Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (49 page)

Tess.

The love for her no longer had space anymore—it was swamped with lust for murder.

“Lynx told us to bring you in one piece. But he didn’t say you couldn’t have bruises.” The two men in front cracked their knuckles, inching closer. The cramped space of the cabin was a treasonous whore, giving them the upper hand.

There wasn’t much I could do. Hands bound. Honour bound. I would bide my time for vengeance.

The first punch came from behind, knocking me like a ping pong into the awaiting fists in front.

Cheekbone.

Spleen.

Ribcage.

Kneecap.

Fists kept swinging and I had no way to hide or reciprocate.

Grunts filled the cabin as they turned me from human to a piece of exercise equipment—pummelling from all angles.

Blackness stole my vision as a well-aimed fist struck my temple. I collapsed into a chair, breathing hard, tasting blood, hearing the yips and snarls of my inner demons.

Seven men to beat up one who was tied and defenceless.

Seven men who would have no intestines by the time dawn crested.

This was a playground scuffle.

The instant I touched down in Spain the real fun would begin.

*Two hours after capture*

“We’re here.”

The car swung into a private estate hidden down a driveway. The high hedges circling the perimeter acted as a natural fence. The property was nowhere near as big as the Mercer chateau, but it nevertheless housed fifteen rooms, numerous lounges, and at least three dungeons to rent. I’d been offered the use of one with any girl I wanted more than once.

From here it looked quaint and picturesque, with lights glowing warmly from rounded sash windows, and trees swaying in the night-time breeze.

The vehicle came to a stop outside the entrance. Someone wrenched open my car door; leaning in, he cuffed me around the back of the head. Fuck me, I ached. My entire body was bruised, hurting even worse than the gunshot in my thigh.

“Get out, Mercer.”

I hadn’t been cuffed since I was a fucking six years old. I wasn’t about to take it when I was almost thirty.

I couldn’t stop the cold smile stretching my lips.

Grave mistake
. Huge
mistake.

We were in a completely different country to Tess. My honour didn’t cross borders—I’d kept my vow to go to Spain willingly. But we’d arrived and all promises were over.

Elegantly—or as much as I could with a beat up body—I stepped from the car. The guard moved away, grinning at my obedience. I grinned back. Another man grinned. Fuck, we all grinned at each other.

Fucking pricks.

I struck.

With my bound wrists, it didn’t give me the leverage I wanted, but I managed to splay my hands on either side of his skull and tear. I jerked fast and hard as if I uprooted a tree from dirt. And in a way—that was precisely what I did.

The
snap
of his neck echoed in the night sky before his body fell like a useless piece of timber.

“What!” The man who was in charge stomped forward, hands raised. “You fucking—”

I propelled both arms forward, forming one giant fist. The strike caught his chin perfectly, propelling him upright, sending him slamming onto his back.

I stood over him, ignoring my bruises, cut lip, and swollen eye, and invoked more anger to flow. It was the best painkiller—it would keep me free from agony until I had the luxury of relaxing.

“Don’t
ever
think you can touch me without paying. It comes with a price and you can’t afford it, you fucking scum.” I spat on him, kicking dirt over his groaning body.
And I want everyone to know.

I knew I’d been stalked. I’d taken precautions but not enough. Deliberately. “Touch me again and I’ll send you straight to hell.”

A strike landed on the base of my skull. I stumbled forward, cursing the rush of sickness and pounding headache. At least I didn’t have a migraine. A migraine only came when I tried to rein in the evilness inside.

Tonight I was free. I’d let my humanity go the moment I said goodbye to Tess.

My muscles seized as a gun bruised my spine. “Move, cocksucker.” Someone shoved me forward, giving me no choice but to limp ahead with my vision sputtering in and out from the blow to my skull.

The house loomed. I knew without a doubt if I went in there I wouldn’t be coming out. But there was no other option.

