Angel's Pain (22 page)

He wasn't like her stepfather. Or Gregor. Or the pimps who'd tried to own her and sell her. Or the johns who'd thrown handfuls of money at her and treated her like a piece of garbage. Or those who'd raped her and refused to pay her at all. Or the ones who'd humiliated her and denigrated her in ways she'd vowed never to forget.

He wasn't like them. As much as she'd convinced herself that all men were, he'd been steadily, consistently, proving her wrong.

And because of that, it was even more important that she get away from him once all this was done. Because of that—the fact that he'd convinced her, that she believed it now—it was vital.

He'd told her once that he thought the reason he was attracted to her was because he didn't believe he could hurt her.

Tough as she was, Briar knew better. Though she would rather die under slow torture than admit it to anyone in the world, she couldn't deny the truth that had made itself so clear to her over the last few days.

She believed in him. More than she had in her stepfather. More than she had in Gregor. More than she ever had in anyone. Ever.

That gave him the power to hurt her more than she'd ever been hurt before. And that was a risk she just wasn't willing to take, a situation she wasn't willing to accept, wasn't capable of living with.

She had to leave him.

But the least she could do, she thought, was try to give him a little recompense before she did, a little reward for all he'd done to help her out, no matter how bitchy and vicious she'd been.

So she would get information from Dwyer. Two pieces of it. One that would free him from the condition that made him live in constant fear, and the other that would free him from the self-loathing he'd been living with for too long.

Dwyer would talk. She didn't have any doubt about that.

G
regor pulled through the gates, and headed along the drive and up to the mansion, not stopping until he was all the way to the front door. His son was shivering—despite the fact that the car's heater was blasting full force—and still soaking wet. And yet the boy's attention was fully on the pathetic bundle of flesh and blood in the backseat.

Crisa hadn't regained consciousness. Gregor wasn't sure she ever would. He glanced at his son and honestly hoped he could save the girl. Sure, she might present a problem later on. Matthias's loyalties would obviously be divided, and she might undermine Gregor's authority. But he was fairly certain he could bring her under control, with or without a toxin-seeping chip in her brain. And if not, he would simply kill her.

Hell, given the childlike mind of the girl, he could probably make her into his most devoted worshipper. The way he'd tried to do with Briar.

Too damaged, that one. Too deeply hurt and furiously seeking vengeance. Too angry. She would destroy anyone who got too close to her, turn against them all one by one. Reaper would soon find that out. She would betray him. She hated men, all men, and it was too late to turn that around.

The damage was done.

Gregor opened his door and got out, moving quickly to the rear door to fetch Crisa. He gathered her up into his arms as carefully as he could, and, with Matthias running ahead to open the mansion's doors, he carried her inside.

Matt headed for the stairs. “The bedroom next to mine?” he asked.

“No, we need to go downstairs, not up.”

Matthias stopped in his tracks and turned, and the look he sent his father was one of such maturity and such raw fury that Gregor wondered if he'd made a severe mistake.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. Was she going to cause problems between him and his son?

“You can't put her in a cell, Dad. She's not one of your prisoners, okay? She's my friend.”

“I'm clear on that. And we haven't been in this place long enough for you to know all its quirks, so I'll forgive your misjudgment of me. Once, Matthias. Once and only once. And I won't have you forgetting who is in charge here.”

Matthias pursed his lips hard, as if he had to press them tight to keep from speaking his mind, or worse.

At least he was showing some restraint. He clearly meant to do what he thought was right, though his motives might be in error. Gregor carried the woman toward the doorway that led to the basement stairs, leaving his son with no choice but to rush along in his wake. Once he reached the door he stopped and nodded once, firmly, ordering Matthias without a word to open it.

“Why the basement?”

“If you get the door, I'll show you. But I have no intention of justifying or defending or explaining my decisions to you prior to making them. It's decided. I speak, you obey. I told you I'd save her if I could. Unless you want me to withdraw that promise, I suggest you fall into line, young man, and obey without question, the way you've been taught to do.”

The rebellion that gleamed in the boy's eyes made Gregor swell with pride at the same time that it troubled him. He had a feeling that if he did toss Crisa into a cell, his son would do everything in his power to get her out. He just might manage it, too.

