull, making the room spin. Round and round. One revolution after another. A mental roller coaster without end.

His stomach heaved, trying to crawl up his throat. Tasting bile, Venom swallowed the burn, refusing to throw up. He was tougher than that. Was warrior strong. Would sooner punch himself in the balls than surrender to the knifelike pressure in his belly or to the—

Ah, hell.

Venom lunged for the trash can next to the bed. The second his hands curled around the lip, he gagged, dry heaving over the basket. Then groaned. His belly wound squawked, elevating agony to new levels. Sweat beaded on his skin, sliding between his shoulder blades as his brain turned into an Olympic gymnast, doing cartwheels inside his head. And his stomach? The frigging SOB was in full revolt, trampling his esophagus, evacuating a load of bile...and nothing else. But then, there wasn’t much else the bastard could do, considering he hadn’t eaten in a while.

On his knees, one hand planted flat on the wall, he hugged the round can and hung his head over the lip. He dry heaved again. This time, though, he breathed through it, pulling air in through his nose before exhaling out his mouth. Better. He continued with the in-and-out routine, enriching his body with oxygen. After a minute or ten, his stomach settled enough for him to push to his feet. Which, of course, made the gash across his abdomen holler even louder. Propping his shoulder against the wall, he peeled back the bandage and—

Holy God.

The wound started at the underside of his rib cage, then slashed across, bisecting his entire torso to reach the top of his right hip. Venom grimaced. Jeez, talk about a close call. Good thing the Razorbacks didn’t have good
aim. A few inches lower and his days of pleasing females would’ve been over.

Folding the gauze back into place, Venom set the trash can on the floor. As he stood upright, he swayed a little, weakness attacking his thigh muscles, making him quiver. He steadied himself and turned toward the door. Bare feet silent, he made his way out of the recovery area, ignoring the utilitarian white walls and green hospital-grade floor, and walked into the underground lair’s medical clinic. More bright light hammered him. He squinted against the glare, scanning the space. Empty. Excellent. Nothing but a bank of wall cabinets, medical equipment pushed up against the back wall, and a stainless steel operating table.

One hand pressed to his belly wound, Venom stared at the table a moment, then frowned. He remembered being up on the thing last night, getting held down as Myst stitched him up. A twinge of embarrassment rolled through him. He owed her an apology. He’d said some things; been too pissed off, in too much pain to censor himself, and—

Yeah. No doubt about it. She’d gotten an earful. And wasn’t that something to be proud of?

Raking his hair back, he shuffled across the clinic, careful to keep each stride short. The last thing he wanted was any more trouble. And if he tore the stitches, Myst would scold him, and he’d get the eye evil from B. So not on his list of things to do tonight. Neither was finding something to eat, but that wouldn’t fly. Despite the rot-gut he had going on, he needed the fuel. Food equaled energy. And energy equaled fast healing, so, yeah, it looked like he’d be eating whatever Sloan brought him.

The motion sensor above the sliding glass door went active. As the thing opened wide, Venom gimped his way
into the corridor. The main point of passage in the underground lair, the double-wide hallway saw a lot of traffic every day. Good thing it was quiet now, though. Otherwise he would get turfed, tossed back into the recovery room while Myst padlocked the door.

Tucking his left elbow into his side, Venom spread his hand across his belly and, reaching out, used the wall as a crutch. The solid support along with the added push helped propel him up the slight incline toward Sloan’s computer lab.

The cool tones of a sexy saxophone drifted toward him.

Venom’s brows collided. Nowhere near Sloan’s style. The male never played stuff like that. Hard-core rap. Heavy-duty death metal. Not...

What was that? A little R & B in the evening. Sade maybe?

Coming even with the doorframe, he glanced inside the com center. Ah. It all made sense now. Rikar’s female had set up shop. Red hair bright beneath the overhead lights, file folders spread out on the conference table behind her, Angela stared at the opposite wall. His focus shifted, taking in the photos of five missing females...the ones she suspected had been imprisoned by the Razorbacks. The sight made him sick all over again.