Broken Angel Page 14

  Too long, he decided. Too long already when Doc kept him from going to Slade.

  The light snapped on before he could right himself. “I’m going,” he called weakly, aware Doc had entered the room. “Don’t try to stop me.”

  “No, you’re not.” Doc crouched at his feet and began to remove the sheets. “You still have one more day of grace, and you’re going to rest, even if I have to drug you.”

  “Grace? What are you talking about? Have to get to Lillith. Who’s Grace?”

  “Oh boy. Come on, kid, up we go. And in bed, damn it.” Doc helped him up and settled him on the edge of the bed. “You pulled your IV out. You have to stop doing that.”

  He groaned. Couldn’t even lift his head. “Did he...hurt her?”

  “No.” Doc’s tone was clipped, reluctant. “Like I said, he gave you a grace period. You slept through the first day. Welcome to day two. That’s all you get.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.” Doc ripped open an antiseptic wipe and swabbed at the blood dribbling from the IV site. “I’m sorry, kid. Did my best. He was going to bring you to Jenner yesterday.”

  Jenner. Did Slade plan to have his lieutenant torture him...or Lillith? “I can’t. Can’t let them hurt her...can’t watch. Bastards. I’ll kill them...”

  Doc eased his legs onto the bed. “You’ve got to calm down. Getting all worked up will only make you worse. I’m completely serious about the drugs, Gabriel. If you don’t relax, I will put you out. Don’t make me do that.”

  He released a heavy breath and fell back against the headboard. He closed his eyes. I lost. Visions of the fight with Duke returned, and again he glimpsed the telltale bulge of the weight concealed in the other fighter’s fist. “Wasn’t fair,” he murmured. “Asshole cheated. I would’ve won.”

  “It’s never fair. They all fight dirty.” Doc taped a folded square of gauze over the weeping hole in his arm with swift surety. “There are no rules, remember?”

  “No weapons.”

  Doc froze. “What?”

  He grunted, straightened a bit and opened his eyes. Things were a little less blurry now. “The guy I fought, Duke.” He spoke carefully, attempting to regain control of his tongue. “He used a weight. Handheld one, like Apollo has. No weapons allowed, right?”

  “Jesus. Are you sure?”

  “I saw it. And I sure as hell felt it.”

  “Have you—no, you couldn’t have. You haven’t been conscious. Damn it.” Doc paced a few steps, stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “That explains why you’re so messed up.”

  He laughed, but a strenuous protest from his ribs cut him short. “Is that your professional diagnosis?”

  “Something like that.” Doc smirked, and then fixed him with a solemn stare. “You have to tell him.”

  “Slade? I don’t know. Do you think he’ll change his mind about whatever he’s going to do to me?”

  “I really don’t want to answer that.”

  “You just did.” He frowned and dropped his gaze. “What happens if I do tell him?”

  “Maybe nothing. Or maybe Mendez gets called out. Which he does deserve, but no one ever catches him or his fighters being bastards.”

  “Called out?”

  “Yeah. The rest of them’ll get together and give him a stern lecture or some such crap. They’ll tell him if his fighters break another rule, they’ll be temporarily banned from the events. And supposedly, the third time they’ll be out for good.”

  “Great. So if I tell Slade about this, all of House Prometheus will want to kill me.”

  “Pretty much. See why no one ever catches them?”

  “Yeah.” He grimaced. Making enemies was not high on his to-do list. Still, something that resembled pride insisted he bring the incident to light, if only to erase the smug smile from Duke’s face. Besides, he wasn’t going to stick around here permanently. Once he earned Lillith’s freedom, they would relocate somewhere far from New York. Like Australia, or the moon. “All right. I’ll tell him.”

  “Good. Mendez needs his nose rubbed in his own mess for once.” Doc rummaged in the drawer beside the bed and produced a new IV needle. “Now this had better stay in. Two frigging days isn’t even close to what you need, but it’s what you have.” He reattached the line, reset the machine. “Rest, kid. I’ll bring you something to eat in a while.”

