Inferno (21 page)

He wanted that. He needed that release.

He wanted blood.

He wanted suffering, but more than anything, he just wanted to make someone fucking pay. Gritting his teeth, he offered a cold, venomous smile.

“Consider this your lucky day, Neil. I’m going to let you live, but if I were you, I would pray that you never cross my path again.”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. The stark terror and death-like pall still haunting the man’s features was the only response he needed.

His mood hadn’t improved any by the time he pushed his way inside SKALS’ doors. There was always a grim somberness cloaking the building that blotted out the light and settled clear down to the depths of his bones. It filled him with rage and resentment just to be there. Disparity and dread filled every atom in the stale, chilly air. His mood only soured when he rounded the corner to see Marx pushing his way down the corridor and barreling his way. The wide berth of the commander’s upper body was hunched and lowered, and the look of discontentment stamping his face so severe that Sebastian wondered if he was going to charge. His gaze dropped to the man’s ham-sized fists and his stomach sank upon noting the way they were locked with rage.

He’d taken plenty of beatings from those wrecking balls over the years. Some deserved, some uncalled for, but none of them had ever been pleasant. Things had changed since then. He was no longer compliant. No longer a willing soldier, but smoldering with unspoken hatred and rage. That type of confrontation might very well be the last nudge needed to push him over the edge.

He stopped, lifting his chin to meet the director’s heated stare head on as his boss approached.

“Just where the hell have you been?” Marx asked, his voice a low, thundering growl.

“I had a quick stop to make,” Sebastian replied, striving to keep his tone even. “I was following up on an investigation.”

The commander’s ebony eyes narrowed in a chilling precursor to his snort. “Would this follow up of yours have anything to do with Jack Gill?”

“Who?”

“Don’t get cute with me, Sebastian. You know damn well who he is. He called your office this morning.”

A tingling numbness suffused his face. Steeling his jaw, he refused to let the turbulence show. Instead, he offered a passive shrug. “Did he leave a message?”

“No. He said he was tied up for the rest of the day and would try to get back to you tomorrow. Do you want to tell me what this little exchange is about?”

“I am assuming he has some questions about the shooting. How the hell should I know? If you are so damn curious, maybe you should have asked him yourself.”

The commander’s jaw jutted. His smooth, brown skin glistened with tiny drops of sweat despite the frigid blast of air-conditioning blustering down on them from the overhead vents. It was a telling sign of his anger. Then, without warning, his demeanor changed. His expression grew pensive as he stroked his thumb over the thin line of his moustache.

“Interesting. I would think after last night’s unpleasant debacle you would be more contrite.”

“I’d cut your throat if given half the chance, Marx. Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to kiss your ass.”

Much to his surprise, the man laughed.

“Still full of passion and fire, I see. You never disappoint me that way, Sebastian. Take a few minutes out of your day and follow me.”

He’d sooner saw off his own arm with a rusty butter knife, but seeing no other choice in the matter, he reluctantly complied. Keeping his steps slow, he followed Marx through the dim, twisted labyrinth of halls until they neared a door he knew all too well. It was Irene’s cell. The one place he’d tried to avoid at all costs. The dual guards stationed outside the room flashed him a brief look of pity and an unpleasant burn rose, searing the back of his throat. He had no desire to see the woman again, let alone witness the horrific side effects of whatever sick games Marx had decided to play.

He braced himself, watching as the commander smiled and turned to unlock the cell. Part of him hoped the bastard had grown tired of her company and the room would be vacant or occupied by someone else. However, he knew that wasn’t the case the moment Marx opened the door.

The smell hit him first. It was a potent, vile combination of fear, blood, and sweat. He grimaced, trying his damnedest to block it out, but it smelled as if something had died and been left to rot in the sun for weeks. Marx swung the door open and the heavy steel barrier scraped against concrete. The noise was akin to nails raking down a chalkboard and enough to send Irene scuttling. Her gaunt limbs flailed in their attempt to gain traction as she scurried across the floor.

