Broken Angel Page 15

  “You’ll remain confined to your room until the fight. Apollo will escort you up when Jenner is through with you.” With a final scathing look of disapproval, Slade turned to the lieutenant and said, “Don’t hurt him too badly. I still need him to fight.”

  “Of course.”

  Jenner’s soft, inflectionless voice pierced him, effective as any knife. His legs weakened beneath him. Slade left the room—and locked him in with Jenner.

  Chapter 18

  Jenner remained uncharacteristically silent. He stood a few feet in front of him with arms folded loosely, face impassive, gray eyes dark and unreadable.

  He was trying to make him squirm. It wouldn’t work. Fresh determination filled him and he stood his ground, gritting his teeth against the fire that seared his arms. He met the lieutenant’s maddeningly serene countenance with outward calm.

  Jenner wore black silk today, a Japanese costume with intricate thread-sewn characters, blood red outlined in gold. A single column adorned each side of the long, flared-sleeve tunic. He wondered briefly what the symbols said, but decided he didn’t want to know.

  At last the lieutenant seemed to reach a decision. He dropped his arms with a slight frown, an expression that unnerved Gabriel more than the customary sneer, and produced a small silver key with a notched barrel end.

  “Turn around, angel.”

  Jenner’s voice held an odd, flat note. He performed the requested action, and recognized the sliver of feeling in his tone with a nasty start—disappointment.

  Once again, he’d been wrong about Jenner’s reaction. Where he expected the lieutenant to be pleased, even elated at the prospect of inflicting further torture, there seemed resignation. Sadness. A human reaction from a man he’d begun to suspect a demon.

  He was playing with him. Fear torqued his stomach and intensified when Jenner’s cool hand gripped his forearm. The key turned. Steel ratcheted against steel.

  Free of the cuffs, he lowered his arms and resisted the need to soothe his wrists. He stayed with his back turned until Jenner commanded, “Face me.”

  He executed a reluctant half-turn. His hands clenched into fists.

  Jenner stared at him. “You are expecting pain.”

  “Stop. Just get it over with.”

  “You really must pay more attention, angel. I told you this was not my decision.” Jenner walked past him, approached the table at the far end of the room. A folding chair leaned against the wall beside it. Jenner lowered the seat, settled the chair on the floor and turned. “Come here.”

  He approached warily. Did he plan to tie him in the chair? Maybe he had more needles hidden in his jacket somewhere. Whatever the lieutenant had in mind, he doubted he’d find out until it happened.

  “Sit.” Jenner gestured to the stool, and took the chair himself.

  He settled on the stool. He tensed and waited. A minute passed in silence. Another. Jenner simply looked at him. “Well?” he said at last. “Aren’t you going to...”

  “Beat you? Cut you, perhaps. Belittle you with vague insults, or terrorize you with empty threats. No, angel. I am not.” Jenner shifted, smoothed a tiny fold in the sleeve of his jacket. “There are far more effective methods of control.”

  “Lillith,” he whispered. “Leave her alone. Please.”

  “Baka! I will not harm your sister. She does not interest me.” Jenner’s gaze hardened for an instant. “Marcus and I have little in common. You would do well to remember that.”

  He shuddered. Jenner’s refusal to torture him worried him more than Slade’s threats. The lieutenant must have had something horrific in mind, just waited for the right opportunity. “What do you want, then?”

  Jenner regarded him with a frown. After a pause he said, “I want you to think. You are more intelligent than you allow yourself to be, angel. And you are the primary cause of your own suffering.”

  “What? Are you saying this is my fault?” He gripped the sides of the stool and fought the instinct to attack. “I’ve been kidnapped, beaten, tattooed, forced to fight a bunch of thugs. You bastards will murder my sister if I don’t jump when you say frog. And I’m the cause of it?”

  “You are rash and impulsive. You rely on your emotions to make decisions. You do not listen, and do not know yourself.” Jenner folded his hands in his lap. “By now you should have realized that you cannot win this game by following the rules.”

  He stared. Jenner’s statements almost sounded like advice. “So...how can I win, then? Without getting Lillith killed.”

