The Revenger (8 page)

After he’d caught up with his latest success, he watched it all again. Savannah clearly hated him desperately, rabidly. Could she know he was involved in the crash? Impossible. He’d covered every one of his tracks. And yet… He put the knuckle of his first finger between his teeth while he contemplated her.
Oh, the places we’ll go, Savannah. The things you will do for me.

He felt need between his legs and snapped once in the stewardess’s direction. She arranged herself, and he looked out the window as the clouds caressed the jet much like the woman now caressed his dick.

His only word for her was demeaning, but she reacted with much pleasure: “Swallow.”

*~*~*~*

Savvy followed Boston through the huge house, past door after door, her heels clicking loudly on the marble. The army of red-auraed people snuck looks at her as she passed. She could barely see their faces past the red glow. She wasn’t ready for this kind of temptation. To be presented with such a buffet was staggering. She grabbed her wrists behind her back and bit the inside of her cheeks. She would never last here with her new lust for vengeance. She didn’t have this kind of control.
Just don’t let go.

Boston began climbing a staircase that took them two floors up. It continued on, but he motioned for her to follow him down a carpeted hallway. As she did, Savvy took in the cameras, desperate to focus on something other than the auras. They were obvious, and they were everywhere.

Finally they reached what appeared to be Boston’s room. He walked right through it and opened what looked like a closet door, but instead led to another suite.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” he told her. “I’ll be right there—” He pointed at the door. “—if you need anything, Savannah. You’ll find the closet is stocked with clothes, and the bathroom should have everything you need, at least for tonight.”

Savvy looked around. This was to be her well-appointed cage. She opened the closet, which was full of shoes—all colors, all styles, all expensive. Savvy touched the closest pair: black satin with a big bow on the toe.

“He wasn’t sure of your size, so there are lots of choices in there.” Boston seemed uncomfortable.

Savvy clicked her tongue and stepped over to the balcony doors, so similar to the ones she’d broken. She opened them without violence this time. The sea air was so familiar. Savvy closed her eyes.

Boston spoke from behind her. “Savannah, he’ll know—if you leave, if you jump. So just stay. That’s my advice, for what it’s worth.”

“Call me Savvy, for what it’s worth,” she replied.

The black lacquer railing was cold to the touch. She gripped it tightly. The night hardly seemed real. How had she gotten here, of all places?

“I need to call my brother. He’ll be worried.” She turned to face her prison guard.

Boston shook his head. “I’m sorry. No contact. Those are his rules.”

She curled her hands into fists.
Is this even the right thing to do?
She nodded her acceptance, and Boston again seemed like he wished he were doing anything else. He walked back through the door to his room and closed it behind him. She listened, but heard no faint sound of a lock.

Savvy left her balcony doors open, letting the sound of the surf beating itself senseless on the sand surround her. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. It was neutral; any personality would feel calm with these colors, like a hotel room. The bathroom door was open, and it, too, looked fancy.

The camera in this room was less noticeable, but she found it, and she was tempted to tear it out. Instead she kicked off her heels and walked out onto the balcony again, restless. The fresh air both helped and hurt. It helped because the huge house felt like the tight tentacles of an octopus. But it hurt because it brought back a memory.

Ocean air is so specific. You can feel the soft layer of salt building on your skin as you inhale it. Savvy had held a baby Sara on her hip as Kal lugged all the beach supplies she’d deemed necessary for Sara’s first trip to the sea.

Savvy had been a water baby. Tobias had been forced to drag her, unwilling, out of the town pool at the end of every summer when they were kids. She couldn’t wait to see if her daughter would fall in love too. Sara’s face had been serious as she took in the endless horizon. She even had a little pout.

Savvy’s knees went weak at the thought of her daughter’s chubby cheeks and pudgy legs.
Just to smell that cheek once more. God, anything, anything, to do that again.

Kal had stood next to them, waiting to see Sara’s reaction to the water. He had to duck his head to find her under her white beach hat with the happy fish on it. Savvy loved to watch him watch their daughter. His eyes would sparkle as he smiled.

“So what do you think, baby girl? How’s the beach?” He dropped one of the totes to grab her little hand.

Savvy nuzzled Sara’s neck, trying to lighten her mood. Finally, decision made, Sara held her other hand out to the water and clenched her fingers again and again. The universal motion for “Come.”

Then Sara had smiled, her white teeth so small and cute. “Mine! Mine, Mama. Mine!” She took ownership of the entire ocean.

Savvy and Kal had laughed so hard they sat down right where they stood. Sara discovered the sand and immediately let it run through her fingers. When Kal recovered enough, he gave both his girls a quick kiss. “She’s her mother’s daughter. Already thinks the world’s hers for the taking.”

Savvy had fussed about with the sunblock, and the day had been endless. Sara had even napped under their umbrella, hands thrown above her head in perfect contentment.

Savvy closed her eyes and commanded her tears to halt, but remembering her family hurt so much. She walked back into her room and fastened the door. Everything had Kal and Sara in it. Every heartbeat of every day she would remember her mistake, her selfish mistake. Perhaps this was a punishment she deserved.

Come

The house in Italy was so similar to Silas’s house in Maryland, there were times late at night when he forgot where he was. He hated those moments. Disoriented and fighting off flashes of fear, he would feel his stomach bottom out while he tried to find something for his consciousness to catch on to as a lifeline. He’d felt a bit that way when he’d arrived around lunchtime today, caught between two time zones. But after a few hours of chemically assisted sleep, he felt reasonably on top of things.

