Out of Control (36 page)

The more shocked and horrified she was, the more Marcus liked it. “Revenge, untold wealth and world domination, of course,” he said, his voice jolly. “Years ago, I started devising my plan. I invested in a pharmaceuticals firm that developed a vaccine for R-8424. When the news hits the press, two things will happen. Priscilla will become the most despised, vilified woman in the world—and I will become the richest man.” He beamed. “I'm already immune to R-8424, of course.”

She was too horrified to look admiring.

“I've been waiting for months for you to contact me to start negotiations,” he said petulantly. “My contact for the virus was completely out of patience. What on earth were you waiting for?”

I didn't know you existed.
She stifled the words. Foolishly proud, maybe, but she was embarrassed to reveal the extent of her ignorance to this crazy freak. “I didn't approve of your plans,” she said frostily.

True enough, as far as it went.

“Oh, no?” He grabbed her hand and inspected it. “Small, delicate hands, just like Priscilla's. Good. You'll wear Priscilla's glove tonight. This is all rather hastily improvised, you see. I had no idea when I would finally get my hands on the mold. You showed up just in time.”

“I will not help you do this sick, evil thing,” she said.

“Sure you will. We'll see how many of McCloud's body parts I need to remove before you change your mind. I'll start with his hands, hmm? What do you think? Since hands are the theme of the evening?”

Margot swallowed. He had her, and he knew it.

Marcus clapped his hands briskly. “While my people put final details into place, I propose an entertainment. A duel between your two suitors. I promised poor Faris a last whack at him. If Faris wins, he gets to keep you as a toy, though I suspect he will choke on you. He would have to keep you constantly confined, and probably medicated, too. You don't strike me as either docile or trustworthy.”

The thought of a vague, horrific captivity stretching into forever made her queasy and faint. “No,” she said. “Not particularly.”

 

“For Christ's sake, would you floor the fucking thing? You're crawling!”

Seth held steady at 86 as he flipped on the turn signal for the San Cataldo exit. “We'll lose more time getting stopped for speeding that we'd gain by flying off the handle like a couple of jerk-offs.”

“Since when did you become the voice of goddamn reason?” Sean fumed. “I thought I could count on you at least not to be a pussy.”

“It's your brother out there, and that's the only reason I won't slam your sorry ass for saying that. Chill out, or you'll get us killed.”

Sean dropped his head back and blew out an explosive breath. “Connor should be here. If I fuck this up—”

“It's not your fault he's not here,” Seth cut him off. “Connor took off for Paris before you or I or even Davy knew what we were dealing with. Even if he'd turned right around and gotten on the next plane home, he still wouldn't be back yet. Shit just happens. Calm down.”

Sean stared out the windshield. “I can't go through it again.”

Seth shot him a worried glance. Seth had lost his own brother less than two years ago. Sean had lost his twin twelve years ago. There was nothing he could say to make the fear any easier to bear.

“Don't think about it,” Seth said. “You're just a soldier with a job of work to do. We go in there shooting, we mow those fuckers down, and you'll feel a whole lot better right away. Got the plan straight?”

Sean's eyes flicked down to the case at his feet that held the fully automated Mac 10 machine pistols they'd picked out for this adventure, along with several 30-round clips of extra ammo. The Uzis were in the trunk, just for backup. He slanted Seth a derisive look. “Such as it is.”

“Hey, we're good at improvisation,” Seth encouraged. “We can see through walls with the thermal imaging goggles. And we're almost there, so make yourself useful and get your eyes back on that monitor. Are you sure Davy's going to remember those signals your dad taught you?”

“Davy's never forgotten anything in his life,” Sean growled.

“Except for the rehearsal dinner,” Seth pointed out.

Sean grinned, in spite of himself. “Only because he was finally getting laid by a gorgeous babe after months of abstinence.”

Seth cackled appreciatively. “Brain melt.”

“Yeah. And to think that I was the one who pushed him into hooking up with her. God.”

“Who knew?” Seth said wryly. “She's hot. Who could resist?”

Sean shook his head. “This is the last time I try matchmaking,” he muttered. “That shit can get you killed.”

 

The goons dragged Davy down through several long, dim corridors. Too bad they'd left his legs tied. He was in the mood to kill someone, or better yet, several someones. He wanted to eviscerate Marcus for what he had done to Margot. Or would have done, if Margot hadn't been such a magnificent avenging warrior goddess.

He still couldn't figure out what the fuck she'd done to Karel.

They dragged him into a huge ballroom, vaulted ceilings, glittering crystal chandeliers. The tall windows that lined both sides of the room revealed a thick forest tossing wildly in the stormy breeze. The twilit sky was heavy with clouds. Lightning flashed on the horizon.

They dumped him face first onto the parquet floor. He rolled up into a sitting position. They lifted their rifles. He sank back down.

Thunder rumbled. A teeth-grinding eternity of seconds ticked by.

The door finally opened. Margot walked in, head high. Marcus followed her, holding a pistol on her.

His panther woman. Her eyes met his, bright with emotion. The makeup smudged beneath her eyes made her look feral. Untamed.

What a fucking waste. A woman so tough and brave and special, sucked into this black hole of greed and insanity. His gut ached with fear for her. He couldn't resist his feelings anymore. He had to face the truth, and truth was standing there in a slip and dirty sneakers.

Margot Vetter ripped his heart wide open and let all his monsters out. So be it. He let out his breath, and his resistance with it. The room was full of monsters. Might as well add his own to the crowd.

