Gena Showalter - Black and Blue

“What time is it?” she asked in an effort to keep him relaxed.

“Midnight. The time for lovers,” he said with a leering grin.

Gah! Gonna play that game, were they? “Is Blue here? In this house?”

“Still worried about him? How sweet. Well, you’ll be happy to know he is indeed here, and he’s alive. Barely. We wanted you close to him, just in case we needed to convince him to behave.” His gaze bored into hers. “But I’d be better off killing you, I think. I can’t ever let you go. You know too much.”

“Know too much? Me? Nah,” she said. “Besides, I’d never tell.”

“Liar,” he said, and slapped her.

A trickle of blood ran through her mouth. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Do not do that again.”

“You are known for your brutal sense of truth, and yet you dare lie to me? When I hold your fate in my hands?”

“You’re right. I do know too much, and I will tell. But I’m going to hurt you real bad first.”

“Doubtful.” His head tilted to the side as he studied her. “I left a club full of women desperate to warm my bed. For you. Last time we were together, I was too concerned for my sister to feel much for you. Now I don’t want to have what I’ve already had when I can have something new.”

Plan: kill him, find Blue.

Done.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked. “I’m assuming you’ll beat me if I refuse.”

To kill him: rip out his larynx? Yeah. That would work. It was satisfying (for her), and quiet. Any guards posted outside the door would remain unaware.

“You’re assuming correctly.” His eyes brightened with triumph. “But I’ll even throw in a bonus and let you earn medical treatments for Blue.”

Wanker. “Such as?”

“First up, you’re going to suck me off, and in return I’m going to have someone realign Blue’s spine. See how kind I can be?” He stood and stalked to the dresser, though he never took his gaze off her. His fingers toyed with the button on his jeans. “What do you think?”

“I think I want to decline,” she said with a sugary-sweet smile. “If I’m being honest.”

His grin bloomed all over again. “I almost hope you do decline. Because my next order of business will be to go down and break Mr. Blue’s spine in other places.”

Go down.

So. Blue was downstairs, and she was up. A priceless piece of information.

For dramatic effect, she shuddered. “All right. Okay. We understand each other,” she said, and threw her legs over the side of the bed. As she walked forward, she pretended her knees were trembling, and staged a trip. Then she crawled the rest of the way.

He seemed to like her fear, proudly squaring his shoulders when she reached him.

She slowly lowered his zipper.

“If you bite me,” he said, gripping the hair at her nape in a hard, intractable fist, “you’ll end up needing a wire for your jaw.”

“No. Please. Anything but that.” Too much? “Are you a screamer?” she asked softly.

He softened his stance, saying, “Only if you’re good.”

“Oh, I’m very good.” She pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles. His erection bobbed in front of her face. No wonder he had such terrible rage issues. Little Ty-Ty had been teased in the school bathroom, hadn’t he?

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now do it,” he gritted, as though in pain.

With pleasure, she thought.

She balled her hand and punched his sac as hard as she possibly could. He doubled over and, lightning fast, she rammed her other hand into his nose, breaking it a second time.

As blood spurted, he opened his mouth to bellow, but she slapped a hand over his lips, silencing him. Forget the larynx thing. She had a better idea. He stumbled forward, tripped over his pants, and landed on his knees. She popped up and grinned.

And then she kicked him in the back of the head with so much force he immediately crumpled into a wilted heap.

Just for fun, she kicked him again. Then, working fast, she rooted through her purse and found two of the tubes of lipstick. With a little fancy finger work, the tubes were transformed into mini pyre-guns. Yes. Like Swiss Army makeup.

Killing was out, and torture was in. She dragged the motionless Tyson to the bed and, through sheer grit and determination, got him up on the mattress. He could be leveraged. After engaging the laser cuffs on his wrists to keep him in place, stuffing his mouth full of tube socks, and punching him again just for funzies, she removed his weapons.

The guns she couldn’t use. They were programmed to his ID and useless for everyone else. But she found a switchblade and claimed it as her own.

Up next: bladder relief.

When she stalked out of the bathroom, life was worth living again.

Now for the tricky part of the plan. Getting to Blue.

Were there guards stationed outside the room?

Probably.

She draped her purse around her side, opened the door, and peeked out quickly. Wow. Empty. Tyson had been that sure of himself. There were three other doorways before the hallway curved. Tiptoeing, she walked to the first door, listened. No sounds. She peeked inside. A bedroom. Furnished, and clean, as if no one had been inside in a very long time. Or ever.

The other two were the same.

So the guards didn’t live up here. A blessing. No one would be sneaking up on her.

She moved to the top of the stairs and paused, peering down a small alcove into the living room. There were ten armed males. Most had their backs to her. Some gazed out the windows, watching for intruders. Some paced between the living room and kitchen. Two sat in front of a wall of screens, probably watching the security feed.

Evie lay on the floor and dug through her purse, setting the Rubik’s Cube and the golf ball at the ledge, and anchoring the glasses on the bridge of her nose. The lenses sealed off her eye sockets, preventing any air from penetrating. Then she placed both guns in position.

Deep breath in . . . release . . . she pushed the cube and golf ball over the ledge with her chin. A second of normalcy, then . . . boom!

A violent gust of heat blew her hair all around her shoulders. Smoke thickened the air and debris rained. Men screamed. Not only did the glasses protect her from the poison, they also allowed her to see past the smoke. She focused on the men still standing, running this way and that, and squeezed the triggers of her guns. Two bright streams of yellow light pierced the chaos, hitting her targets. They slumped forward. Her next two targets went down just as easily.

A few of the men seemed immune to the poisoned air that should have swelled their eyes shut, and turned toward her, searching for the source of the gunfire. Now that she’d thinned the herd, she had a little more room for error. So she just started firing. Down, down, down men fell. The last one managed to whip out his gun and shoot in her direction, but the miasma distorted his aim and the blaze soared just over her shoulder. She felt the sear of the flames but not the sting. Then he, too, was dead, and she was standing.

Hold on, Blue. I’m coming for you.

A COMMOTION BEYOND THE CELLdiverted Star’s attention from Blue, and the man frowned at his daughter.

Tiffany sat on a stool in the corner, watching everything that happened. She wasn’t happy to be there. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her cheeks red with tear tracks, and she whimpered every time her father hurt Blue. But Star had told her to stay and “learn the family trade,” and so she had stayed.