Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) (13 page)

Little black dots flickered through Solo’s vision.

He didn’t know the girl, and he didn’t trust her. Why should he? He shouldn’t want to help her. And yet . . .

She had thrown him the bag of food. He didn’t have to look to know that was what was inside the burlap. He could smell the milk and flour in the bread, as well as the sweetness of the honey and the tang of the meat.

Why would she do such a thing, especially since, according to the brute, she wasn’t supposed to enter this area today? She had risked—and would receive—punishment.

He
had
to help her.

“Vika!” Before Solo even realized he’d moved, his fingers were wrapped around the bars. He was shaking his cage . . . shaking . . . so angry his bones were vibrating. “Vika, come here!”

Just as before, warmth shot into his wrists and quickly spread through the rest of him. Within minutes, his arms felt weighted down with boulders. Frustrated, helpless, infuriated all over again, he ground his teeth and forced himself to still.

His mother was probably turning over in her grave. A woman was about to be beaten within his vicinity—he was right here, relatively strong, somewhat capable—yet he could do nothing about it, was just going to let it happen.

“We must do something, Solo,” X said, materializing, looking stronger and steadier than yesterday.

No matter where the pair went when they vanished, they always sensed a change in his emotions and returned to him.

“I say good riddance to the girl. He doesn’t want a female like that,” Dr. E said as he, too, materialized, looking weaker and paler than yesterday.

A female like that
. For some reason, the phrase irritated Solo. She was a female who had tended him gently. A female who had kissed him as if he were precious to her. A female who had nibbled on his lip as if she liked the taste of him and craved more.

But was she as concerned and kind as she seemed, risking castigation to feed him—why him?—or as deceitful as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, tempting
him, luring him into a sense of safety before ultimately striking him down?

There had been true fear in her eyes, and he couldn’t imagine she would endure punishment simply to trick Solo into . . . what? Not softening, as he’d first assumed, for softening was far too mild to elicit any true results in a situation such as theirs. Perhaps she’d hoped to trick him into trusting her. But why would she want him to trust her? He was already locked up and weakened besides. She had no need for his cooperation. To make her job easier?

He barely stopped himself from punching the floor of the cage. He was confused, and he did not like being confused. He preferred things in black and white. Or, in the case of X and Dr. E, right and wrong.

“What can I do for her?” he whispered fiercely. He so rarely asked the pair for advice, they sputtered in bafflement. “I’m trapped.” But he had to do something. Had to repay her generosity.

In all his life, in all the precarious situations he’d been in, he’d only ever been trapped without any sense of hope once. He’d been a child, and as young as he’d been he probably shouldn’t have retained the memory of what had happened, but he easily recalled sitting in his playpen, his biological mother kissing his cheek and telling X to take care of him while she showered . . . and Solo having to watch as three masked men burst into the house and gunned her down. Her body had fallen, a pool of crimson flooding her.

He’d smelled the tang of gunpowder, felt the warm stickiness of the blood.

His father had run in from the other room, his skin already changing from bronze to crimson, his eyes glowing with concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but the
boom, boom, boom
of bullets drowned out his voice as he, too, was gunned down. He toppled mere inches from Solo’s mother, his own blood deepening the pool. Both of their eyes had been wide with fear and pain, the light inside dulling. . . .

One of the men asked the others what to do with him. All three had peered down at him, discussing the matter and deciding to shoot him, too. An argument ensued as the shooter was chosen. A gun was raised. Another
boom
thundered. The pain . . . the utter darkness that had descended over Solo . . . X cooing, “Sleep now.” The return of consciousness, with Michael cradling him close, shouting for paramedics.

“Bid me to help Vika,” X said now, his voice terse with the force of his determination. “Just bid me, and trust me to do it. You’ll see. You can sit back and watch as miracles happen.”

Dr. E snorted. “If you help the girl, you’ll be in a weakened state and unable to help Solo if something happens to him. He’s not stupid enough to allow that.”

“Solo?” X said, ignoring the other being. “Come on. Bid me.”