Snakey walked in, staring hungrily at Margot. His arm was bandaged, and he had gauze patches on his face, but he looked better than he had last night in the hotel room. His bloodshot eyes glittered with the vibe of a guy hopped up on some performance-enhancing drug that killed pain and quickened reflexes. Davy had run into those guys before. They were tough to fight. Sometimes they didn't even have the sense to know when they were dead.

Marcus gestured to one of his men to take out Davy's gag. “Mr. McCloud, you have a choice,” he announced. “Faris wants to fight you. If you agree, I'll have your bonds removed. You will be covered by several gunmen at all times. If you attempt to escape, or do anything that I find objectionable, you will be instantly shot. Do you agree?”

“If I don't?” Davy asked, just out of curiosity.

“Then we'll leave you tied, and let Faris amuse himself with you while your lady friend watches. Faris is very talented with his needles.”

Some choice. Davy shrugged. “I'll fight him.”

“I've given Faris a little pick-me-up to compensate for the injuries you inflicted.” Marcus looked smug. “Do you think that's unfair?”

“Yes,” Davy said.

“You're right,” Marcus agreed easily. “Life isn't fair, so why pretend? Rules are just a self-imposed prison.”

Davy struggled to fathom the guy's reasoning, and quickly abandoned the attempt. “You think you're some kind of god, don't you?”

Marcus gestured for them to remove Davy's bonds. “We all are, but most of us are afraid to accept our own divinity. Not me. I've embraced my power. I'm completely free.”

Davy struggled to his feet once they'd cut him free, and tried to flex his numb fingers. They wouldn't respond. Marcus's words echoed in his head, reshuffling as if he were trying to break a code.
Rules are just a self-imposed prison.
His brain was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't stop to ponder it. He wished he could tell Margot how beautiful and precious she was, but he didn't dare say it in front of these people. Anything he said could be twisted into a weapon to hurt her.

He tried to tell her with his eyes.

Faris walked into the center of the room. The black tank top and workout pants he wore showed off his thickly muscled body. He jumped up and down on the balls of his bare feet and stared at Davy, eyes burning with hatred. Feeling no pain.

Davy did a quick and depressing inventory of his own injuries. Swelling in the joints of his arms from being hyperextended for hours. Numb hands beginning to tingle. Eyes and throat burning from dehydration. The bruises and strains of the last two battles, a pounding head, a swollen, battered face. Days without sleep.

Whatever. It was as it was.

He loved her.

“Faris is actually a handsome young man when his face is not so battered,” Marcus remarked to Margot. “You never saw him at his best.”

That comment set Snakey off, and Davy barely parried a chop to his neck, twisting his arm around Snakey's and tossing him over his shoulder. Snakey spun several yards across the room, sliding on the slippery parquet, and bounded to his feet like he was made of rubber.

Back he came, with a blow to the gut, but it was a feint, and Davy barely changed course in time to parry the vicious kick to what would have been his groin, if he hadn't spun sideways.

He was thick, and slow, and hurting. And getting scared.

Rules…a self-imposed prison.

Sweat rolled, burning into his eyes. He was furious with himself. A lifetime of relentless training, and still he struggled with himself as much as with his opponent. He blocked a lightning fast volley of lethal blows while he contemplated the resistence inside himself. He'd tried so hard to keep it together, with all his rules and tricks and techniques.

But now he was dragging a shell of useless armor around. It was unwieldy, heavy. Weighing him down. It was killing him.

He was changing. Outside that rigid shell was a huge new world. He'd gotten too big to fit inside his own cage any longer.

He loved her
. Something inside him let go, softening and shifting, and it all came into focus; the global awareness of every square inch he inhabited, the balance of yin and yang, the qi sinking lower in his chest with each deep breath, energizing him.
Right crane neck
fist parried a jab to his face. He dropped the crane neck down to block a punch to his ribs, hooked Snakey's arms, stabbed at the guy's eyes with a left crane beak. Snakey shrieked, jerked back, rubbing his eyes.

He loved her.
His pain was gone. He sank down into horse stance, front leg ready to kick, sweep, exert force in any direction. He was the crane, the leopard, the tiger, the snake, the dragon.

Snakey struck at his throat. Davy's dragon's claw smashed into Snakey's face, trapped his hands and bore him to the floor.
Dragon swings his tail
, whipping from the waist, a spinning backfist to Snakey's temple, crushing the zygomatic arch.

Snakey lay on his back, blood flooding out of his nose. He coughed, began to choke. His eyes stared at the ceiling, unseeing.

Davy rose to his feet and backed away.

Marcus's face was expressionless. He walked slowly over and knelt next to Faris. He placed his hands on either side of his brother's face. “Failure is unacceptable,” he said softly.

Faris's body jerked. He dragged in a labored breath and blinked up into his brother's face.

Marcus got to his feet and gestured imperiously to Davy with his pistol. “Finish what you started.”

Davy stared at him. “Say what?”

Marcus's sigh was impatient. “You've broken him. Finish him off.”

“But he's your brother,” Davy said, unbelieving.

“So?” Marcus's face did not change. “Do it.”

Davy wiped the sweat from his face and stared around at the guns that were trained on him. “I'm not your fucking gladiator,” he said quietly. “Do your own killing.”

Marcus shifted his aim until his gun was pointed at Margot. He smiled and let the barrel drop till it was aiming at her knees.

Suddenly Marcus gasped, and stumbled back, pinwheeling his arms. The gun went off.
Zing,
shards of plaster exploded from the wall.

Marcus toppled. Faris had hooked his leg through his brother's, and jerked him off balance. His finger stabbed into Marcus's groin. The man's shriek of agony cut off abruptly as Faris's other hand chopped down like an axe over the bridge of his nose. A hideous crunch, and Marcus's nasal bone and orbital socket fractured and collapsed.