He was becoming a man. It would be harder and harder to keep him in line. Maybe keeping Crisa would turn out to be more useful than he'd imagined. He could use her to keep his son loyal. Threaten her, hold her safety over the boy's head. Yes, this could work to his benefit in the long run.

But first he had to save her.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and went through another door there, leading the way through parts of the basement the boy had never seen before, he knew. Pausing outside a large steel door, he turned slightly. “Take the key from my back pocket and unlock this door. Then you'll see why I want her down here.”

Matthias obeyed, finding the key and then unlocking the door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, quickly finding the light switches and throwing them.

The entire room lit up, fluorescent tubes flickering to life in the ceiling, one after the other, illuminating the fully equipped laboratory in all its glory. Glass-fronted cases filled with chemicals, liquids and powders, lined one wall. The other three were filled by counters, one of which held a stainless steel sink with oversized faucets. The rest held microscopes, burners, test tubes and vials. In the center was a semicircular desk, the entire surface taken up by computers and monitors, and stacks upon stacks of files—those he'd taken from Dwyer's place. He'd only found this room recently, and even he couldn't work fast enough to have identified most of the equipment in here, much less have learned to use it all.

Marquand had left most of it. The rest was what he'd confiscated from Dwyer's place.

Gregor looked around for a suitable place to put Crisa. There was no bed, but there was a gurney, off in a corner, near a doorway to a smaller room he hadn't even checked out yet. So he carried her to it and laid her down.

Then he turned to Matthias. “I'll have some of the drones dismantle a bed from upstairs, bring it down here and put it back together for her. You can supervise, if you want. If she's down here where the equipment is, and the notes, it'll be easier to figure out what to do for her and how to do it in time.”

Matthias frowned, tipping his head to one side. “Do you know what's wrong with her, Dad?”

Licking his lips and glancing at the unconscious vampiress, pale and twitching, Gregor nodded. “Let's check this room out while we talk, hmm?”

Matthias buckled Crisa safely onto the gurney, so she wouldn't roll off. Then he joined his father in entering the second room.

Gregor found the lights and turned them on. The room was white and stark, but it contained a perfectly usable hospital bed, an IV pole and a functional nightstand. “I guess we won't need the drones after all, will we?”

“Maybe just some clean sheets and blankets,” Matthias said.

“You can take care of that while I start going over Dwyer's notes.”

“Yeah. Right after you tell me what you know. I know you know something.”

Gregor narrowed his eyes and wondered, not for the first time, if his son were more than just intuitive. “Matthias, Crisa has a chip in her brain. It feeds a signal via satellite into a remote computer. The person on the other end can tune in to her and see what she's seeing, hear what's hearing, and also speak to her. They can control her, more or less.”

“And cause pain when she doesn't do what he says?”

Gregor nodded.

“Why would you do that to her? I mean, before she even met me. Why would you—”

“You're jumping to conclusions. I'm not the one who put it there. The CIA did that. Derrick Dwyer ordered it. He was the one controlling her, right up until the day I captured him. I went back and got his computers and all his notes. Until I actually fired up the machine and saw it working, I had no idea about any of this.”

“But you used it. You used it to hurt her.”

“And I'd do it again to get my son back where he belongs, Matthias. But what I did to her isn't what's wrong with her now. Dwyer's own notes told me the chip would begin to decompose, and as it did, it would release toxins into her brain and bloodstream. That's what's killing her.”

“K-killing her?” Matthias's eyes grew damp.

“People die, Matt. Vampires die. It's a perfectly common event, not one to get emotional over. Buck up.”

Matt swallowed hard, his Adam's apple swelling and receding.

“We're going to need to get the chip out, then get some kind of medication into her to clean out those toxins. I just need to review the notes. I'm sure there are some kind of instructions somewhere.”

“You need to…you're gonna…cut into her brain?”

“Well, someone has to.”

“But you're not a doctor!”

