J.R. Ward - Envy

“Yeah. Sure.”

I just want you to remember—evil is usually the easy way out. And your fate is your own and no one else’s.

As if on cue, a glow emanated out of the mouth of a cave about one hundred and fifty yards off to the right.

Enough with the fucking chatter.

Unsheathing both guns, Veck moved like the damn wind, leaping from boulder to boulder, jumping down, jumping up, scrambling. As his body went on full flip-out to get him to Reilly, his eyes stayed locked on that light. With every obstacle he threw himself over, horrible visions ran through his head, the gruesome, bloody nightmares making his chest burn with a fury that gave him power beyond the physical sum of his muscles and strength.

The cave in question had an entrance large enough so that he didn’t have to duck down, and wide enough so that he didn’t have to squeeze through. And then the nature-made corridor he found himself in stretched out ahead, penetrating far into the belly of the earth.

Dropping into a crouch, he ran as fast as he could toward the flickering glow.

All around him, the walls were wet and rough, the ceiling dripping, the floor puddled up. In a panic, he tried to filter out the pounding sound of his own footsteps so he could hear what was up ahead: Screams? Heavy breathing? Painful moaning?

Nothing.

It was too fucking quiet.

And then he turned the final corner.

The cave opened up to what appeared to be a low-walled space about the size of a big living room. It was impossible to get a true sense of its breadth, however, because the place was lit with candles, outside of which there was nothing but darkness.

In the center, there was a body strung up by the arms, the deadweight hanging from the ceiling.

It was not Reilly. It was what appeared to be a man with short sandy blond hair.

Veck glanced around for Bails and that bitch woman. But all there was . . . was the body. And it was turned to face the far wall.

Was that . . . a hospital johnny? he thought as he stepped forward, keeping the guns up.

“Reilly!” he shouted.

The echoing name roused whoever was hanging, and as the head jerked, a scraping sound rose up into the still, dank air. The person was slowly turning himself around, using the tips of his bare, muddy feet to change his position.

When Veck saw who it was, he cursed: The victim’s identity was clear, in spite of the fact that the guy had obviously been punched in the face recently: His forehead was swollen and going black-and-blue, but the features were well known.

“Kroner . . .” Veck muttered, wondering how in the fuck the bastard had been brought here. Then again, abductions from hospitals were improbable but not impossible.

The serial killer struggled to lift his chin, his mouth working slowly. He was trying to talk, but Veck didn’t give a shit what the fucker had to say.

“Reilly! ” he called out, hoping that the darkness beyond the candles meant that there was another chamber where she was—

Someone stepped out of the shadows toward him.

He blinked once, and when the vision didn’t change, he realized it was, in fact, a woman. Although what someone like her was doing here—

“Hello, Veck.” It was the voice from his phone, live and in person. “Welcome to the party.”

The brunette made Angelina Jolie look like a librarian: She was lush and dangerous, an upright jungle dressed in stilettos and a short skirt that belonged in a café downtown, or an elegant private club . . . anywhere but this stank-ass cave.

“Did you come alone?” she asked him, her plump, juicy lips pursing.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She moved around him, circling, smiling. “You’re just like your father—taking direction well.”

“Where is Reilly?”

“Your devotion to the woman is”—her voice got tense—“enviable. And because I can imagine how anxious you are to find her, I’ll say that I’m prepared to tell you.”

“So do it.”

She eyed the guns. “Do you honestly think those are going to work against me?” Her laugh was wind chime–beautiful—and nonetheless rang falsely in the ear. “And, oh, look, they gave you a dagger, too. Hope does spring eternal, I suppose. By the way, did Jim tell you he used to be a killer?”

“I don’t give a shit what he was.”

“Right, right, it’s all about the girl.” That voice grew bitter again. “How lucky she is. And she should know how you feel about her, don’t you think.”

At that, the woman idly turned toward Kroner and strolled across to the guy. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “Yes, tell her how you feel, why don’t you.”

Veck looked into the shadows. “I love you, Reilly! I’m here!”

“So romantic,” the brunette said dryly.

As the woman stayed fixated on the serial killer, Veck decided to hedge his bets: He put one of his guns away . . . and palmed up that glass dagger he’d been given. None of this was making sense—which gave some credibility to Adrian’s advice.

“Where the fuck is she?” he growled.

“I’ll tell you—but you have to do something for me.”

“What.”

The brunette smiled and stepped back from Kroner. “Kill him.”

Veck narrowed his eyes on the woman.

In response, she smiled more deeply. “It’s what you were going to do all along. You waited for him in those woods, biding your time until he showed up among the trees next to that motel. You were going to act . . . but you were denied your chance.”

Facing off at her, Veck’s body began to vibrate, that rage that had sprung loose at the prison coalescing in his torso, tightening his muscles.

“This is my gift to you, little Tommy. You kill him, and I’ll show you where your woman is. It’s what you want. It’s what you’re here for. It’s your destiny.”

From out of nowhere, a reflection of light pierced the darkness, and illuminated the shadows, revealing . . . Bails.

The guy was sitting on the floor of the cave, leaning back against the wet wall. A gunshot marked his forehead between his wide-open eyes, the smallest trail of blood seeping out and dripping down his nose. His mouth was lax; his skin pale gray.

“Don’t worry about him,” the brunette said dismissively. “He was nothing but a pawn. You, on the other hand . . . are the prize. And all you have to do is act. Kill him . . . and I’ll make sure you see your girl.”

Abruptly, Veck realized where the shaft of light was coming from.

His hand had risen up, and that glass dagger had caught the butter soft candlelight, sending a shaft of it across the cave to zero in on his supposed friend.

“Time’s wasting, little Tommy. Let’s get through this, so we can come out the other side. Listen to your gut. Do what you know is right. Take out this piece-of-shit, amoral killer and find what you seek. It’s such an obvious path, such a simple trade—everything that Reilly is, for this murdering madman. It’s all in your hands. . . .”

“Is Reilly alive?” he heard himself say.

“She is.”

“Will you let us both out of here alive?”

“Probably. Depends on what you do, doesn’t it.” The brunette’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “You can see her the moment you take care of business. I swear to it. It’s all in your hands. . . .”

As Reilly hung from the cave’s ceiling, she still could not believe the image she was showing to Veck: The hospital johnny and the flat chest and the dangling legs were not her own.

Yet through the screaming pain in her head, through her confusion and panic, she could move these limbs that were not hers, could draw breath through a throat she did not know, could fill lungs that were someone else’s.