Faithless Page 10

  Then I freeze. An aroma of death and darkness barrels through the air almost hitting me with the force of a truck.

  Someone is outside, hiding in the shadows.

  Above the smell of him—because it is a him—the scent of violets thickens, and I want to gag.

  I slide to the side by the door, gun in hand and harshly whisper to the man sat in blood on the floor, “If he’s with you, tell him to come in unarmed with his hands raised.”

  He looks from me to the doorway and I know he sees whoever is outside.

  “Luke,” he calls out. “I’ve got this under control. Stay where you are.”

  I point the weapon at him and snarl, “That’s not what I told you.”

  The hidden man’s scent thickens, and it’s all I can do not to double over and vomit.

  “You won’t win against me, little girl,” a cultured voice from outside the doorway calls. “My friend might be willing to sit in a puddle of blood and shit to appease you, but mark my words, I will take you down.”

  “Your friend will get a bullet in the head,” I yell in warning, my arms outstretched, my aim solely on the man before me even though the weight of the gun in my hands is making them shake. “I’m a good shot,” I continue, unsure if I’m convincing them or me. “I won’t miss.”

  “Luke,” the man on the floor shouts. “Just drop your weapon and come in. She’s not going to hurt you. Are you, Lily?”

  My lungs restrict. “How the hell do you know my name?”

  “Because we’re here to help you.” His bloody palms are still facing me like two bright red warning symbols—Danger. Do Not Enter. Run.

  And it’s right then that the one who smells like death and violets walks into the room, hands raised, steps measured, eyes black and all-seeing. He looks first at his comrade, then at the slaughtered pig on the floor, then finally those penetrating eyes land on me. His stare is consuming—like looking up at the clear night sky, seeing the twinkling stars above and feeling insignificant. Or like staring into the mouth of a pitch-black cave. The darkness within beckons you, seducing you inside with promise of untold treasure, only for the monster that lurks in the gloom to pounce. Its jaw wide open ready to eat you alive.

  The man with death surrounding him assesses me, hands twitching, but I’m ready for it. I knew before he stepped in here he wasn’t going to do so unarmed.

  Bang.

  A single shot.

  A warning.

  It grazes the skin on his cheek before embedding itself into the wall at his back.

  “You missed, Pet,” he purrs, lifting a hand to touch the blood that blooms across his perfectly sculpted cheekbone. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun fucking with you.”

  I didn’t miss.

  Bang.

  This time I carve a slice of fabric out of the arm of his black shirt, right along his bicep. Another graze to his skin.

  He sneers, his hands seconds from drawing his weapon to return the favour.

  “I didn’t miss,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “If I’d wanted to hit you I would’ve.”

  His eyes flare, and his jaw clenches, and when I flick my eyes briefly to his friend still sitting on the floor against the wall, I see something like pride in his gaze. He likes that I bested his friend and it bolsters me.

  I’m getting out of here, fuckers.

  I offer the man of death a feral smile, and with one hand on my gun, I lift the other and salute him with my middle finger.

  “Tell me again exactly how you’re gonna fuck with me.”

  Thirteen

  Luke

  * * *

  The bitch shot me. Twice.

  The scratches on my cheek and arm burn but far less than my indignation. My hands ache with the need to destroy, but I don’t. I refrain, not because I’m a good man, but because someone else here is, and I’m not done with him yet.

  This scrawny Craven whore is not worth risking all that is yet to come between James and me. I’ve had one taste and not nearly gotten my fill. Still, she is getting in the way and needs to be dealt with before my monster bursts out of his cage and bays for her blood.

  Standing before me, dark hair lank and greasy, pale body barely skin and bones, and wearing a scrap of dirty fabric that looks like it was used to clean up a crime scene, Lily Craven looks like any other cattle. The only difference being, by the time most others are this well used, the fire in their bellies is doused. But not the Craven whore’s. She stands proudly with her ‘fuck you’ finger in the air, James’ stolen gun in her other hand, daring me to attack.

