12: Bolt Saga, Book 12 Page 9

  Emma, lying there in such misery, helplessness, and God only knows what kind of physical fragility now.

  Because of me.

  Oh, holy fuck, how this hurts.

  “You want me, Faline.”

  I steel my jaw, closing off all sounds but one. The searing beats of my heart, echoing through my chest, my mind, my will. The will that’s still holding—and now is clearly starting to bother her. She wants the secret about the signal-blocking miracle we pulled off, but that’s not going to be enough to sway her to this deal. The only thing that changes a bully’s mind is to punch right back, and I’m prepared to do exactly that—with a blow beneath the belt if I have to.

  The woman twists her dark-red lips, clearly getting at least that message from my widened stance and hardened glare. But to make this shit crystal clear, I state once more, “You want me.” And then through gritted teeth, “So let’s talk about the terms under which you’ll get me.”

  As Faline contemplates that, I refocus on my heartbeat again. In every thud, I imagine the vibrant thumps of Emma’s too. I can hear her breathing. Envision her living. Know she’s alive and filling the world with her light and her love.

  And in so many ways, continuing to infuse mine with the same.

  It’s the only way, Velvet.

  Forgive me…forgive me.

  This is the only way…

  The ink goes darker in Faline’s tight gaze. “And what terms would those be, cariño?”

  I loosen the fists at my sides but reset the clench of my jaw. The moves share the same purpose. If need be, I’m ready to prove how serious I am. “Let them go. Emmalina, Angelique, and Wade. Set them free, and you get me.”

  She quirks her lips again—this time to set up her derisive laugh. Just fine by me. I’m setting up my shot too. If it comes down to that.

  “Now why would I do a thing like that, darling?” She crosses her arms, forearm atop forearm, like a lioness reveling over prey. “A queen doesn’t just give back the spoils of war, especially when the treasures are an insurance policy to ensure her consort’s good behavior.”

  I notch my jaw up by another degree. “Guess it depends on what you value most about the consort.”

  And because I already know the answer to that—and before she can see that I do—I strike. Swiftly. Ruthlessly. Accurately.

  Directly to my crotch.

  With a bolt so swift and strict, her appalled shriek doesn’t detonate until my leathers are smoking and a gash of my charred skin shows through them.

  The shock impacts the bitch better than I’d hoped, compacting her focus and fizzling her electric web off the air. Foley, who’s never ripped his brain cells off the same track as mine, already knows exactly what to do with his three seconds of freedom—and before Faline’s goons can react, he’s at Emma’s side, examining the shackles just in case they can be hacked. I indulge a split second of gratitude that it’s Foley at her side right now, knowing he’s looking at my woman and seeing only a hostage in pain, needing to be freed, and not the glorious naked curves of the woman I love. If that weren’t the case, appreciation or not, I may have to consider lopping his dick off, right after mine.

  But first things first.

  Without ripping my glare from Faline, I take advantage of her distraction from all the goons too. They’re all just a step into pouncing toward Foley before I shoot up my free hand, pulsing them across the room until they slam against the far wall like a pile of human banana peels. By the time all that figurative dust settles, some tables have definitely been flipped—but more importantly, some doors have been opened. Several of my key suspicions are confirmed. They’re sure as fuck not comfortable to confront but are the gory truth all the same.

  Which may or may not be great news for the appendage to which I’ve drawn the bitch’s terrified focus.

  “Next time, I won’t go for the top of my thigh.” I drill my glare into her while gritting out every word. “And I guarantee I’ll start with my balls, darling.”

  Her jaw falls open. She snaps it shut with an audible clash of teeth, only to part her lips again on a vicious seethe. “You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing.”

  I direct a new tine in, slicing so close to that sensitive sack that my thighs flinch from raw reflex. “Screw with Emma again, in any way, and both of them are gone.” It’s fate’s sick joke that I can’t enjoy every second of her dawning dread, but none of my fantasies included a potential castration as part of the plan. “You’ll stand and watch as your consort becomes your eunuch.”