And besides, there was no one here to impress. The women were interchangeable. He had taken to calling them all Beautiful, and that seemed to suffice. When there was more than one in his bed—which there often was—he made sure his mouth was too busy for them to worry about names.

As he came downstairs, he was greeted as expected once his ridiculously expensive shoes announced his arrival. A thug held a drink for him on a silver tray, the ladies wore as little as possible, and his favorite classical piece wafted through the air like a perfume—all as it should be.

A tall brunette approached. She was exquisite, and he recognized her immediately. She photographed like a dream come to life, and quite a few of her nude images were framed on his wall. He loved the female form: flawless skin, willing mouth, and breasts.

Tonight, he suddenly decided her hair was the wrong color. With one flick of his wrist, she would shave it all off and smile the whole time. He upended the silver tray, and the glass intended for his lips shattered on the ground.

Fear. He watched as it rippled through the waiting crowd of employees like a snake. Nothing was more deadly than Silas Sagan in a bad mood. The women kept smiling, but he noticed the slight changes in their postures.

Nights like this he was brutal.

Nights like this people got hurt.

Nights like this someone in the house could certainly die.

Silas swallowed the smirk he’d offered the scared assholes in front of him. He walked through the crowd, sparing a dirty look for the redhead who came on to him as he passed. A mousy blonde in the corner scrambled to her feet as he nodded in her direction. She wasn’t even one of Silas’s chosen ladies; she was here to service his thugs. But she was as close to Savannah Raine as he was going to get tonight.

She followed him into his chambers. The candles were lit and champagne was chilling, as he required. Still, it felt hollow in here. Emptiness echoed in the void. He tried to picture Savannah, holed up in her unfamiliar room, waiting to kill him.

He motioned for the girl to climb onto his bed. She was shaking. Surely she was frightened. He had such high standards for his sexual needs. The women who serviced him were tremendously talented. He sat at his computer desk and connected to Bugs, who had a live feed open and ready in Savannah’s room. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the floor.

He touched the screen again, wishing it were her skin. As if she could feel his desire, she snapped her gaze from the floor directly into the security camera. He felt a chill as she refused to look away. She stared right into his eyes with half the world between them. He watched as she left the bed and came to stand right underneath the black orb protecting the camera in her room.

“Savannah,” Silas breathed.

“I’m sorry, do I need to do something?”

The whore on the bed received a withering glance from the deadly man.

When he looked back at the screen, Savannah was gone. He dialed Bugs immediately and said nothing as the man began explaining.

“Sir, she just stepped into the bathroom. She’s still on the property.”

Silas hung up with out acknowledging the new information or the person who’d provided it. He wanted her back on his screen. He needed her back on his screen. She knew he was watching her, and it made him hard.

He spoke over his shoulder. “You better be naked by now.”

The girl’s quick shuffle of clothes told him she’d been frozen in fear on his bed. That was all right. In fact, it was as it should be.

“Come over here and bend over.” He undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. The belt buckle hit the marble and resonated through the room.

Like a good whore, she could grab her ankles in the perfect position. He didn’t want to see the bitch’s face; he just needed to see blondish curls brushing the floor. This slut’s were too fake, but he would do his best to make the fantasy work. He waited. The whore waited, breathing heavily.

Time passed, and he grabbed her hips to hold himself steady.

When Savannah returned to his screen, he would need to overpower something, someone.

Still they waited.

Finally he smiled as there was activity on his computer. Savannah came back with wet hair and a robe on. She had showered.

Oh, God. Yes.

He left his whore waiting for her pounding and grabbed the bottle
of champagne. He only opened this type of alcohol one way: with a
ridiculous sword. Usually his bevy of beauties gasped as he gallantly and
masterfully hacked the cork from the bottle. Tonight his hand shook a bit as he performed the flourish, and instead of just the cork, he shattered the top of the bottle as well. The bubbles began cascading violently from the green glass. He had to hurry back to the now visibly shaking bitch so he could wet her hair to match Savannah’s. By the time he set the empty bottle down, the whore was crying, as silently as possible.

Savannah sat on her bed, writing in a fancy notebook, which surprised him yet again. Her quarters were well-stocked, of course. but he hadn’t pictured the angry, determined woman he desired as a careful journaler. She wouldn’t look at the camera, and he clenched his fists. The naked girl before him might be beginning to wonder if Silas Sagan was impotent. He couldn’t have that either.

He entered her with no warning and was pleased by her gasp. He was a lot to handle without any foreplay. He tried to focus on the wet hair, the girl on the screen, but he couldn’t find his release. As he roughly demanded so much from the whore, Savannah finally looked back at the camera and found his eyes.

She stood and walked closer. The eye contact was all he needed; he moved faster, harder. The whore’s head hit his desk, but as long as he didn’t knock her out, he didn’t care. Savannah flipped the notebook so he could see it. She’d been writing to him. She could feel him.

Her letters were careful, not rushed.

You’re hiding. I’ll find you. I’ll always find you
.

Savannah smiled as she tapped the words with her finger.

God, he was so close. He wished there was a camera on him as well, so she could see what she was doing to him.

She flipped the page to show him the next message. She bit her lip and flipped her wet hair. He reached down and grabbed a handful of her stand-in’s locks. He would notice later that his hand was covered with her blood, but the cut on the whore’s forehead would give him not one second of guilt.

Savannah winked, and he read the words.

I am your death, Silas Sagan.

She knew him. She’d learned his name. The prospect was so exciting he didn’t even linger on the breach in security that had provided her that information. He came then, in another woman, shouting Savannah’s name.