Jenna Black - Dark Descendant

He raised his eyebrows. “I would think that’s obvious.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. His reasoning was far from obvious, but nothing I came up with on my own—like he was going to kill me anyway—was in the least bit comforting.

“I was in a car accident and then kicked in the head,” I said. “Even if it’s obvious, I’m not getting it. Please humor me and explain.”

He sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful.

Blake snorted, drawing my attention. He was leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes pierced me, his anger as cold as Jamaal’s had been hot.

“Playing dumb isn’t going to win you any brownie points,” he said with a sneer. I’d never known a pretty boy could look that menacing. The sneer changed to a leer that was just as unpleasant. “Dropping the pillow might, though.”

Blood heated my cheeks. It pissed me off that I was letting him get to me that easily, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I dropped my gaze and held the pillow even more tightly.

Anderson sighed. “Please forgive Blake’s bedside manner. Sometimes he just can’t help himself when a pretty woman’s around.”

Anderson had his back to Blake and therefore couldn’t see the look on the other man’s face, but I didn’t for a moment believe he hadn’t heard the malice in Blake’s tone of voice. Flirtation had been the furthest thing from Blake’s mind, and Anderson knew that. Besides, I wasn’t exactly a ravishing beauty, even when I wasn’t wet, dirty, bruised, and bedraggled. I was kind of like Anderson, come to think of it—not bad to look at, but completely unremarkable.

“So you have no idea why we didn’t call an ambulance?” Anderson asked, bringing us back on topic.

I shook my head. “It’s generally what people do when there’s been a car accident and someone’s hurt.”

“Oh, please!” Blake said. “Cut the bullshit.”

“Ease down, Blake,” Anderson said in a low, calming voice. “It’s always possible she’s telling the truth.”

“Oh yeah, like this is all some big fucking coincidence.”

“Blake!” Anderson said with a little more heat, and Blake shut up. Anderson smiled at me, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you still think you need an ambulance?”

The question stopped me cold. My sense of time was completely out of whack, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour or so ago that I’d stumbled out onto the road, bleeding so badly I left a trail across the ice. Now I was still in pain and feeling badly beat up, but the wound seemed to have almost closed itself, and I seemed to be suffering no aftereffects from having lost so much blood. All of which was, of course, impossible.

Anderson didn’t wait for me to answer. “What were you doing on our property?”

There was no heat or anger in his voice, and yet there was a studied intensity to his question. He looked at me like a lawyer might look at a witness he was sure was about to lie.

I wasn’t sure what to say. The reason I was here was a long story, and one Anderson wasn’t going to like. Plus, the more I thought about it, the more full of holes it sounded, especially if I accepted that Emmitt must have been lying to me about at least some of the stuff he’d told me.

“I was here to meet Emmitt,” I finally said, deciding to keep my answer simple but true.

“Like hell you were!” Blake snapped. “Hey Anderson, maybe you should get her a towel or something to wrap up in. I’ll stay here and keep watch.” He gave me another creepy leer. His pants were so tight I couldn’t help seeing the evidence of why he was really suggesting Anderson leave the room.

Anderson apparently didn’t need to see Blake to know what he was thinking. He smiled that mild smile of his. “I’m sure the pillow will suffice.” His eyes met mine, and there was no missing the threat in his next softly spoken words. “For now.”

My gut cramped with fear as I recognized the good cop/bad cop tactics. If you’d told me before tonight that Blake Porter would make an effective bad cop, I’d probably have laughed at you. He was just too goddamn pretty to be scary, with his smooth, flawless skin that probably never grew more than peach fuzz, and his Cupid’s bow mouth. But right now, the absolute last thing I wanted was to be left alone with him. Unfortunately, my story sounded unbelievable even to my own ears, so why should these guys believe it?

“Why were you here to meet Emmitt?” Anderson prompted.

I decided that no matter how weird my story was going to sound under the circumstances, I had no alternative but to start talking and hope for the best.

Slowly, trying not to stammer, I told them a carefully edited version of how and why Emmitt had hired me, leaving out any mention of crazy cultists. Anderson’s face gave away nothing, but Blake made repeated little snorts of disbelief and rolled his eyes a couple of times.

When I explained that Emmitt had asked me to meet him in front of the gates, and that I’d found the gates open and driven through, both men fell silent, the silence an oppressive weight that made me want to sink under the bed and disappear. I forced myself to keep talking, though I didn’t want to relive the nightmare of seeing Emmitt standing there in the road with that little smile.

“So what you’re saying is that it was an accident?” Anderson asked when I finished talking.

I blinked at him. “Of course it was an accident! At least on my part. Did you think I ran him down on purpose?”

“What do you mean, at least on your part?”

I was momentarily taken aback by the question. I thought I’d made it perfectly clear when I’d explained. But despite everything Emmitt had told me, I was now convinced these people were actually friends of his, and it must have been shocking for them to hear that he’d basically killed himself. Maybe they didn’t want to hear it and had subconsciously filtered that part out.

“I mean he just stood there in the middle of the road, looking at me and smiling, waiting for me to hit him. I don’t know if he could have gotten out of the way if he’d tried, but he didn’t even try.”

There was a howl of rage from just outside the room. The door slammed open with such force that Blake, who was standing in front of it, went flying. He hit the floor hard and came up cursing.

Jamaal stormed into the cell in the same towering rage I’d seen by the side of the road. If he was suffering any ill effects from his tussle with Logan, I saw no sign of them.

His eyes locked on me, and he came at me like a guided missile. Leader or not, Anderson scrambled out from between us, leaving me to fend for myself.

If Anderson was the good cop, and Blake was the bad cop, Jamaal was the complete psycho cop. I’m physically fit and fairly athletic. I also know enough basic self-defense not to be completely useless in a fight. But I would have been no match for Jamaal even without my injuries. I couldn’t even manage to get to my feet before he was on me, grabbing me by the throat.

I dropped the pillow and tried to loosen Jamaal’s grip, digging my fingernails into his hand as hard as I could. I’d have gone for his face, only his arms were longer than mine and I couldn’t reach. When clawing at him didn’t work, I tried to separate one of his fingers from the herd and throw all my strength into peeling it away, willing to break it if necessary. My efforts didn’t bother him in the least, and he hauled me off of the cot until my feet dangled.

I stopped trying to loosen his fingers and merely held on to his arm, trying to pull myself up a bit so I didn’t strangle. It was a useless effort, and his hand squeezed hard enough to cut off my air completely.