  “No!” She unleashes it on a fully bared snarl before trying to come at me again, fingers flicking wildly, only to learn I can toss her onto her ass with half the effort I used on her banana men—with twice the satisfied smirk. Seems the woman’s “superpower”—or whatever the hell she’s using to create her electronic web—has a limited battery life. Interesting. Very interesting…

  “Oh, yes.” I extend each word longer than I have to. If anything about this standoff is going to be enjoyable, then damn it, I’ll seize the moment now. “I’ll spill every drop of what you’re after the most here, Faline. And don’t think I don’t know exactly what it is—exactly what you ordered me to do when you woke me up the first time.”

  And just like that, the moment of fun is over. I pace forward as it’s replaced by memories, my mind blasted with horror from those moments I was certain I couldn’t hold myself back, and I was about to literally fuck Emma to death. Again.

  “You wanted to start hardwiring me to be a sperm machine for you. For the fucking Consortium.”

  I’m stunned the statement doesn’t stun me more, even when its matter-of-fact inflection collides with the astonishment across Faline’s. But as she finishes rising, I’m certain she’s more flustered by her sudden power drain than my accusation, which is fine by me. It all feeds more into my mounting ultimatum—and my only goal.

  Getting Emmalina the hell out of here.

  “You need my DNA because there’s nothing else like it. Nothing you’ve been able to find in three hundred and twenty-two other alphas, at least.” Bull’s-eye. I’ve hit the sweet red dot at the middle of the circle, verified by the blaze that takes over the centers of her eyes before she stretches back to full lioness pose. “That’s why the Consortium’s burned through so many, isn’t it?” I charge. “You’re all looking to repeat what you did with me”—what you did to me—“and you haven’t been able to, even with all the same protocols in place.”

  By the time I finish, I’m literally winging it—though the wind beneath my mental feathers is everything I’m getting from Faline as I go on and on. No. What I’m not getting—which would usually be her scoffing chuckle, disparaging smirk, or both.

  Meaning I haven’t just hit the bull’s-eye.

  I’ve conquered the whole goddamned target.

  What that doesn’t mean is that I can cue up the Bee Gees and kick into my white-suited victory strut. Faline has backup procedures in place—evidenced by the ten fresh guards who storm in, four of whom are on drag-in-the-prisoners duty. As soon as they’re ten paces in, Emma erupts in another high-pitched keen, shattering my heart beyond the cracks it’s gotten from viewing the damage to Wade and Angie. While their little “vacation” at the Spa de Consortium hasn’t included all the “amenities” of Emma’s, it’s clear they’ve still been “pampered” with some of the minions’ finest treatments. Wade’s shirtless torso is a roadmap of blue and purple bruises, while Angelique’s naked skull has lost all its vibrance, matching the blank of her gaze.

  The henchmen jerk both of them to the front of the pack, clearly causing them each more agony—until Faline jerks up a hand and spits an order in Spanish. At once, they let Wade and Angie fall to the floor, and they crumple next to each other with terrible groans. The only sound that knives worse than their torment is the slice of Emma’s new cry, more grieving than before. I’m no longer able to prevent the tortured coils of my fists, but it’s the only way to hold back on ru
nning to her and giving away the advantage I’ve won.

  The edge that’s going to get her out of here.

  “Let them go!” I lunge toward Faline while exploding with it. Big mistake. I’m rushed by the majority of the fresh guards, while two stay behind to wrench Wade and Angie back to their feet. A third covers Foley, who grimaces as Emma screams and writhes under a fresh blast of pain courtesy of our hostess from hell. “Let them go, damn you, or I will chop this fucker loose like Ahab chopping fishing line!”

  As everyone in the room stops, a scream shatters the air. At first, I wonder if it’s mine and I really have gone ahead and sliced my cock free. After just another second, I realize it’s because Emma isn’t having to issue it from around her gag anymore. Somehow, Wade’s stumbled over as Foley helps her sit up. Her shackles have been sprung open. Physically, she’s free.

  And…I’m down.

  Weak in the knees—literally—from the kaboom of relief. My walls burned down by a thousand flaming arrows of gratitude.

  Knowing this is the beginning of my end and completely not caring.

  All that matters is her.