  As I observe Faye’s long-lost sister, a part of me likes what it sees. She hasn’t lost her spirit, and underneath the grime and the blood, despite her malnutrition, I can admit she’s an attractive woman. She’s nothing like her sister. Well, that’s a lie. I can see Faye in the shape of her eyes and jaw, but where they are most identical is they’ve both been underestimated and thought of as weak victims. I’ve done so with both siblings, and it seems as though Lily’s captors and James’ Russian floor companion were also guilty of the same flaw.

  “Lily Craven,” I begin as if I’m reading facts off a database. “Daughter of the deceased Ilona and Alec. Abducted by an underworld trafficking ring when dearest Daddy died.”

  Her eyes widen slightly, but she remains silent and doesn’t shoot me again, so I continue. “Alec Craven was lord of another underworld organisation called The Red Order. But you didn’t know that about him, did you?”

  She gives nothing away. Her face neutral.

  “Ah, you’ve since found out more about father dearest. That’s interesting.” I smile. “Did you know what Daddy did to girls like you?”

  She blinks but remains mute.

  She knows, but it’s still raw.

  “I definitely know something you don’t know, but first you need to lower the gun.”

  “Make me,” she spits.

  Stupid bitch.

  “We’re here to help you, Lily,” James interrupts and her attention flits from him to me and back again, never settling for long, keeping all bases covered. “Let us get you out of here before anyone else comes.” He nudges the dead body at his side with his foot, and the fat man’s cock and balls slide off his chest and plop down into the puddle of blood that surrounds them both. “I don’t think your former owners will like what you’ve done to their friend,” he warns lightly.

  “Fuck them, and you,” she sneers, her arm holding the gun beginning to shake uncontrollably.

  Lily’s reality is setting in, and the artificial strength that’s gotten her this far, gained from the rush of killing her abuser, is leeching from her skin. She’s seconds from collapse. She knows it, and so do we.

  “Listen to him or listen to me,” I caution, and her eyes flash from James’ to mine. “That man,” I tilt my head towards James. “Won’t hurt you. He only wants to help you.”

  “And you?” she challenges weakly, her voice beginning to falter, her arm dropping a fraction more with fatigue.

  “Me?” I smile. It’s my hunter’s smile. “Oh, I will make sure you come with us, but unlike James, I couldn’t give a shit if I have to hurt you to do it. So, you can come quietly or…” I let my words trail off. Her gun hand is so droopy that I could pull the PPK from the back of my waistband and kneecap her before she corrected herself enough to take aim at me.

  She may be a great shot, but her strength and her willpower are waning.

  “Then say what else you were going to say.”

  “Oh, no, Pet. It doesn’t work like that.”

  Her blinks start getting closer together.

  “Tell me what else you know about me, and I’ll go with him. With the ocean man.”

  Ocean man? James? The girl is mad or delirious from captivity.

  “Put down the gun, walk over to me, and I’ll tell you.”

  “No. You can tell me here, with the gun in my hand.”

  I tut. “Oh, no, little girl. This isn
’t a negotiation. Follow my orders, and I’ll tell you about your family. Both those who are dead… and the one that’s alive.”

  Her brow furrows, her mouth opens, and her head looks like it’s gotten too heavy for her neck, but before any words fall from her lips, she drops like a ragdoll to the floor.

  “Lily,” James shouts.

  “She’s out cold,” I offer helpfully.

  “Shit,” he mutters before launching up from the floor and skidding through the blood to reach her. He checks her pulse before turning to me. “We need to get her out of here.”

  “She’s all yours,” I indicate with a swing of my arm before I make my way over to the Russian and check his pockets.

  I find a phone, a baggy of white powder, and a fat roll of US dollars but no identification. I pat him down further and come up emptyhanded.