Keeping her back to them, she huddled in the corner, her pale skin glowing starkly against the dark cement walls. Vicious tremors wracked her emaciated form, each one accentuated by the loud chattering of her teeth. Sebastian stood rooted, watching her, all too aware of Marx’s assessing gaze as it tracked the reactions on his face.

He wanted to take some small measure of comfort from her condition. He wanted to take satisfaction from the welt and bruises marring her skin and the infections starting to fester beneath. He wanted to feel some sort of smug confidence that justice had been done, but all he felt was a truly disturbing wave of pity.

She’d grabbed his dick under his own dinner table. She’d humiliated him and thrown herself openly at his men. She’d hurt and betrayed Taylor, but even that wasn’t enough. She deserved to suffer for those things, but she didn’t deserve this.

“Now, now, pet,” Marx coaxed, his deep baritone laced with amusement. “I’ve taught you better than to run away from me. Is this any way to greet myself or Agent Baas?”

A low, mournful noise emanated from the corner of the room. Sebastian took an involuntary step back when Irene peeled herself away from the wall.

The lacerations crisscrossing her skin had been bad enough, but her battered face brought another scalding wave of acid to his throat. The sharp ridges of her cheekbones were swollen, split from Marx’s heavy fists, and both sides were latticed with freshly made imprints from his hand. Thick bruises banded her neck and red and purple mottled the rest of her body in vivid bursts.

It took everything he had not to close his eyes. Steeling himself, he tried to think of her as nothing more than a target. Irene made that somewhat easier when she scrambled across the floor in an animalistic crouch and settled beside the commander’s feet. Without looking down, Marx absentmindedly stroked the top of her head, either oblivious to or unfazed by the dirt matted in her once vibrant copper tresses.

Leaning into him, Irene tried to press her cheek to the man’s pant leg, but he callously booted her away, his thick lips hitching on a sneer.

“I’m sor-sorry, si-sir,” she choked.

“You should be,” Marx stated, “but you aren’t sorry, pet. Not yet.”

His stare swung to Sebastian with no warning. For a moment, he found himself stricken with a crippling stab of panic. He didn’t know why the man brought him here, or what he was expecting, but the look in the Marx’s eyes warned it wouldn’t be good. They were cold and empty, reflecting nothing. It was like staring into the blackness of a bottomless abyss.

“Relax, Sebastian. Much like you, I merely crave my girl’s affections whenever I’m away. She doesn’t look like much, but with time and some gentle coaxing, she’s learned to serve me and my needs quite well.”

His throat squelched with his swallow. He was going to be sick. He couldn’t even close his eyes to help combat the nausea. Between the sight and the smells, he was done.

“That’s wonderful,” he quipped. “Are we finished?”

“Not just yet. I saw the looks you and your lover exchanged last night and, after your reaction, one thing became very clear. That ring on her finger is much more than a means to lock her down and keep her mouth shut.”

Sebastian tensed. The familiar phrase smacked him across the face and threatened to fan his anger into a raging inferno that would destroy everything in its path. He’d only uttered those words once before—in the warehouse with Laychee. That son-of-a-bitch was dead, as were his men. He’d planted a bullet in Dominic’s skull. The only other person who would know what he’d said that night was Taylor, and she would never repeat it. The pain of what they’d went through that night was still too raw, too real. Neither of them wanted to relive that experience in any way.

Yet here he was, listening to the words he’d uttered in a desperate attempt to save her all over again.

Hatred burned, igniting like wildfire in his veins. Marx’s words were as good as a confession. The sweet, coppery tang of blood rolled across his tongue as he bit his cheeks. His fists balled and he forced his hands behind his back before he did something he would regret. Revenge would come. Of that much he was certain, but now was not the time or the place. If he shot the bastard now, the guards would never let him out of the room. He would die there, trapped in a cell with Irene. Not to mention the fact that a bullet was far too quick and painless a death. No, Marx was going to suffer long and hard for everything he had done.

“What is your point?” he forced himself to ask, his voice coming in a harsh rasp.

Marx reached down and stroked the top of Irene’s head with absentminded affection. A cruel gleam ignited in his eyes as she cowered at his feet.

