Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) (22 page)

“I gave you a gift,” Jecis continued shakily, “my most treasured possession, and you broke it. I should exile you from my circus.”

“She stabbed me, and I reacted,” Matas said, his own voice shaky. “It will never happen again. Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“Not accepted! You nearly killed her with those blows.”

“Let me take care of her. I’ll make her better with my magic.”

Her. She. They had better not be discussing Vika.

“You’re not touching her again. If any other man had put me in this situation . . . if any other man had hurt my baby like this . . .”

His baby. They
were
discussing Vika. Solo didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He was on his feet and squeezing the bars a second later, dread barraging him, right along with fury and desperation . . . so much desperation . . . But he couldn’t act on a single emotion, not with the cuffs shooting debilitating drugs into his system.

What had been done to her? How badly had she suffered? Would she survive?

Questions, questions, so many questions formed, but one fact crystallized: He would repay the one responsible. Not because he’d decided to use Vika to escape. Not because he’d realized she was his only hope. But because. Just because.

He was quite certain vengeance would finally feel good.

“Remain calm. Remember what I told you. She needs tenderness right now,” X said, popping in and looking slightly weaker than before, his skin not quite as bright.

“Help her,” he demanded.

“I tried, but I cannot help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. No one can.”

Finally Jecis and Matas stomped around a corner, entering his line of sight. Both men were scowling. Jecis cradled Vika in his arms. Vika, who looked like a broken doll.

Solo’s knees almost gave out. Pale hair cascaded around her in tangled hunks. One arm hung limply. The other was smashed against Jecis’s chest. Her face was smashed against his chest, as well, hiding any damage there.

The fury at last detonated, and he uttered a roar that rivaled Jecis’s. Both men tripped over their own feet.

“Calm.” X said. “You must stay calm.”

The males were coming closer and closer to Solo’s cage, so close their evil brushed against his skin. His heart hammered as though trying to drill a nail into one of his ribs. He’d never been one to enjoy his job, to take delight in snuffing out life, but he would have enjoyed and delighted this time.

“Calm.”

It should have been easy for him. In his line of work, he’d seen the effects of domestic abuse a thousand times before, and had thought himself too hardened to ever care. He’d always told himself the people who stayed in that type of situation deserved what they got.
Now, having seen the bruises on Vika, learning she was deaf, knowing she had been raised in such an insular world, suspecting she had no idea there was something better out there . . .

But even if she had known, she would not have left the circus. He remembered what she’d said.
You would also sentence the other captives to death.

She wanted them freed. She wanted them safe. Even at a terrible cost to herself.

Suddenly a puzzle piece slid into place, and a clear picture of her character began to form. She cared for her charges with all of her heart. Not just to assuage a guilty conscience, but because she placed others before herself. She stayed here, accepting her father’s abuse, Matas’s abuse, even the otherworlders’ abuse, to save those under her supervision. And yes, there were probably other reasons, maybe even a thousand more, but the otherworlders were a big one, he was sure.

Even more miraculous, she understood why the otherworlders acted as they did and didn’t hold a grudge. How could she, and still be willing to break the rules to distribute cookies and chocolates?

What kind of person could do that?

An answer immediately formed. The kind his mother would have loved.

A pang erupted in the center of his chest, deep and burning, probably leaving a scar. One he welcomed.

“What did you do to her?” he shouted with an emotion he’d never before used. An emotion he couldn’t even name. It was too hot for mere fury and too cold for something as controlled as calculation, springing
from a place deep inside him, where instinct proved to be the dominant force.

Jecis stopped a few feet away, huffing and puffing with his own rage. “You. What have you done to my daughter, beast? How have you bewitched her?”

“Give her to me,” Solo demanded.

“Don’t you dare.” Matas, who was clutching his bleeding side, opened his mouth to say something. Shadows rose from him, high and higher, reaching toward Jecis . . . but the misty skull hiding under Jecis’s skin turned—without Jecis moving an inch—and snapped its teeth. The shadows retreated and Matas closed his mouth.

“She deserves better than the likes of you two,” Solo snarled.