  All that’s still real now is her.

  “So…” Faline’s drawl still isn’t back to its purring edge, but she’s much closer now than two minutes ago. Like tapping on a two-bladed dagger, she knows her little “gift” has tipped the balance on all of this back to center, though she’s not about to let it rock any further. I can feel the energy humming from her again, and I watch her strange web take fresh form on the air. Even if Wade, Angelique, and Emma were in prime condition to race out of here with Foley, she—and the countless minions she’s likely still got patrolling around in parts unknown of the mansion—will be rendering that retreat close to impossible. I know it—and she sure as hell knows it. “Exactly what kind of an exchange are you proposing, cariño?”

  “Reece!” The shriek, beautiful even in its anguish, tears up the air before I can get half a breath up my throat. “Noooooo!” But the sobs that buttress it hardly seem of this world, gashing at my senses until I’m nothing but dark resignation and visceral grief.

  Maybe that’s the best way.

  Because this is the only way.

  I need to know they’ll get out of here safely.

  I need to know she’ll be safe.

  So I lift my head and accept those shadows again. Stare down the witch who’ll bring the entity who isn’t me again. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it’ll be easier this way, thinking of Reece Andrew Richards as another entity altogether…that creature being led back to his cage after daring to think he could live peacefully in the wild for a while. Presuming he had the right to grasp something like freedom. Stupid beast. Free rein isn’t for an animal like you. It never will be again. Get used to it right now.

  “You know damn well what I’m proposing, Faline.” I suck in a harsh breath. Then another, feeling just as much broken glass crammed down my throat. “Me for them.” I gore her with my glare and every bolt of command I can summon into it. “As long as they get out of here safely, I’ll remand myself to you again.”

  The bitch takes a careful step closer. Eyes me with even deeper deliberation. “Just like that?” she charges.

  I tick a tight nod. “Just like that.”

  Her lips do a weird little dance. She looks ready to laugh at me or spit on me but instead rocks her head back with more intense scrutiny. “You love her that much?”

  I square my shoulders. Firm my jaw. “I love her that much.”

  My declaration seems to flip a switch inside her. She’s no longer quiet and contemplative but sure and decisive, bringing on the words that are the gut punch I’ve prayed for—but a punch nonetheless.

  “Then we have a deal, darling.”

  And here come’s fate’s newest practical joke. Because suddenly, even though I’ve just entered the world’s shittiest prison again, I’m flying completely free. Into miles of cyan summer skies in a goddess’s gorgeous eyes—only they’re sparkling with a thousand liquid stars too. In the expanse above them, there are deep hills of sorrow. In the lips below them, a twist of despair reigns.

  But I can’t think about the despair.

  I need to pour my mind and heart into soaking up Emmalina’s love. Into savoring my last seconds of freedom. Into reveling in the warmth and light of her kiss, no matter how violently she lunges at me, wrapping herself around me, desperately repeating one word against me. “No. No. No. No!”

  I fold her against me, gashing a glare at Faline to dare her to stop me, and then bend myself around and over, trying to press as much of her scent and softness and love directly into me. Every fucking second. Every damn moment. Every breath and sob and sigh and memory I can possibly soak up, taking her inside as deeply as I can.

  “You can’t, you big ox. You won’t. You can’t. You won’t!”

  At least it’s not no—though I refrain from wasting time on the sarcasm. Humor isn’t going to make this easier. Fuck; nothing’s going to make this easier.

  “Baby,” I finally utter, brushing my lips through the silk of her hair. “I have to.”

  “No. No.” Her face is a shimmer of solid tears. Her voice is a crack of heartbroken grief. I don’t soothe any of it away, pretty damn certain mine is exactly the same. “No, no, no, no!”

  I consume her cheeks with my palms, yanking her face up for another press of my lips. “I love you.”

  “I hate you.” She wraps herself around me with shuddering force. Beats her fists against my back, right then left then right then left, a relentless mortar fire of misery. “I hate you, Reece Richards, and I don’t forgive you for this!”

  I gulp hard as my torso continues to be a war zone and my heart ignites with unending adoration.