“Well, no. I'm not sure we have time to find a doctor we can trust, though I'd certainly prefer that, if it's possible.” He sighed. “We'll make do with what we have, all right? And in the meantime, you go up and get the clean sheets and bedding, bring them here, make up this bed and get her moved into it. I have—” He glanced at his watch. “I have just over an hour before daylight, and I need to spend every minute of it poring over those notes if I'm going to have any chance at all of saving her. And on top of all that, I've got to be sure we're prepared for her friends. They'll be coming after her. And I doubt they'll believe I'm trying to help her.”

Matt looked up sharply. “Her friends?”

“If they were coming tonight, they'd have been here by now,” Gregor said. “They'll attack us tomorrow night, though, Matthias. I'm sure of it. And there's no way to know if they'll arrive before we fix her up, after, or even during the procedure.” He sent a mournful look Crisa's way. “Their well-intentioned rescue efforts could end up killing her.” Then he shook his head and sighed deeply. “We'll do what we can. Go on now, get that bedding down here.”

 

Reaper showered quickly, and when he exited the bathroom, wearing a borrowed Turkish robe that felt like heaven, he found Briar on the bed. She was lying on top of the covers, her back against the headboard, her face in a fashion magazine.

She wrinkled her nose and said, “Stilettos. God, I hate the things. Who would wear them, anyway?”

“Topaz, I imagine.”

She lifted her head. “Nice robe,” she said.

“There's a matching one hanging in the bathroom. Help yourself.”

“Oh, I intend to.” She tossed the magazine on the bed and got up, then headed into the bathroom.

“Any interesting articles?” he asked as she passed him.

“Oh, hell yes, if you want to know what little black pumps are in and which ones you might as well be shot as to be seen wearing. I found it was kind of a fun game to try to pick out the differences. So far, I only found one.”

“And what was that?”

“The
in
shoes cost five times what the
out
ones do.” She rolled her eyes. “What I don't get is how you can be smart enough to make that kind of money, yet dumb enough to believe that kind of garbage and blow it on such baloney.”

He smiled to himself as the bathroom door closed behind her; then he went through the house, locking all the doors and windows, lowering all the shades, drawing all the drapes. He returned to the bedroom, and spent extra time and attention on those windows. He took several heavy blankets he found in a trunk at the foot of the bed and tucked them around the drapery rods. He located duct tape and used it to affix the edges of the blankets to the walls, so no light would spill through. And the whole time he listened to the shower running and imagined Briar standing naked beneath its spray. Her smooth skin all pebbled with droplets. Tiny rivers of water running down her body. Over her spine, trickling over her thighs, spilling over her breasts. Dripping, maybe, from a taut nipple.

He closed his eyes and suppressed a groan, then pulled back the covers and got into the bed.

The shower stopped. He wondered what was going to happen between them, if anything. She opened the door and stood there, staring at him.

She hadn't bothered with the robe.

He stared at her. She was naked, completely naked, and her hair, black and curly and wild and wet, dropped and tangled over her shoulders like the untamed thorny vines of a wild rose. And the water beaded on her skin just like he'd been imagining. She'd barely dried off.

She kept her eyes on his, though his were everywhere
but
on hers, as she walked slowly closer. She stopped beside the bed, yanked back the covers, stared down at him, hard as hell already, and then she licked her lips.

“I didn't think—” he began.

“Don't think. Just fuck.” She put one leg over him, straddled him and lowered herself until she could rub herself over his erection. She was sitting upright, and he wanted her closer. He wanted her against him. He wanted to kiss her.

He put his hands on the small of her back, but when he tried to pull her forward, she held herself stiff. She didn't like intimacy. Kissing. Embraces. Foreplay, even. Just the act. Just that and nothing more.

But this time he wanted it his way. Because he had a feeling it might very well be the last time for them.

She would leave once Crisa was safe. He knew it right to his gut.

So he clasped her hips in his hands and held her, and then he drove into her so hard and so fast and so incredibly deep that it knocked her for a loop. A cry was driven from her lungs, and the sensation, so sudden and unexpected, weakened her, so that her body went lax.

He tightened his arms around her instantly, yanking her forward until her chest lay atop his, and then he kissed her. He took her mouth with his, and he kissed her as if he could never get enough. He put his tongue inside her, tasted everything she was, and then he tasted more.