Solo didn’t mind losing X’s strength, not for something like this, but they had gone down this road before and X had only disappointed him. A best friend had never appeared. A good girl had never chosen him above all things. His adoptive parents had not risen from the dead. He had no more trust to offer.

“Solo?” X prompted.

But . . . maybe a good girl
had
finally chosen him. Vika had helped him despite the danger to herself. Such generosity was better than heat in a winter storm, light in a darkened cavern. Hope bloomed. “What will you do for her?” he demanded.

“Why are you even asking? You can’t escape if you’re weak. Therefore, you can’t risk anything that has the potential to make you weak.” Dr. E paced from one side of his left shoulder to the other. “Plus, when X fails, and he will, you’ll be upset and unable to function properly. If you can’t function properly, you can’t, what? Escape.”

And he wanted to escape more than anything. Right?

X remained focused on Solo. “I won’t know how to handle things until I reach her, but I will do something. All I need is your permission.”

“Don’t do this, Solo. Please.”

“X,” he whispered. “Do it.”

“No! Don’t be an idiot,” Dr. E said with a sharp shake of his head.

“What, exactly, do you want me to do?” X insisted, still ignoring Dr. E. “Be specific.”

How well he knew the importance of words. “I want you to—”

“No,” Dr. E interjected harshly. “Are you kidding me with this?”

“Save her,” Solo finished. “However necessary, whatever the cost to me, save her.”

“Consider it done.” A grinning X vanished.

“Idiot!” Dr. E shouted, stomping his foot. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Yes. He did. He’d turned to the only avenue available to him, trusting in a power greater than himself. And he couldn’t allow himself to worry about the outcome. Something he’d noticed over the years: worry always weakened X further, and strengthened Dr. E.

Solo glanced at the tiny man who so often fueled his rages, no longer surprised to find his skin devoid of color. “Go away.”

“You cannot . . . how dare you . . . Oh!” Dr. E vanished too.

“Hey, no fair, I smell food,” Criss said, drawing his attention to the cages.

Good. He couldn’t allow himself to think about Vika, and a distraction had just presented itself. “Your nose is working correctly. I have food.” Delivered by Vika.

When would that fact cease to shock him?

Criss stretched her arm through the bars and waved her fingers at him. “Share with me. I haven’t eaten in days.”

“That’s your own fault. You wasted what you were given.”

“For a good cause!”

Was that so?

He opened the bag. The corners of several of the biscuits had crumbled off, and the crisp bacon had broken into multiple pieces. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. “You want half?” he asked, taking a section of a biscuit and a quarter of a bacon slice and tossing them at her.

First rule of fishing: Use the proper bait.

She caught the pieces with surprising grace and, with a speed his gaze struggled to track, stuffed both portions into her mouth as if she feared someone would try and take them away from her. Her eyes closed as she savored the food, her skin brightening . . . radiating a pearls-in-sunlight sheen . . . making his eyes tear with its radiance.

When her eyelids popped open, her eyes were the same bright shade. “More,” she said in a deep, throaty voice.

“Why will you take food from me and not from Vika?”

“I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of watching me beg for every scrap.”

“She offers freely.”

A growl from Criss.

“Are you a fan of honey?” he asked.

“Honey? Give me!”

Caught you.
“I will . . . after you vow never to harm Vika again.”

“Sure, sure. Now give me.”

“You will vow not to hurt her with words, food, rocks, or anything else, and I will give you half of the bag’s contents.”

Dr. E made another appearance. There was a fresh cut on his cheek, and his robe was torn. His shoulders were stooped, as though his head was too heavy to hold up. “Now you’re going too far. That food is yours. You need to keep your strength up.”

His? Or Dr. E’s?

“The otherworlder has gone without nourishment far longer than Solo has,” X suddenly said, causing Solo’s attention to whip to him. “It’s only right that he share.”

His robe had a single singe mark, just over his heart, and his skin was pale, lines of strain branching from his eyes, but he was grinning just as happily as before.

“And haven’t you heard?” X added. “It’s far better to give than to receive.”

“The girl?” he whispered.

Satisfaction radiated from the being. “She is safe.”

“How?” He’d heard nothing, and so little time had passed.