  He nodded. His heavy eyelids closed, eager to follow Doc’s command. Sleep came silent and fast.

  Chapter 17

  Full night had fallen when Gabriel woke to silence. He felt like shit—which was a step above his last bout with consciousness. At least he could move. He took advantage of it and sat up.

  Doc had disconnected the IV at some point and left a tray on the nightstand next to the bed. More bland fare: crackers, broth, applesauce. A pitcher of water stood beside the tray. Next to an empty cup, a shot glass held three small brown pills. There was a scrap of paper beneath the glass with something scrawled on it. Gabriel slid it out and read.

  It’s ibuprofen. Take all three.

  Smiling, he poured some water, downed the pills and ate methodically. He refused to think for the moment. Thinking would lead to speculation about what he’d have to face when he left this room.

  Finished, he stood carefully and scanned the dim room. He didn’t see his shirt or shoes anywhere. Maybe Doc had brought them out to his office. He headed for the curtained doorway, moving slowly in deference to the dull, full-body throbbing that flared with every step.

  Beyond the curtain, he discovered Doc asleep at the desk. Guilt needled him. He’d taken over the man’s room more often than he cared to recall. He reached across and touched Doc’s shoulder.

  Doc bolted up with a sharp, indrawn breath and stared. “Christ. Who told you to get out of bed?”

  “Looks like you need the bed more than me right now.” He wavered and put a hand on the desk to steady himself.

  “Right. You’re in great shape.” Sighing, Doc pushed his chair back and stood. “Would you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.”

  A deliberate knock sounded at the office door. Three measured raps. “Damn it,” Doc said through clenched teeth. “Sit, Gabriel. I can stall him for a few minutes.”

  “Him?”

  “Jenner.”

  No! Too soon. He wasn’t ready. He could barely stand. Sick with dread, he made his way to the cot and settled at the foot. His head dropped and he resigned himself to the inevitable. Even if by some slim chance Slade went easy on him in light of Duke’s cheating, he’d receive no mercy from Jenner.

  Doc opened the door. “What?” he snapped.

  A pause, then Jenner’s soft, chilling voice. “Come now, Dr. Stephens. You know why I am here.”

  “You’re early, you slimy son of a bitch.”

  “I am precisely on time. It has been forty-eight hours since the boy lost. You may wish to consider whether stalling is the best alternative for you at the moment...angel.”

  He stood, almost without realizing his intention, crossed the room and put a hand on Doc’s arm. “It’s all right, Doc. I’m ready.”

  “No you’re not.” Doc stayed in the doorway, blocking his exit. “Jenner, he’s in no shape to...” The doctor glanced at him, and looked back at the emotionless lieutenant. “Please. Don’t you think he’s been through enough already?”

  “It is not my decision to make, doctor. If the boy wishes to plead his case, he will have to take it up with Marcus.”

  He detected disgust in Jenner’s tone. Strangely, it seemed directed at Slade. “Believe me, I will,” he said. “Don’t worry, Doc. Whatever he’s got planned, I can handle it.”

  “Interesting assertion. I doubt you will be able to maintain it for long, though.” Jenner stepped back with a slight gesture. “I suggest you let the boy through.”

  Glowering, Doc moved aside. “You’re bastards. Both of you.”

  Jenner smirked. “I have been called
worse. Surely you can do better.”

  “Fine. Marcus is a bastard. And you’re his bitch.”

  “Perhaps. But in this I am not alone. Am I, Dr. Stephens?”

  He stepped past Doc, into the hall, looked back and managed a half-smile. “I’m going to tell him. Who knows, maybe he’ll cut me some slack.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Doc didn’t meet his eyes. “Well, kid, I’m sure you’ll be back in here soon enough. Just watch yourself, all right?”

  “I will.” Gabriel faced Jenner. “What are you going to do?”

  “As I said, it is not my decision. I will take you to Marcus.” Jenner turned and headed for the stairs.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Doc, who nodded and withdrew, then followed the lieutenant. Just before they reached the end of the hall, he said, “Don’t you want me to walk in front of you?”