  “He’s clean,” I say before dropping the wad of cash on his chest and watching as it rolls over his flabby side to nestle up against his severed cock and balls. It seems fitting. He’s paid more than a penny for his ride with the Ferryman. I’m sure Lucifer will be pleased.

  When I turn, I find Lily cradled in James’ arms like a baby. She’s still out cold, and he’s looking down at her face with a tenderness that forces a spike through my chest.

  “I hope she’s not heavy,” I jeer as I walk towards the doorway, turning my back on them both. “It’s a long walk back to the car.

  * * *

  James doesn’t complain once and keeps pace with me on our trek back. We reach our vehicle less than thirty minutes later, and he carefully deposits his cargo across the back seats while I let Cole know via a secure message link that the place we’d been to was deserted.

  Lily is a secret I’m not ready to share.

  “She needs medical assistance,” James says quietly as he climbs into the passenger side. “Her pulse is weak and erratic, she’d dehydrated, and her skin is clammy.”

  “There’s medical equipment back at the house. You can play nurse.”

  He turns and glares at me. “She needs medical help. I’m not a doctor or a nurse.”

  “So?” I ask unworriedly. “She’s survived this long.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Luke. At the very least she needs an I.V. to get some fluids into her fast, that’s without any other injuries, possible internal, she might have. So, unless you’re adept at finding a vein—”

  “I am,” I interrupt his quiet rant. “I’ll hook her up to some saline when we get back.”

  He stares at me in wonder, and I smirk.

  “What? Didn’t know I’m more than just this pretty face?”

  He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again and quietly says, “Thank you.”

  His gratitude is like a claw across my gut. My monster whines and snarls, disliking the new emotions that this man evokes at the most random of times. Needing to shut this down and show him who I am, I reply, “No need. It’s surprising the things you learn when you’re trying to prolong someone’s life long enough to fuck with them a little longer.”

  My words have the desired effect and shutters come down over his appreciative gaze.

  “You need to tell Cole,” he cautions. “You can’t hide her in your pocket like an ace card forever.”

  “You need to keep your nose in your own affairs. What I do with the Craven whore is not of your concern.”

  His gaze hardens, and he transforms into the man I first met before my very eyes. Cold, professional, aloof, and my cock likes it. My monster knows how to win in this fight. It recognises the rules of this game.

  “I’m not one of your playthings in your basement,” he warns, his voice low and gritty, and the beast in my chest licks its lips. “But I think you know that.” His gaze turns flinty before he adds, “You’ve cautioned me that I’m not ready for all that’s coming. Well, let me tell you, I was born a Renshaw. The same blood flows through my veins as in Grim’s. You’d be wise to remember that when asserting your control. I’ll only allow it if it’s what I desire. But don’t ever underestimate me or what I’m capable of because you’ll only get to make that mistake once.”

  “Is that a threat?” I mock.

  “No,” he retorts flatly. “It’s a promise.”

  * * *

  “She’s sedated,” I say as I enter the dated kitchen of the farmhouse to find James typing away on a tablet. “I added some meds and antibiotics to her drip. It should keep her under until morning at least.”

  He looks up at me from the device in his hands. “Good, she could use the rest.” Then he dismisses me to return to his task, muttering, “I made coffee. It’s on the counter but has probably gone cold.”

  I walk over to the pot and pour the tar-like liquid into a mug.

  “I’ve spoken to Cole,” he throws out as I take my first sip and the tepid liquid chokes me as it goes down my gullet. “He’ll be here by mid-morning tomorrow.”

  Icy fire fills my veins. He’s gone behind my back to my brother of all people.

  When I spin around to face him, my fury must burn brightly on my face because he holds his hands up in the universal sign for ‘calm down’ before saying, “He contacted me when he couldn’t get an answer from you. He relayed the plans for their return, nothing more. I’m not the enemy here, Luke. I’m not out to betray you.”

  He talks to me like one would a wounded animal that’s about to attack, and it triggers something in me. Something beyond the dark nothingness I’ve cherished and cultivated since I was a boy.