Trust them
.
Franco knows what to do.
Franco had a to-do list and he would get it done.

My wrists rubbed together, searching for the hard node beneath my skin. It’d hurt like a motherfucker having it inserted. A small tracking device fully equipped with GPS, different frequencies, and indefinite lifecycle. I’d had the same doctor who’d tended to Tess insert it the morning I got her home.

At the time, I thought I’d gone overboard with precaution, but now I thanked my foresight. This would’ve happened regardless—I’d pissed off too many people to think I wouldn’t suffer. But I would use it to my advantage. I intended to make an example of them. Slaughter their entire business—send a message to the remaining cocksuckers out there that I wasn’t weak. That I wouldn’t be killed easily. Lynx would be my announcement to anyone stupid enough to come for me. They would know exactly what I would do to trespassers.

I just had to stay alive long enough for back-up to arrive.

The asshole wielding the gun in my spine pushed hard.

I snapped.

Splaying my legs for balance, I spun around, slapping the gun away. The heavy weapon clattered to the driveway.

The guy’s nostrils flared as he bent to pick it up.

Kick. Kill.

My leg twitched, and I couldn’t stop the urge. My muscles bunched; the tip of my black dress-shoe connected with the underside of his chin. His head snapped backward, sending him sprawling to the irregular stonework of the driveway.

Blood instantly flowed from his mouth, eyes flickering closed.

“For fuck’s sake—get Mercer inside!” The leader stalked toward me.

Instead of standing still, waiting for punishment, I prowled forward, pushing my taller form against his in a blatant threat. “I’m capable of stepping into a house on my own accord. I don’t trust you and your fucking imbeciles with guns.” Muttering under my breath, I said,
“Tu as environ six heures à vivre. Vis les pleinement.”
You have about six hours to live. Enjoy them wisely.

Not waiting for a reply, I headed toward the entrance.

Once again, I pressed the hard node under my skin. A small smidgen of relief soothed my anger. I calculated how long it would take a rescue party to turn up. If Franco had put the plan into effect before they took me, it would be anywhere from six to eight hours before the team would be mobile and on Lynx’s doorstep.

I’ll go with six hours.

Six hours to keep Lynx talking and away from any particularly life threatening tools.

Raising my bound hands, I knocked on the old-fashioned stain-glass door. The glass depicted a bare forest—tree skeletons in burnt oranges, browns, and blacks.

A memory of coming here thirteen months ago to collect a slave filled my mind—the games I played. The role I embraced of sadistic master buying a woman as if it was a normal transaction.

My heart sped up as the door swung open. I kept my features blank. Disdain dripped from every pour, no longer hiding how much I fucking hated the retard in front of me.

Lynx smiled, his tanned skin gleaming against the dark red of his suit. A black mandarin shirt, coupled with bright crimson shoes, made him look fucking ridiculous. His hair was the usual black mohawk, gelled into submission, while the shorter sides mirrored the same dark red of his trousers and blazer.

“Going on a date, Dante?” I raised an eyebrow. “Dressed like that I’d say you’re fishing for cock not pussy.” He wasn’t gay—just a fucking tosser trying way too hard.

Lynx pursed his lips. He hated that I knew his real name. Dante Emestro. When he’d contacted me five years ago, asking for help with planning permission for an illegal racetrack in a low density area, I’d done my usual background checks. I’d jangled every skeleton, knew every torrid secret. I also knew he’d sold his sister when he turned eighteen, all to gain access to the underbelly of trafficking.

Nasty piece of shit.

His black, soulless eyes glanced at my ruined dinner attire. A smile spread his lips, no doubt taking in the swelling of my face and the multitude of bruises sustained from the journey. “You better thank your fucking stars I’m not gay, Mercer. Or tonight might’ve ended in a completely different way for you.” He licked his lips. “However, I could add something along those lines to the activities if you wish?” He had no facial hair apart from a ridiculous chin strap. I would happily carve it from his face and shove it in his mouth for such a comment.