  “No.” Jenner started down.

  “So you trust me not to run away, or push you down the stairs?”

  “Trust is irrelevant. You will do no such thing.”

  “How do you know?”

  Jenner stopped. “You realize it is not you Marcus intends to punish?”

  Lillith. “Yeah, I do. But she didn’t do anything.”

  “Her guilt or innocence does not matter. Only what will hurt you more.”

  Further protest rose, but his current audience wouldn’t listen. He’d save it for Slade.

  On the first floor, Jenner led him through a darkened and silent reception area and down a lit corridor, toward the back of the building. At the end, he turned right and stopped before a frosted glass door. He knocked three times, the same measured beats he’d announced himself with at Doc’s office, and stood back. “I will take my leave now.”

  He moved forward. The door opened to reveal Apollo’s scowling face. The brute pulled him inside and slammed him back against a wall beside the entrance. Holding him with a hand pressed against his chest, Apollo closed the door.

  Slade’s voice sounded somewhere behind the massive thug. “If it isn’t the loser. About time you dragged your sorry ass out of bed. Apollo, cuff him.”

  Apollo gripped his arm, spun him to face the wall, and forced his hand against his back. Cold metal encircled his wrist. The thug fastened the other cuff and hauled him backward. A moment later, he sprawled hard in a straight-backed chair that faced a desk with Slade on the opposite side.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Morgan.” Slade glanced past him, nodded. Apollo thumped from the room.

  “Wait...” His head swam with pain. The jostling had upset his already weakened state, and his body attempted to shut down in response. He willed himself to stay conscious. “It wasn’t my fault. Duke—”

  “Don’t bother,” Slade snapped. “No excuses, boy. I told you what would happen if you lost. If you try to talk your way out of it, you’ll only make things worse for both of you.”

  “He had a weapon.”

  Slade stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Duke had a weapon. A weight.” He shifted, suppressed a groan and straightened in the chair as best he could. “I would have won.”

  “That underhanded son of a bitch.” Slade punctuated the statement with a fist pounded on his desk. He stilled for a moment, and then yanked out his phone and pressed four keys in quick succession. After a beat, he said, “Wolff, we need to talk. Call my cell.” He disconnected and thrust the phone back.

  A whisper of hope filtered through his dread.

  “This doesn’t change a thing for you. You still lost,” Slade said.

  His heart plummeted. “Fine. Do whatever you want to me, but leave Lillith out of it. You can’t punish her because that bastard cheated.”

  Slade laughed. “Are you actually trying to tell me what to do? You’re dumber than I thought. And I wasn’t giving you much credit in the first place.” He stood, circled the desk, and stopped in front of him. “You lost. You pay. So does she.”

  “No.” He sat up straighter. A familiar knot of dread and humiliation tied his stomach. He’d beg this bastard to take it out on him instead of Lillith, just as he’d begged his father. “Please. Whatever you’re planning, I’ll take it. Please...don’t hurt Lillith.”

  “I don’t think so, boy. Even if I were inclined to spare your sister, you don’t satisfy the requirements to take her place.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You don’t have tits.” Sneering, Slade returned to his side of the desk. He pulled out a sliding tray, and the distinctive clicking of a keyboard sounded. A flash of movement on the left side of the room caught his eye, and a panel of the wall slid back to reveal nine monitor screens nestled three-by-three within. The blank screens flickered to life. Each displayed the same grainy, colorless scene: a hotel room setting, an empty bed. A shadowed figure occupied a padded chair to the left of the bed, a half-full wine glass in one extended hand.

  Jenner. His breath caught. But the figure was bigger than the gaunt lieutenant. Much bigger. “What is this?” he whispered.

  “A client, here for an elite service. You see, a few of my girls specialize in role-play for men who like their partners on the unwilling side. Since Lillith has decided she doesn’t like the profession after all, she won’t have to act much for the part.”