  “Get up,” I grit out through a tight jaw, not liking my inability to control the rush of emotions flooding my previously barren, cracked and desolate system.

  He blinks but doesn’t move.

  “I said,” I growl, taking a step closer to where he sits. “Get fucking up.”

  “Or?” His brown eyes harden and heat. A delicious mix of lust and anger rolling through his lean muscular frame.

  I take another step, needing one more to reach over and pick him up by the throat. “There is no or, James. I never offer the choice that an or would imply.”

  He smirks, it’s sly on his face, an invitation to wickedness. “Oh, that’s right, you take.”

  The time for words is over. My next step is hard and fast, so is my hand around his throat as I bring him to standing and pull him flush against my body.

  He doesn’t fight it, and as his hard cock presses up against mine for the first time, all my carefully practised control evaporates like steam.

  “Oh, yes, James. I fucking take.”

  Fourteen

  James

  * * *

  Teeth bite. Tongues lick. Lips suckle. Throats groan.

  I dreamed about the way Luke would kiss, and the way he would taste. Far too many empty nights I’d spent with my cock in hand trying to fuck the thought of him out of my head. I yearned for the battle of his mouth on mine—I craved it yet feared it. He was a sickness to me. A virus that consumed my good sense and pillaged my body.

  He kissed like he did everything else in life, with steely, animalistic control, bordering on the edge of violence.

  He ate at my mouth, and devoured the last vestiges of my restraint. He could do with me as he wished.

  And I would like it. No, I would love it.

  His hard length presses painfully against mine, and I shamelessly rub myself against it like an eager whore. That’s what he’s made me—I’m a whore for him.

  The tight hold he has on my jugular never eases, and his other hand roughly grabs at my arse to tug me into him even harder. As we crash together, I groan deep in my throat and he reacts by biting down hard. The soft flesh of my lip splits under his teeth, and warm blood mixes with his flavour adding that dark edge I’ve craved.

  I hiss when his tongue snakes out to lick at the cut and his chest rumbles with a restrained roar at the taste of my very essence. My dick throbs painfully, desperately needing out of the confines of my pants.

  “Have you ever been fucked by a
man, James?” Luke breaks away from my mouth to whisper darkly in my ear.

  I shake my head as much as the hand around my throat will allow, my hips still rolling against his, my cock screaming for more. “No, have you?” I ask hoarsely.

  “No,” he hisses, his hand tightening slightly at my neck, while the other snakes around my side to rub my cock through my trousers. His touch isn’t gentle like a woman’s, it’s hard and demanding. He’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants to me. “But I’ve broken in a few.”

  My dick jumps under his hand.

  “Do you like that, James?” His hand squeezes me harder. “Is your cock leaking with the need for me to stuff you full of my dick until you spilt in two? Will you become the before and after James? The before man who never knew the taste of my cock in his arse, and the after man who begs for me to wreck him, to breed him, to stain him with my cum?”

  “Fuck, yes,” I groan, past caring how desperate I sound. I want the pain and the pleasure he’s promising. I crave the wide stretch and the burn. I want to be fucked hard until nothing exists bar the need to come. I want him to use me.

  “Turn and face the fridge.” He pushes me back using my throat as leverage and steps away. My chest heaves, my legs shake, and I stare at him a beat too long, taking in his calm demeanour and his relaxed stance. If it wasn’t for the hard length I felt pressed against mine mere seconds ago, I could believe him unaffected.

  “Don’t ever make me ask you twice,” he warns, the flash of anticipation in his eyes contradicting his words. He’d love for me to disobey so he could force me into submission.

  In a weak attempt at depriving him that which he desires, I turn and face the old refrigerator. I think it was once white, but now it stands cream and ageing, the years coating it with grime, and dirt, and life.

  “Place your palms flat on the top door on either side of your head, then press your forehead into the empty space between.”