Лорел Гамильтон - Obsidian Butterfly

He gripped my hand with both of his, when one of his hands could have swallowed both of mine. "So glad you're here, Ms. Blake." He said it like I'd been invited instead of blackmailed.

"I'm glad one of us is glad I'm here," I said.

The smile widened, and he let my hand go. "I am sorry for our little theatrics, Simon called up and he thought Mickey had broken your neck. So happy that he exaggerated."

"Not by much, Mr. Riker,"

"Are you feeling well enough to do the spell? We could have some tea first, let you rest."

I managed a smile. "I am grateful that we're being all civilized, and coffee would be great, but where are the children?"

His eyes flicked past me to Edward. He still had his hands clasped on top of his hat, but at least they hadn't made him kneel again. "Ah, yes, the children."

I didn't like the way he said it, like it was going to be bad news.

"Where are they?" Edward asked, and Rooster hit him in the back with the gun again. It staggered him, and he had to wait for it to pass before he straightened up. His hands never left his head, as if he knew they were looking for an excuse to hurt him again.

"You promised us that they wouldn't be harmed," I said.

"You were late," Riker said.

"No," Edward said.

"Don't," I said, as Rooster raised his arm back for another blow. He did it anyway. Fuck. I turned back to Riker. "Every cruel thing you do helps convince me that you have no intention of any of us getting out of here alive."

"I assure you, Ms. Blake, that I intend to let you go."

"What about the others?"

He gave a small shrug, and walked back behind his desk. "Unfortunately, my men think that Mr. Forrester is too dangerous to be allowed to live. I do regret that." He sat down at his nice swivel chair, elbows on the chair arms, thick fingers steepled. "But he will serve a useful purpose before he dies. If you are reluctant, we will take it out on Mr. Forrester. Since we intend to kill him anyway, we can do anything we want to him, and it doesn't really matter."

My stomach was a hard knot, my pulse beating in my throat hard enough that I had to try twice to talk. "What about the kids?"

"Do you really care?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

He reached behind the desk and pressed something. The rear walls of the room slid open, revealing enough equipment to make NASA proud. There were four blank TV screens, but somehow I didn't think this was Riker's new Digital Television system.

"What the hell is all that for?" I asked.

"That is not really your concern. I have signaled for additional men to be brought up. When they arrive, then I will show you the children."

"Why the additional men?" I asked.

"You'll see," he said.

We didn't have long to wait. Four men came through the door. Two I recognized: Harold of the scarred face and Newt who I'd nearly made a soprano. Harold had a shotgun, and Newt his big nickel-plated.45. But it was the two men behind them that were the problem.

One was tall and planed down to nothing but muscle and dark, burnished skin. He didn't have Mickey's bulk, but he didn't need it. He entered the room surrounded by a cloud of his own violent potential. He set my lizard sense screaming, as if it knew here was someone to avoid. He had the same gun the other pros were carrying, but he'd added knives. At his forearms, his upper arms, both hips, and even hilts sticking up from behind his shoulders. It was very primitive somehow and very effective. If he'd walked into a cell, you might have dropped to your knees and begged for mercy.

The other one was just medium height, medium brown hair cut short, not too dark, not too light, not too anything. He had a face that you wouldn't remember two seconds after you saw it, because he was not handsome enough or ugly enough to stand out. He was one of the most unmemorable people I'd ever seen, and yet when his brown eyes swept over me, met mine for a second, I felt a jolt all the way down to my feet. One flash, and I knew that of the two men, he would kill you quicker.

He had the same submachine gun the others had, but paired with what looked like a.10 mil automatic. I didn't recognize the brand. My hands aren't big enough for a.10 mil so I don't pay that much attention.

"Simon, I want two men on both of our guests."

"Make it four on him," Simon said.

"I bow to your expertise."

Rooster made Edward get on his knees. Simon made Mickey go to Edward. I guess he didn't want to risk the Muscle Man hitting me again. If they killed Edward early, they still had the kids to blackmail with. Simon sent the medium man to Edward, and Simon himself took up a post by Edward. They thought he was a very dangerous man, and they were right.

The nausea had been fading, but all the preparations were making me nervous. I was afraid of what we were going to see. If they hadn't been afraid to show us, they wouldn't have had four men on Edward. I was left with Deuce and the knife guy. Harold and Newt stayed near the door. Harold seemed nervous.

Deuce touched my arm, tracing the mound of scar tissue at my elbow. "What did it?"

"Vampire."

He raised his shirt up, and his stomach was a mass of white scars. "Mortar round."

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. But I was saved from the decision because the knife guy grabbed my arm and turned me to look at Riker. He kept his hand on my arm, and since his hand completely encircled my upper arm, it wasn't going to be easy to get away.

"Show time," Riker said. He hit another switch, and two of the monitors flickered to life. Black and white film of cells. At first, all I saw was Russell's back in one room, and the Amazon Amanda's back in the other room. Then my eyes saw legs sticking out from around the woman. Legs in jeans and jogging shoes, ankles tied together. Too big for Becca. Had to be Peter.

She'd stripped down to the waist, and that broad muscular back made everyone in this room look frail except for Mickey. It was only the length of her hair that made me guess her. She leaned forward, revealing more of Peter's body. She'd pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees. She was playing with him.

I looked at the floor, then back up.

She tried to kiss him, and when he turned his head away, she slapped him twice hard, first one cheek then the other. There was already blood on his mouth, as if it wasn't the first time she'd hit him. She leaned back in for the kiss, revealing small tight breasts to the camera. She kissed him and this time he let her. Her hand never stopped working on his body.

I turned slowly to look at the other monitor. Please, God, please, don't let Russell be doing the same thing to Becca. He wasn't, and I was grateful. He'd turned with her on his lap, as if he knew he had an audience to play to now. He cradled her like you'd hold any small child, but he'd pinned one small arm, and two of the fingers on the tiny hand were at a bad angle. He broke a third finger while we watched, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream.

"Shall we have sound?" Riker asked.

Becca was screaming high and piteous. Russell cradled her and murmured soothing things. He stroked her hair and looked directly at the camera. His nose was still packed and bandaged. He knew we were there.

Peter's voice came high. He'd never sounded more like a little boy. "Please, don't. Please stop!" His arms were tied behind his back, but he was still struggling.

She slapped him. "It'll feel good, I promise."

I looked at Edward. Simon had the gun against his head. The hat was on the ground. The medium-looking man had conjured a knife from somewhere and had it pressed to Edward's throat. A trickle of blood slid down his skin. I met his eyes, and I knew that everyone in this room, everyone in this house was dead. They just didn't know it yet.