“I’ve decided to be generous. Your attachment to the girl is not without its benefits. You’re a hard one to tame, Sebastian, but perhaps your pet will give me the leverage I need.” Marx’s penetrating stare locked with his. “Is she expecting?”

It took effort not to flinch. The question hit him like a buckshot to the gut. Through reeling, he forced himself to stay calm, passive, and not strike out in anger or fear. It was growing harder by the second.

“Of course not,” he managed, his voice barely civil.

“She’s a slender girl, Sebastian. Her stomach looked swollen. Despite her efforts to hide it, I noticed.”

“I told you she was ragging it,” he snapped. “She was fucking bloated. That doesn’t mean I knocked her up.”

Marx smiled. “Pity. While I’m not fond of the girl, it would be nice to know someone was carrying on your bloodline. I will let you keep your pet, for now, but you and I are going to reach an understanding. Her ass belongs to me, as just as surely as yours. She will uphold our standards and expectations. You will comply with me and do everything I ask, Sebastian, or I will drag you kicking and screaming into a world of pain. This,” he said, gesturing to Irene, “is nothing. This is mere play. Sooner or later, I will get tired of her and then…” he pointed to the trembling woman with his fingers and simulated pulling the trigger. “Bang.”

Sebastian glared back at him. It was killing him, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. Not without running the risk of getting them both killed. Marx was studying him, his soulless eyes searching for the slightest hint of emotion or betrayal, waiting for him to screw up or lash out in any way. Gritting his teeth, he spread his hands in a show of acceptance. There was nothing else he could do. He refused to die locked away in that room. Someday though, Marx would pay. Not just for threatening his family, but for his open acts of treason and betrayal. He’d given his life to this man, handed his conscience and soul over on a silver platter, only to have the cold knife of betrayal twisted and stabbed into his back again and again.

Hell itself was too kind a fate.

“I suggest you keep your family and your men in line, Sebastian. The nightmare the two of you endured at Laychee’s hands is nothing compared to the suffering that awaits her if you or your team disappoints me again. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” he bit back.

“Good. Get your team together and grab your gear. We’re heading out.”

~*~*~*~

Taylor lingered at the doors leading out onto the back deck. Sebastian sat partially reclined in one of the lounge chairs with a heavy tumbler of scotch cradled in his hands. He’d barely said two words over the course of dinner and, even now, in a moment of relative privacy, his stoic expression lent little insight into his thoughts. Resting her head against the cool glass, she searched for a way to relieve the tension and silence brewing between them. He’d seemed so troubled the moment he walked through the door.

Now he was just distant and, as he watched the brushstrokes of the setting sun paint the sky, he looked sad. Frowning, she noted the slight tremble in his hand as he lifted the glass and tilted it against his lips. His eyes clamped shut for a moment and her heart ached as she watched him fight to hold whatever he was feeling at bay.

She battled with herself. Shutting down was Sebastian’s way of defending himself and, in ways, protecting her, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept or endure. His pain was hers. There was no way she could stand there and watch the man she loved tear himself apart.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the screen door open. Sebastian tensed before turning slightly in his seat. His eyes locked with hers. Uncertainty played in those pale shamrock depths before giving way to silent questions and shame. The strong lines of his shoulders lowered and, without a word, he let his gaze drift back across the yard. Taking that as a cue to keep her distance, she watched the amber sunset play across his face. The deep golden light only added to his beauty. It accented the slight dents in his cheeks that framed his mouth and lit the unruly tumbles of his hair ablaze with rich highlights of auburn and honey. The strong lines of his jaw tensed, forcing his mouth into a condemning purse.

She felt a small smile lift to hers in response. It made him look haughty and almost regal. He wore the look often without even meaning to.

Her amusement faded when his expression tightened and his body seemed to curl in on itself with a small tremble. Hurrying to his side, she caught the glass just as it started to slip out of his hands. He shook his head and tried to ward her away with one hand as he pressed the fingers of the other tightly against his eyes. His shoulders jerked with a silent sob and her throat closed in on itself.