  “I cannot tell you that. You must figure it out for yourself.”

  “Great,” he muttered. “Thanks a lot. That’s a big help.”

  “I am not here to help you, angel.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He dropped his gaze and wondered when the lieutenant planned to pull the other one. When Jenner said nothing further, he looked up to find gray eyes gazing at him expectantly. He half-cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Ask it.”

  “What does baka mean?”

  Jenner smirked. “Idiot.”

  “Fair enough.” He exhaled sharply. “Look, you’re his lieutenant. Slade’s, I mean. If you think this is such a bad idea, can’t you talk him out of it? I mean, how am I supposed to fight naked? I’ll just lose again.”

  “Perhaps you will. If you do, you will have no one but yourself to blame.”

  “You son of a bitch! None of this is my fault!”

  “With whom does the fault lie, then?”

  “Damn it! Slade. You. All you assholes around here. I—” He stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened in horror. He’d lost it. In front of Jenner. He shuddered and looked down, aware it was already too late.

  “On your feet, angel.” A near whisper, tinged with steel.

  He stood. His stomach dove for his feet.

  Jenner rose and circled him.

  He stiffened, waiting for the sting of a needle or the slice of a knife. Cool, dry hands gripped his shoulders with surprising strength and pulled back.

  “You make yourself small. Do not cower like a dog. Stand straight. Your lack of confidence betrays you.”

  He drew himself up and found he stood several inches taller. Had he always hunched over? His muscles felt strange, unused to this new position. Hands clenched, he resisted a glance back at Jenner, who’d fallen silent.

  The lieutenant came to his front. “I am certain you have been told this, but you did not listen. If you wish to survive, you will listen now. Trust no one, angel. No one. Not your dear doctor or the other fighters. Not yourself. You have made yourself blind, and you must open your eyes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. The sooner you do, the better off you will be.” A shadow of disgust darkened Jenner’s face, and he produced a cellphone. “Apollo will escort you to your room.” He dialed, waited. “Come down.” Disconnecting, he replaced the device, and his lips compressed.

  He hardly dared to breathe. “Is that it?” he whispered.

  “I can still hurt you, if you wish.” The smirk returned, coldly amused. “On some levels you welcome pain—another part of yourself that you deny. You would do well to embrace it. Particularly in the ring.”

  “No. You’re wrong about that.”

  “Believe what you want, angel. You will regardless.”

  The dungeon door opened. Apollo must have been waiting nearby. He glanced at him and caught the flash of cruel desire in his eyes.

  “Apollo.” Jenner spoke sharply, as though correcting a dog. “Escort him to his room and nothing more. You will not touch him.”

  He couldn’t have been more shocked if the lieutenant had broken out in song.

  Apollo murmured something unintelligible. Jenner stepped forward, fury flowing from him in almost tangible waves. “I did not quite hear you,” he said, his voice low and excessively smooth. “I am certain you meant to agree. Correct?”

  “Right. I mean...yes, Mr. Jenner. I won’t.”
Apollo’s expression said he’d been on the receiving end of Jenner’s wrath and wouldn’t risk it again.

  “Do not merely remember my words, angel. Take action. Use your head, and not your heart.” Jenner didn’t look at him. His gaze became distant and vaguely troubled.

  “Uh...okay.” Though “thank you” danced on his tongue, he didn’t release the words. Jenner probably wouldn’t appreciate them. He followed Apollo out, and realized he still held himself erect—for perhaps the first time in his life.

  Chapter 19

  Every arena possessed its own flavor, a separate personality to match its host. Slade’s glorified nightclub dripped with sensuality and dangerous thrill. Gloom, decay, and an undercurrent of treachery permeated the stifling atmosphere of Diego Mendez’s warehouse.

  In Dell Ramone’s modified aircraft hangar, decadence and raw sex prevailed.

  Men and women of every variety stood packed in shoulder to shoulder. Desire and lust romped through the throngs, living beasts. Couples screwed openly in shadowed corners, and a few of the sequestered sex parties included three or four members.