“Darkness cannot remain in the light.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant in terms of Vika’s safety, but allowed the subject to drop. Vika was safe. That was all that mattered.

“So you got a crush on our keeper, do you? I thought so,” Criss said. “Well, the romantic in me approves. It’s a real beauty-and-the-beast-type story, and I’m in! When my brothers come to get me, and they will, I’ll make sure I only kill Vika a little bit so that there’s something left for you to have as a souvenir. I vow it. You’re welcome. Now, please. Give me the honey!”

Somehow, he managed to maintain a blank expression. He wouldn’t discuss his feelings for Vika—whatever they were—and he wouldn’t allow himself to react to being called a beast while there was nothing he could do about it. However, he knew how to keep score. That was strike two for Criss. At three . . . poor dead girl.

That’s what everyone would call her.

“Not good enough,” he said. “Vow what I demanded.” He pretended to bite into half of a biscuit. “Otherwise, you get nothing.”

“Okay, okay,” she rushed out. “I vow it. I won’t harm her again. Ever. With anything.”

A moment passed, and her entire body shook as though hooked to an electric generator. Her spine jerked into total alignment, going ramrod straight. “What was
that
?”

“A reminder that you will not like the consequences of breaking your word,” he warned.

She popped her jaw. “You’re a tricky Jolly Red Giant, aren’t you? Well, that’s okay as long as you give me the rest of what you promised.” Those long, elegant fingers waved with more vigor.

He tossed her the portion. Just as before, she caught the food and devoured every morsel.

“Can’t you do anything right today? If you wanted to share with her, fine, but you should have made her work for it,” Dr. E griped. “And by ‘it’ I mean half of the smallest biscuit, not half of the entire bag.”

Sighing with contentment, Criss lay back in her cage, a rare gem in a sea of dull stones.

His life would have been easier if he’d speculated about Criss all night. Instead, it was Vika he was drawn to, Vika he wanted to talk to, Vika he wanted to learn about and . . . Vika he wanted to save, even from himself. His hands curled into fists. She was his ticket out of here. He had to do whatever was necessary, even to her.

“Hey!” one of the other captives called. “New guy. Hamburglar.”

“What’d you give Criss?” someone else demanded.

“I want me some!”

Solo snapped his teeth at the speakers, and they went quiet. Two even bowed their heads, recognizing a predator far more dangerous than themselves—one they did not want to rile, even caged as he was.

The Targon blew him a kiss.

Kitten watched him with expectant impatience.

Without a word, he claimed a piece of bacon and tossed half of what remained in the bag to her, and the other half to the Targon. She caught her portion and dug in. The Targon shook his head and volleyed his portion to her, as well.

“Sweet gesture, but I can’t eat this,” the Targon said. “My woman—” He slammed his lips together, going silent. And he must have decided that wasn’t good enough, because he spun, giving Solo his back.

Interesting.

“I’m too happy to be upset that you shared with Kitten without making her give the dumbest vow ever,” Criss purred. “She’s feral, by the way. I’m surprised you got her to talk to you rather than spit curses, but news flash, you’ll never be able to tap that.”

He ate the bacon, relished the flavors.

“I’m not a beer keg,” Kitten snapped.

Voices from beyond the clearing caught his attention.

“They’ll be here in less than an hour. Move your lazy carcasses, now, now,
now
!”

“Have you glued the spikes to the paddle?”

“Feed the snakes, Rasa! If they take one more nibble out of my hand, I’m gonna start biting back.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Solo’s back. Already the air was warm and humid, and it would only grow hotter and wetter as the day passed.

“What’d you do to make Vika like you, anyway?” Criss asked, rolling to her side.

He had no answer and, taking a page from the Targon’s playbook, turned away.

“Whatever. Hint taken,” she mumbled. “This isn’t a beauty-and-the-beast story, though, is it? It’s a sisterwife thing, right? You want Vika, Kitten—and probably me. Definitely me. I’m pretty sexy. Well, consider me no longer intrigued . . . unless Vika brings you something more to eat. If you get a meat loaf, I’ll be your slave for life. Well, half a life. My brothers will kill you.”