  “No!” He shot to his feet. “Don’t. You can’t. You’re going to let him—”

  “Rape your sister? Yes, I am. And you’re going to watch.”

  “I won’t.” His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. “I won’t let you.”

  “You’ll sit your ass down and shut up, or she’ll stay in that room all night when this one is through. There are plenty of men looking for this kind of action.”

  Movement on the screens. A slim, stumbling figure at the edges—blindfolded, hands tied in front at the wrists with a length of cloth. Lillith. He dropped back into the chair.

  A soft sob drifted from unseen speakers, and he blanched. He’d have to watch. And listen. “Apollo, where is this?” Lillith whispered. “What’s going on?” Something slammed, a door closing. The sound cracked from the speaker system.

  A corresponding muffled thud, a real one, came from behind him. He turned his head and for the first time noticed the door set in the right-hand wall. He faced Slade, but couldn’t bring himself to speak.

  “That’s right, boy.” Slade flashed a wicked smile. “She’s right behind you, and you can’t do a damned thing about it.”

  “Hello?” Lillith’s voice shook. “Is anyone here?”

  The figure in the chair rose and started toward her. Lillith backed a step, lurched, nearly fell. “Who’s there?”

  His fingers dug his palms. Don’t make it worse. His body shook with the effort to keep from vaulting from the chair to do something. Anything. Break the door down. Tear Slade’s throat out with his teeth. He couldn’t let his temper take control. Lillith would suffer for it.

  On the screens, the man stood a few feet from Lillith, tormenting her with silence and anticipation. He closed his eyes.

  Seconds later, a resounding crack filled the room. Pain flared in his jaw, and his head snapped to the side. He faced forward. Slade stood in front of him, lowering his arm from the blow he’d just delivered.

  “Pay attention, Angel. You will not be spared this.” Slade moved away.

  Looking back at the monitors was the hardest task he had ever undertaken.

  * * * *

  The dungeon. Sickly familiar now—chilled, damp, the darkness alive and hungry for its prisoner. Jenner’s tattoo bench had been removed. Now, only the stool and the empty table remained.

  Gabriel knelt on the floor, arms still bound painfully behind his back. He shivered with the cold and the violent emotions wracking him.

  Lillith’s “session” had lasted just over ten minutes—he could tell only by the small digital readout in the lower corner of the panel of screens. His agonized guilt had prolonged time, until it seemed the bastard had been born raping his sister. Until he could remember nothing outside of s
itting in that chair, watching helplessly while Lillith was defiled. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her face, blindfolded and terrified.

  They would do something equally horrendous to him. Or worse.

  An hour passed. The pain in his strained arms and shoulders grew unbearable, the slightest movement sent spears of agony ripping through his limbs. His mind conjured frightful images of his sister, alternating with grotesque scenarios of his impending torment.

  If Jenner was involved, it would be excruciating.

  He entered the second hour aware the wait was intended, the anticipation meant to be part of the punishment. His father had employed the same technique on countless occasions, tormenting him throughout the day with scathing reminders of what he had to look forward to. Boy, you’re gonna get it...wait until I get my hands on you...by the time I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead.

  When he’d eventually taken the beating, or strapping, or whatever his father had in mind, the pain became almost a release of the tension that had built during the drawn-out wait. He resolved not to reveal his anxiety when his tormentors arrived.

  The click of the door latch sounded at last, magnified by the emptiness of the room. Despite his stiff, protesting muscles, he rose to face Slade and Jenner on his feet.

  Slade spoke first.

  “I’m disappointed in you, boy.” He shook his head, crossed the room and circled him, let out a sigh. “You can forget wandering around the arena, at least for the coming fight. You’ll stay cuffed until the matches start.”

  He offered no response, and Slade went on. “You left yourself open for a cheap shot. Twice. That’s not going to happen again. Since you have yet to learn how to protect yourself, you can let it all hang out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Slade smiled thinly. “You will perform the next fight naked.”

  A long moment of silence followed Slade’s pronouncement. He froze, speechless and aghast. Jenner’s face reflected mild disgust.