Jess Haines - Stalking the Others

Wes didn’t give me the opportunity to regain my balance. Before I knew it, my face was plastered against the cold metal, his fingers digging into the back of my neck.

“Last chance, sugar.”

I kicked backwards, landing a blow to his solar plexus. He fell back with a grunt, and I whirled with a follow-up kick that sent him in a sprawling slide to crash against a nearby chaise. Clarisse laughed, her lilting voice echoing in the enclosed space.

He was soon on his feet, and I was a few yards away, seeking a weak link in one of the shutters that I could slide my fingers into so I could tear the metal sheets off. He didn’t get too close to me yet, though he did follow in my footsteps, watching my futile attempts. Toying with me, I suppose. Letting me figure out for myself that there was no way out.

“Pretty spry,” he said. “Just remember, you’re the one who chose to do this the hard way.”

In the next few moments, I completely lost sight of him—he moved that fast—but he struck me a number of times, hard enough that I would have fallen if he hadn’t kept catching me and hitting me again. Most of the strikes were to my stomach, lower back, arms, and shoulders. Not a single one was hard enough to break any bones or do much more than bruise, but it was disorienting and painful. I knew I was jerking around like a marionette, but I couldn’t keep my balance, and couldn’t focus past the pain long enough to see where he was.

I’m not sure how long he kept it up. It felt like an eternity. He forced me in a circuit around the room at least twice, but it was too disorienting for me to tell much more beyond that. My body was turning into one giant bruise.

Once he stopped, it took me a few seconds to figure out that I was on my knees, and he was standing in front of me.

Gasping and clutching at my aching stomach, I glared up at him, too hurt to force out any harsh words. He had a cocky smile quirking one corner of his lips, his blue eyes glowing with an ember of red deep down in the irises.

I flinched back as he reached down, taking me by the arm. He hauled me to my feet and held on, maybe making sure I was steady. “I’m sure this has been more fun for me than it’s been for you. You’re going to sit your ass down and wait for Mr. Royce over there.” He pointed to the chaise I’d earlier kicked him into. “If you don’t, the beatings will continue until sense returns. Yes?”

Closing my eyes, I nodded. He gave me a little shove in the direction of the furniture.

I pretended to stumble. He fell for it, bending down to help me—and I landed another solid punch to his jaw, right where I’d kicked him earlier, sending him flying backwards.

Looking mightily bored by now, Clarisse was slumped against the door, still watching. There was no other way out of here. I whirled just in time to keep Wesley’s hands from closing on my arms again, skittering back out of his reach.

If I was going to escape, I’d have to fight my way past Clarisse.

Getting to the door meant getting past Wesley first. I feinted left, then right, but he had been around for centuries before the belt. He knew what I was doing and didn’t fall for the trick. Instead, I found myself pressed against the wall, stars shining in my vision as my skull reverberated from the impact. He had my wrists firmly in his grip, his usual roguish smile nowhere in evidence.

“Are you ready to stop this foolishness?”

As soon as I got my bearings, I tugged against his hold, squirming against him in hopes that the belt might have augmented my strength enough to shove him away. The position was too awkward, and he was far too strong.

‘Stay still. I have an idea.’

Though I was uncomfortably aware of the contours of Wes’s body, I went limp, hanging my head and waiting for him to make the next move.

After a few moments of suspicious silence, he drew back, pulling me with him.

I took the opportunity to knee him in the crotch.

e gasped, a red tint infusing his eyes as he tightened his grasp on my wrists. Before I could follow up with another kick, I found myself on my knees, my arms wrested behind my back as he held me down. Damn it. That had been a stroke of brilliance on the belt’s part.

“Skreyja tik! Fucking meyla,” he spat, shoving me down until I was flat on the floor, straddling my back. “That hurt, damn it! Don’t do that again.”

“Let me go!”

“Not on your life. You’re lucky Mr. Royce wants you alive.”

I lay still, panting, the belt going curiously quiescent around my waist. When pain flared up, putting stars back in my vision, I knew why. Shit—the sun had risen. Had we been fighting that long? I’d completely lost track of the time.

“Hey,” he said, shaking me out of my pained reverie. “Stop that twitching. What’s the matter with you, huh?”

“It hurts, you asshole,” I muttered, grimacing at the way my shoulder was wrenched when he tugged my arms up higher along my back. “Ow! I’ll stop, I’ll stop!”

“Well, well. Ms. Waynest has returned, hmm?”

I cringed at the sound of the vampire’s voice, cold and dispassionate as ever. I couldn’t keep the sheepish note out of my reply.

“Hi, Royce.”

He spoke again, closer this time, not bothering to step into my field of view. “Wesley, do you mind explaining this to me?”

Wesley didn’t mind. “She broke in while you were out, sir. Fought her way around the building looking for Sar—err, Ms. Halloway. She wouldn’t listen when I told her the girl wasn’t here.”

It’s not like Royce wouldn’t have known I was here. Not if he could “feel me” like he mentioned back at the park. The thought made me want to punch him, but even if I’d been free to do so, he’d probably laugh at my efforts. Without the belt supplementing my strength, I wasn’t going to be effective against him or Wesley until nightfall. Damn it.

“I see. Stand her up, if you would.”

Wesley lifted me to my feet as though I weighed no more than a feather. The pressure on my arms was unbearable, and I couldn’t bite back a pained wince. Once on my feet, I glared defiantly at Royce’s chin and tugged to get free, but Wesley wouldn’t let go. Clarisse must have left when Royce had arrived, because she wasn’t hovering in the doorway anymore.

As for Royce, he moved as though he had all the time in the world as he approached. All I could do was watch. His suit jacket, made of some sleek black material that probably cost more than my car, was left unbuttoned. His tie, made of the same dark material, was held in place by a ruby tie tack matching the red shirt underneath. The contrasting colors and that tiny, glittering gem kept catching my eye. I fought the urge to stare at the contours of his chest outlined in the creases of that tailored shirt as he leaned in to check if I had anything hidden at the small of my back or under my hair. His touch gave me the shivers, even if he was swift and impersonal about his inspection.

He never once looked into my face, his focus all for the weapons I was carrying. He checked the small container clipped to my belt for the extra ammo, but the bullets had fallen out somewhere along the way and all I was carrying in that container right now was pocket lint. I sucked in my breath when his hands slid over my stomach, only to work the clasps on my shoulder holster, loosening it. With a couple sharp jerks, yanking painfully against my straining shoulder muscles, he broke the straps and tossed the guns aside.

He followed that up with a few tugs to the belt. A sudden desperation had me crying out and wrenching to the side, kicking out to keep him from taking Isaac away from me. All that did was hurt my shoulder sockets and upper arms as Wes’s grip tightened. Royce didn’t even seem to notice the blows when I kicked him, and despite my struggles, he removed the belt within moments. A wave of despair and aching loss washed over me, tears stinging my eyes as it was taken away.