Matas leapt forward, grabbed the bars, and shook the cage. “Keep talking, I dare you. I’ll do even worse to you, you—”

Moving faster than either man could track, Solo closed the distance, wrapped his fingers around both of the man’s wrists and squeezed. In seconds, the bones were crushed.

Matas howled, sending black birds scattering from their perches on top of the motor home. “Stop!”

“When I’m done,” Solo growled, and he definitely wasn’t done. He twisted one of Matas’s arms, forcing the man to spin around or lose the limb, and slammed the lower part against the bars, breaking those bones as well.

This time, Matas screamed.

Solo still wasn’t done. He jerked and slammed the
upper part of the arm against the bars, breaking the bones there, too. Matas released another scream, this one high-pitched.

The entire tussle lasted less than three seconds.

Solo could have reached out and raked his claws across the man’s jugular. He definitely would have, if he hadn’t feared Vika would be penalized for his actions.

Tears leaked down Matas’s cheeks, and his knees buckled. But the man didn’t fall—he couldn’t. Solo kept hold of his arm, applying pressure to each of the new wounds.

“P-please,” Matas begged.

Had he made Vika beg before he’d hit her?

Solo lifted the male’s arm a few inches higher.

As if she sensed the tension, a moan rose from her. It was the first noise she’d made, and one that proved she lived, that she was still in pain.

“Give the girl to me,” Solo repeated. “I would never hurt her.”

“Please . . . please,” Matas said.

Teeth bared with masculine aggression, Jecis said, “Oh, I’ll give her to you all right. She thinks she wants you, and a little alone time with you should change her mind, teach her better, and make her appreciate what she has.”

Without hesitation, Solo placed both hands in the air, palms out. Matas collapsed into a groaning heap, cradling his arms to his chest and attempting to slither away.

“Vika,” Solo said. “Give her to me. Now.”

“No,” Matas managed to shout past his sobs. “She’s mine! You said—”

“Silence!” Jecis boomed. “I have made my decision, and it will stand. Twice she has chosen the animal over you, and so I will give her what she thinks she wants. And you,” he said to Solo. “I’m placing my very heart in your hands. You will guard it.”

Vika was not the male’s heart. A man guarded the treasures of his heart, fawned over them, placed their welfare above his own. Jecis had done none of those things.

“He’s a beast,” Matas cried. “He’ll maul her. Look at what he did to me!”

Ignoring him, Jecis said to Solo, “If she dies, you die. If you injure her in any way, I will injure you a thousand times worse. You are only to scare her. To make her hate you.”

He was done talking. He wanted the girl. “Give! Now!”

“Open the cage, Matas,” Jecis demanded. “You’ve still got one working arm, yes? After that, change the lock. I don’t want Vika able to set herself free during the solar flare.”

Murmuring, still crying, Matas lumbered to his feet.

Every muscle Solo possessed tensed, his body readying to jolt into action the moment the lock disengaged. He would grab Vika, and he would run. He would get her to safety, and he would return. He would save the otherworlders, just as she wanted, and he would destroy her family, just as she didn’t. Or hadn’t. Maybe she’d changed her mind.

Only, the now glaring man pushed the button that caused the cuffs to pump him with sedatives, and strength abandoned him in an instant. His arms and legs became too heavy to move, and black dots winked through his eyes.

“Touch her,” Matas snarled, even as he whimpered in pain, “and I’ll slice you into pieces.”

“Enough,” Jecis said, closing the distance and peering into Solo’s eyes. “When the solar flare hits, you’ll discover there are monsters worse than you out there. They’ll come for you, and they’ll try to eat you. Keep Vika in the center of the cage, and they won’t be able to reach her. You, on the other hand . . . you’re so big, I bet they’ll be able to get you no matter where you’re lying. You’ll have to fight them.” He grinned, but there was no amusement to the expression. “That should be just the thing to scare her and keep her from ever wanting anything to do with you.”

Solo cared nothing for the warning. He collapsed, saying, “Will . . . kill . . . you both . . .”

