The metallic taste of blood touches my tongue. I ignore it as I scramble for desperate words. “You can’t kill me. Vlad needs me alive if Gabriel’s going to do what he wants.”
“Good thing there’s a long way to go between alive and dead. You’re about to find that out.”
I struggle against his grip again. It earns me another hard slap.
While I’m recovering from the blow, Bane jams a key into the door’s deadbolt.
Inside the garage is pitch-black and reeks of chemicals. Bleach and I’m not sure what else. Within the path of the early morning light that streams through the doorway, I see nothing but a big, open space and a chain that dangles from the ceiling.
And a small table with various tools laid out in a tidy row.
Almost surgical.
Bane drags me forward, toward them, his fingertips digging into my flesh and muscle.
My heels scrape across the dirt floor as I resist. “I’m sorry! I won’t try anything like this again, I swear! It was a mistake!”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before, once or twice.” Bane snorts, clasping a handcuff that was on the table over my wrist. “I promise, you won’t be trying that again after this.”
I let my legs buckle, hoping my deadweight will make things more difficult. But, despite my best efforts to resist, he has my wrists bound above my head in seconds, and attached to the overhead chain.
I tug against the bindings, only to confirm that it’s secure. “What are you going to do to me?” I can’t hide the fear in my voice as I eye the various blades, pliers, and other tools. How many people has he used those on?
“Seeing as I’ve gotta go fix your door, I thought I’d leave you in here for a while.” He yanks on the chain, pulling me up onto the balls of my feet. “Let you learn firsthand what a bad idea it is to get mixed up with an Easton.” Strolling toward the door, he flips a switch near the door. A light flickers on, casting a dim glow over the vacuous space. “See you in a few hours.” He slams the door shut behind him, leaving me dangling.
I allow myself a sigh of relief. As uncomfortable as I’m going to be soon, at least he’s not using those tools on me.
Yet.
Hidden beneath that strong chemical smell, I note something else. A mixture of scents—sickly sweet and pungent and foul. And yet there’s nothing much in here from what I can see.
Plenty of yellow fly tapes dangle throughout, speckled with black dots—the corpses of winged creatures. Otherwise, the garage is empty, save for a few oil drums and a tidy row of shovels and saws. I count six of each. How many shovels does one man living alone in the desert really need?
I guess it depends on how many bodies he buries out here.
I shudder at that thought.
“What’d you do to end up here?” A voice calls out, startling me.
I ease myself around on the balls of my feet in search of its owner, somewhere behind me.
When I see what occupies the back corner of the shed, my mouth drops open, but the scream is silent.
7
Gabriel
We left Phoenix only forty-eight hours ago, and yet as we stroll into the palatial foyer, the marble floor gleaming from a fresh mop, the house feels hollow, abandoned.
And the comfort I was feeling being within these walls lately—the ease of coming home to my bed and its occupant—no longer exists. I won’t ever feel it again, not until Mercy is with me.
“Meet your new sidekick.” Caleb makes a dramatic bow and gesture, as if introducing Moe to Michelle for the first time. “You eat, you sleep, you tinkle in the toilet…, he’ll be there. You need soap rubbed on your back while you shower, he’s your guy. Understood?”
Michelle, who stared out the passenger window the entire drive home without saying a word, nods furtively.
“You try to leave, signal for help, or try anything at all, Moe will tell us, and trust me, you don’t want us finding out that you’ve tried to fuck us. Again.” He punctuates that warning with a savage glare that doesn’t take too much effort on his part. He’s in a pissy mood after leaving Vegas without controlling ownership of the Mage—our whole reason for the trip in the first place. My father’s list of unsavory demands is just extra sauce on top of a shit sundae.
Michelle swallows, her eyes darting to the mute, stone-faced bodyguard who carries two bags despite the bullet wound he earned twenty-four hours ago. “I’m not going to try anything. I want to help find Mercy. Anything I can do. Anything at all.”
“That’s the spirit!” Caleb claps his hands together dramatically. “For now, make yourself scarce in my wing, where you’ll be sleeping. Pick a room. Any room but mine. Gabe and I have things to discuss.” He flutters his fingers in a farewell gesture and then heads for the bar, dismissing her. Farley and the rest of our security team fan out over the property.