  Even the furnishings reflected frivolity and wealth. Royal purple and gold satin draped tables surrounded with plush chairs and benches, their centerpieces clusters of bottles containing expensive wines and white powders. All four walls boasted vast, richly detailed murals of forests through which playful mythical creatures romped. A centaur, nobly bemused and at rest on a slab of rock. A satyr grinning and brushing the long tresses of a slender, laughing wood nymph. Plump, naked cherubs frolicking among the tops of trees.

  A fitting tribute to House Dionysus.

  He followed Apollo to Slade’s table, clad in a long black hooded robe belted at the waist with nothing beneath. He’d been permitted soft shoes—slippers, really—but he’d have to take them off before he entered the ring.

  They passed Dell herself seated at one of the tables, a queen surrounded by delectable, fawning courtiers of both sexes. One hand held a champagne glass with easy elegance, and the other rested lightly on the muscled thigh of a young man who knelt next to her. Stoic Ania, her features firm and impassive, stood to her right and surveyed the scene with hawk-like eyes.

  Dell spotted them and raised her free hand to wave them over. Obedient, Apollo wove his way to her, and he had no choice but to follow. The attractive transvestite cleared the space nearest her with an impatient brushing gesture, sending her acolytes scurrying to make room.

  “Apollo, darlin’.” She extended her hand to him, and he grasped it lightly, almost affectionately. “Who’s your ghost there?”

  “’S Angel, Miss Dell.”

  “Well!” Dell set the glass on the table with a muted clink and brought her hands together. “Impressive fight last time out, Angel-baby. Any enemy of Mendez’s is a friend of mine. Why don’t you take off that hood so Dell can look on your lovely face?”

  Apollo cleared his throat and sent him a nasty glare. From the depths of his hood, he said, “I would, ma’am, but just now it’s not so lovely. In fact, it’s still rather lumpy.”

  “That just adds flavor, sugar. Come on, let’s see you.”

  Before he could comply with her demand, Apollo jerked the hood down with a snort. “Do what the lady says.”

  Dell loosed a purring squeal. “Honey, you are a piece of work. I could just look at you all day.” Her arm snaked out, and fingers trailed down his chest in a familiar manner. “Sure you’re not for rent, Angel-baby?”

  “I’m sure, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “Call me Dell.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh! Such a bad boy.” Her laughter trilled like bubbling water. Turning her hundred-watt smile on Apollo, she said, “Better take this baby back to his papa before he gets in serious trouble.” Clear brown eyes came to rest on him, and as Apollo replaced the hood she said, “I’ll be cheering for you, Angel-baby. Don’t let me down, now. Hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bowed, and her delighted laughter followed him through the crowd.

  They neared Slade’s table. The crowd thinned the closer they came. The massive shape of Apollo blocked his view, but soon they reached cleared floor. Apollo moved aside and revealed the reason for the lack of spectators there.

  Jenner occupied the seat to Slade’s right, resplendent in shimmering gray silk the exact shade of his steely hair. His easy posture and mild expression suggested nothing of his nature, but the lack of crowd here spoke to his reputation. They certainly weren’t avoiding Slade.

  He stopped in mid-step. Apollo seized his arm, dragged him to the table and thrust him into an empty chair with a growl.

  Jenner leaned forward. “Surprised, angel?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” A mirthless smile split his lips. “You understand that I could not miss this performance.”

  “Of course not. You have to drink in every minute of my humiliation, don’t you?”

  “Watch your tongue, Angel.” Slade’s sharp retort fueled the rage swelling inside him.

  “Leave the boy alone, Marcus,” Jenner said, stunning him into silence. His storm-cloud eyes skewered Slade, who withered slightly under the scrutiny, then he turned to him. “Actually, I came to determine whether you have learned to listen. Your humiliation is merely a bonus.”

  “Yeah, great.” He met the lieutenant’s stare with what he hoped resembled confidence. “I haven’t just remembered. I’m ready.”

  Jenner nodded. “Perhaps you are. We shall soon see.”

  Slade rose suddenly and motioned for him to do the same. He circled the table and in a sullen voice said, “Come on. I want you in the pen, now.” His eyes darted to Jenner, as though he expected his lieutenant to stop him. But Jenner barely glanced at the pair of them.