  This. Here. Now. Her pure fire. Her searing spirit. The stark beauty of so much love, she’s brave enough to hate me with it as well. Strong enough to sob out her fury against my chest, baring the center of her soul as boldly as her pale, shaking body. Naked in every form…exposed until she’s fully stripped me. Fuck. Fuck. How have I come to deserve her? Why does the world call me its hero when it’s so damn clear from where my true strength surges…from whom it surges?

  This. Here. Now.

  She overwhelms me. Overcomes me. Tears me apart. Caves me in. She’s my star, my sun, my moon, my sky. The lightning of my existence. The more of my world.

  The more she’ll always give me, no matter what lies ahead. No matter how much pain I’ll endure, experiments I’ll survive, or solitude I’ll bear. Because of her, I’ll never really be alone anymore.

  She needs to know that. I need to tell her. I need to show her. And I try, so damn desperately, pulling her close and tight until our lips are meshed again. And she sighs into my mouth. And I groan into hers. And I take her. And taste her. And breathe her in, colliding our tongues in need and our lips in love, until an impatient boot stamp breaks the air, forcing us apart. Faline is quickly becoming an unhappy camper. Like I fucking care. But I have to care.

  I keep Emma clasped close for several more long seconds, one hand at her chin and the other at her nape, cherishing the last tangible tangle of our breaths. Into that precious space, I order her in a rasp, “Don’t you dare forgive me, woman. Not ever.”

  She grabs the back of my head. Impales me with the aqua iridescence of her gaze, replete with all the meaning of what I’ve just said. Of what I’ve just pleaded, in the form of that fervent command. “Never,” she whispers. “For as long as I live.”

  “Good.” I gulp hard, so fucking hard, but the effort is useless. Tears burn the corners of my eyes, caught by her fingertips as she drags her hands around to my jaw. The second she curls her nails in, I swear there are pin-sized jolts of bright-blue light, but I reject the impression as a residual effect of her flared gaze. “Good,” I repeat, focusing fully on her again—and the soul I fight to see past the thick sheen coating her eyes. “Because I’ll never stop not forgiving you, either.”

>   She drops her head in a small nod, trying to use the motion to pull away. The words, standing proxy for the three others we’ve said so many times to each other but don’t dare say now, are the closest thing we’re going to get to an easy goodbye.

  Which becomes pure hell anyway.

  As soon as four of Faline’s goons surround me and jerk me away.

  As soon as four more march around and pull Emma back too.

  As soon as I’m put into new shackles and led past another steel door.

  Which Faline shuts behind us, completely slicing Emma’s sobs from the air.

  Leaving only the terrified thuds of my heartbeat mingled with the low hum from the bitch’s lips.

  “Oh, now we are going to have some fun, cariño.”

  I reply, without a single octave above a murmur, “Fuck you.”

  I brace myself for the crack of her hand across my face or worse, but I’m not sure what to do with her extended chuckle. Not until she embellishes it with a matching murmur—full of sultry intent. “Now that is the spirit, Alpha Two.” She does raise a palm now, but it’s to stroke my cheek with a caress that brings a flood of bile up my throat. As she digs her nails into my hairline, she uses her other hand to motion at the henchmen who are still securing me. “Strip him,” she states. “And then secure him to the special table.”

  Chapter Five

  Emma

  “Come on, baby girl. Just one more step.”

  My sister’s careful voice snaps me back to reality for an awful moment. My senses sharpen, reminding me that only a few minutes and not years have passed since Sawyer parked the Rover and Lydia rushed out of the house to retrieve me.

  What’s the difference?

  Minutes, years. They’re the same now. My existence is porridge, sludge without color or distinction.

  Without him.

  “Reece.”

  I huddle in on myself as my whisper spills out, clinging to that remnant of him as long as time will let me. At the same moment, I look up to one of the mullioned windows that frame our front archway. Embedded throughout the glass are splotches of brilliant color: petals from the bouquet of yellow and orange bush poppies he’d plucked for me on the first incredible night we came up here, after he’d slipped an eye-popping tanzanite ring on my finger and uttered the words that had officially made me the happiest woman on the planet.