“I’d be careful, Dante. Don’t want another curse added to your reputation.”

“What other curse?”

I shrugged. “The curse you’ve brought upon yourself by bringing me here against my will.” I leaned closer, noticing he looked older than his thirty-one years—mainly thanks to cocaine abuse. “I plan on killing you tonight. You’re my trophy to show other cunts like you that I’m not going to put up with turf wars or killings.”

He laughed loudly. “
You
plan on killing
me
? I think you have it the wrong way around, Mercer.” Losing his mirth, he snapped, “You’re a fucking fake. And I don’t play well with fakes.” Looking over my shoulder, he ordered, “Help bring Mr. high and mighty Mercer inside.”

A kick landed on my lower back, sending me careening forward. With my hands bound, I couldn’t keep my balance and sprawled at his feet. My thigh screamed as the wound sent more blood seeping. A steel-capped boot crunched against the back of my leg, smashing my kneecap into the stone floor.

Fuck! I wanted to howl. But I didn’t. I ate the pain. Devouring it just like I would him.

But I couldn’t kill him—not yet. I had no way of winning against his crew. My only chance was to drag this out until support arrived. I wouldn’t sacrifice myself—not now I had so much to live for.

Tess. Shit, her scent filled my nose. Her cries echoed in my ears. I would see her again.
I will.

A foot kicked my jaw. “Payback, asswipe.” A river of blood ran down my throat—I’d bitten my tongue. I kept my lips smashed together. The agony fed my anger, wreaking havoc on my nervous system.

“Alright, enough. I need him conscious for the rest. Pick him up,” Lynx snapped.

Wrath built faster. I warmed my hands by its licking flames. Patience. Fucking patience.

Two men hoisted me under my arms, dragging me upright. My eyes latched onto the closing door. The moment it locked, I mentally began a countdown.

Six hours and counting.

Don’t do anything reckless. Keep him talking. Stay alive.

I had a fucking wedding to go to tomorrow.

Shrugging off the men, I stood tall, taking in the foyer. The typical signs of drugs, weapons, and broken women were prevalent.

“Like my latest editions, Mercer?” Dante pointed at two girls crawling into the entrance hall wearing nothing but a collar and pair of crotchless knickers. Their eyes were down, their skin pale.

My hands curled. Purple bruises marked their ribcages, yellow stains of old abuse, and malnourishment glazed their eyes.

I doubted they’d been there for long but already they existed in a grave, waiting for their soul to give up so they could be free.

“They’ll be mine by the end of the evening.” I already pictured the tenderness of Mrs. Sucre feeding them and the friendship of Suzette putting them back together. And Tess. She would be there—my queen—the woman who glued every part of me into a better human being.

Dante smiled—it was cold, malicious, and if I hadn’t dealt with bastards like him all my life, I would’ve shit myself. But I had. I no longer felt their evil. I absorbed it—waiting till I could boomerang it back, making them suffer.

I liked to think they’d invited the grim reaper into their home.

“So proud. You won’t be walking away with any of my merchandise, Mercer.” Dante laughed. “Your pride on the other hand will be a worthwhile acquisition.” Striding past the two collared girls, he kicked one in the thigh. “This way. We’ll have a chat before we begin business.”

My hands almost broke I fisted so hard.

The girls never raised their eyes, instantly following, crawling into the room off the foyer. The walls were bare of any artwork or personality, painted in garish reds and golds with black carpeting.

It was all one level—a sprawled out estate ensuring rooms were far enough away from the business hub so prospective buyers weren’t distracted by other women’s screams or the growls of rutting animals.

Following, as if this wasn’t the end of my life and just a normal business meeting, I passed through the familiar double doors and into a large lounge. A huge painting of a gun dripping red hung above a fake fireplace with melted candles. The room had three semi-circle couches, all with a small podium and pole bolted into the ceiling before them.