  Slade led him across the arena. Dell’s pen resembled a miniature version of Slade’s back room lounge. The cordoned-off clusters of couches and arm chairs, heaped with satin-covered pillows, made an odd contrast to the empty space around it, as though some massive invisible hand had scooped up a roomful of furniture and jumbled it in a pile on the floor of a stadium.

  Only two fighters occupied the area. One he didn’t recognize, but the other was Pandora’s Akuma. The devil himself.

  Akuma crossed the small space and met him at the entrance. After Slade walked away without a word, the blond Asian said, “At last, the world will witness the ultimate battle between good and evil. Tonight, Angel, we meet in the arena.”

  “No,” he gasped before he could stop himself. “Jesus. I’m sorry. It’s just... I have to fight you? Tonight?”

  “Yes.” Concern furrowed Akuma’s brow. “You do not wish to fight me?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Okay. That’s great.” Change the subject, moron. “How did you know who I was?”

  Akuma laughed. “I have studied the way you move, my friend. Everyone has a distinctive gait, a special rhythm all their own. Come, and let us commiserate before the games begin.”

  He followed miserably. He’d expected humiliation tonight, but facing Akuma naked would insult both of them. This little stunt would cost him any respect he might have earned.

  Akuma took a seat on one of the couches, and he lowered himself slowly next to him. The other fighter frowned. “Are you uncomfortable speaking with me?”

  “No,” he replied too quickly. “No, I’m just a little tired.” The obvious concern from his soon-to-be opponent only served to further his shame. Maybe he could tell him. Confess everything—his capture, Lillith, the real reason he was being forced into this degradation. Maybe...

  Confession, however, was not an option. Trust no one.

  “Something troubles you,” Akuma insisted. “I have seen you fight before, and each time you met your opponent with courage and honor. Today you are diminished. What has happened to cause you such pain?”

  He couldn’t look at him. “Please don’t ask.”

  “Very well.” Akuma fell silent for a few moments, and then ventured,
“I saw you speaking with Jenner when you arrived.”

  At the name, his head whipped around. His mouth went dry, and his heart pounded hard against his ribcage. “You...know him?”

  “I do.” Akuma’s voice dropped. “He is...it is difficult to explain. I work with him, but not for the organization.” The fighter paused, then whispered, “What have they done to you?”

  He coughed, a poor attempt to disguise a raw sob of relief. “I—” He choked. After a shuddering breath, he tried again. “I can’t. I can’t tell you.”

  “What do you stand to lose?”

  On the verge of breaking, he admitted, “My sister.”

  Akuma stared into the crowd. “Jenner gave you that tattoo, did he not?”

  A nod.

  “All at once?”

  His silence spoke for him.

  Akuma sighed. “My name—my real name—is Shiro Kuroda,” he said. “What is yours?”

  “Angel.”

  “Come now. That is not your name.” Akuma faced him with a worried frown. “I am aware Jenner’s actions are not always...kind. But I can assure you that he will forgive you for confiding in me.”

  He offered a mocking snort.

  “Please.” Akuma placed a hand on his shoulder, and he tried not to flinch. “Trust me.”

  He stared out from beneath his hood, rigid and desolate. A sharp increase in volume from the crowd indicated the announcer had stepped into the center square. Time had run out.

  Though he suspected he’d regret this, he answered the fighter with a barely audible whisper.

  “I am sorry,” Akuma said. “I could not hear you.”

  He turned toward Akuma and spoke in a stronger voice.

  “Gabriel. My name. It’s Gabriel Morgan.”

  Chapter 20

  Time to go.

  Akuma stood beyond him, already in the ring. The announcer had called his name. Gabriel’s legs moved him toward the spotlight, even as his mind protested. He couldn’t do this. He would not do this.

  He must do this.

  He slipped the shoes off and walked down the cordoned aisle toward the ring. The passage seemed miles long. He felt eyes on him, hundreds of derisive stares, as if the crowd already knew what he would do. He reached the stairs, stopped.