•   •   •

Eyelids splitting apart, Solo sat up with a jolt. Residual sparks of fury blazed in his chest, each one serving as a reminder. Vika. Beaten. Carried into the cage. His to save. He twisted—and found her lying on her back on the opposite side, still, too still.

Despite the aches and pains in his body—new aches and pains that proved he had not imagined Jecis setting Vika down and giving Solo a beating of his own—he scrambled over to her.

There were two cuts in her bottom lip. One was from before, and it had opened up, and the other was new. But that was it, the only damage that he could see. For her to sleep this deeply, to have moaned so thickly, there had to be more. He gently ran his fingers over her scalp, and felt two egg-size bumps. Between one heartbeat and the next, he’d partially morphed.

As gently as possible, Solo checked her vitals and the intense trembling of his hands surprised him. At least her heartbeat was strong, granting him a measure of relief. As X had said, she would survive.

He should wake her up. She needed to remain alert for the next six hours. At least. But only if Jecis hadn’t given her any of the new medications available for just such a human head injury. Solo hated that he didn’t know.

For once, X didn’t appear with an answer or an encouragement in a time of need and Dr. E did not appear to tell him why he should be angrier. As if he needed any help with that.

How he wished he possessed the ability to heal others, as Corbin Blue did, taking her injuries into himself. Or, like John No Name, the ability to hypnotize with his voice, forcing people to do anything he wished. But no. The Allorians apparently came with many flaws, and very few benefits.

He glanced around. Night had fallen. His cage hadn’t yet been moved, so Jecis’s trailer was still in front of him. No one was outside. Which was strange. The circus was supposed to be packing up, moving to a new location. There should have been a ton of activity.

In the far corner of the cage, he found medicines, bandages, a blanket, bottles of water, and food. As gently as before, he doctored Vika’s lip, then folded the blanket to put it under her head. Only once did she make a noise, and that noise was a low, mewling whimper.

“Vika,” he said. “Wake up for me, honey.” He caressed her cheek. “Come on.”

Another moan, but she blinked open her eyes. They were iced over, glassy. “Solo?”

Good. This was good. She knew him; that part of her memory was intact. “I’m here.”

“My head hurts.”

“I know.”

“And I’m tired.”

“Did your father pour a sweet-tasting liquid down your throat before carting you to my cage?”

“I don’t—” A pause as her features scrunched. “Wait. Yes. He did.”

“Sleep, then.”

“Thank you,” she said with a soft sigh. Her head lolled to the side.

He traced the delicate curve of her jaw. He’d found her beautiful before, but now, knowing what he did about her, feeling the warmth of her skin surround him, inhaling the delicacy of her scent, mint and jasmine, she was exquisite. She was everything he’d ever wanted in his woman, and everything he’d never been able to have.

X claimed she belonged to him. Despite everything, Solo wanted to believe that. He no longer wanted to fight the knowledge.

And he wanted to believe she would be happy to wake up—really wake up—and find herself inside his cage, that she would not scream and cry and beg for mercy. After all, there was a big difference between seeing to an animal’s care and getting close enough to be bitten.

His ears began to twitch. Finally, sound. Mumbling.

Solo looked around, but saw nothing. Still the mumbling continued. And it was nearby. Frowning, he stood and approached the bars. He found Jecis on top of his trailer, meaty arms spread.

Lightning flashed in the sky.

Jecis’s voice rose in volume. The wind kicked up several notches. More lightning flashed, this time arcing toward the human, as though drawn to him. Maybe he would die, Solo hoped, but the moment the bolt made contact, the man’s body seemed to expand, black shadows bursting from him. A thick white fog formed at the edges of the shadows and rolled from the trailer to the cage. Solo listened, heard a whoosh of air, the patter of footsteps and slam of a door. Jecis must have gone inside.

Next he heard the crackle of flames. Even felt the heat. He heard the soft rustle of shuffling footfalls, and there were enough to form an army.

Uneasy, he stood guard. The fog began to thin . . . thin . . . and then
everything
changed—though nothing was for the better.

Seventeen