Blood Judgment (Judgment Series) (18 page)

“How long have you been here?” Julian asked.

“Four days. They haven’t starved me enough yet.” He pointed to the huddled creature confined on the other side of Julian. “Nickey’s been here for three weeks. They’ll be taking him out any day now.”

Nickey stared at him with large, fear-filled eyes. He was younger than Vali. The scent of hunger and the associated pain on the youngster accosted Julian.

“Jesus,” Julian said

“When was the last time you fed?”

“Last night.”

“You have a while then.”

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

“Xalend.”

“I’m Julian.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you but, given the circumstances…”

“No shit.” Julian sat on the cold concrete. A ratty blanket lay on the floor where the last occupant had left it. A bucket sat in the far corner. The odor clarified its use as a toilet. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and his stomach rolled threateningly.

“Yeah. That’s what it’s for,” Xalend said as if he’d read Julian’s mind. “Don’t be embarrassed about using it. There’re worse things here than shitting in front of your cellmates.”

“Oh, hell no.”

“We’re probably lucky they give us a bucket.”

He snatched the blanket, hoping the thing wasn’t crawling with parasites. Dawn was close and the drugs hadn’t worn off yet. He was still sick to his stomach and the desire to sleep was overwhelming. “I can’t stay awake. They loaded me full of shit.”

“Go ahead and sleep. We can talk later.”

FRAMER REREAD the report on his desk and tapped his fingers on the open folder. The murders weren’t the work of a single rogue as they’d assumed. Two of the marauding bastards were doing it.

One fingerprint lifted from the scene of the last slain prostitute belonged to a recently processed male.

The other print hadn’t triggered a match. But it might not matter.

He would issue a warrant for the known killer. And when they brought him in, a little persuasion might make him give up his buddy.

He looked at the photo displayed on his laptop. The male appeared young and frightened, but that didn’t mean a damn thing. The file notes documented that he’d been violent when brought in for processing and large bruises clearly indicated he’d been fighting beforehand.

Framer tried to be fair in his dealings with vampires. Like most people, he didn’t like them. But he tried hard not to let it influence him into cruelty.

Vampires were sometimes interrogated at the center, though only to gain information for the protection and safety of humans. Not from the love of hurting a lesser creature.

He picked up his pen and tapped the end on his desk. No, he didn’t like cruelty. That’s what ate at him. He didn’t like the orders Banks had issued.

It bothered him to allow them to be used as Banks ordered. It bothered him even more knowing what would happen if—no, not if—when, Banks’ Mengele wannabes came up with something successful to use on the vampires. It bothered him that his only choice was follow orders or quit. He couldn’t afford to leave such a lucrative position, no matter how much guilt ate at him.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair. Banks. He hated that bastard. Why couldn’t they have picked someone else to head up the Department of Vampire Control and Security?

Banks might have had the credentials, he’d quickly become a vampire expert and profiler in his position with the FBI, but he could see nothing that didn’t include genocide of the vampire race.

Experienced in security measures and with his knowledge of vampires, he’d been the natural choice for heading up the division tasked with keeping the vampires under control. But the man had a heart as cold as a glacier and a cruel streak that knew no end.

There wasn’t a thing he could do about any of it except eat Banks’ shit, dish out the “Yes, sirs
,”
and do what he was told like a good little stooge.

He copied down the number branded on the male’s inner arm and filled out the paperwork to process the warrant for his arrest and execution.

Chapter Fifteen

ONE WEEK after his capture, Julian tried to shut out Nickey’s whimpers. The juvenile lay curled in pain, hands pressed to his stomach, eyes swimming with unshed tears.

The large metal door rolled open on its track. The men who’d transported Julian entered the building and went to Nickey’s cell. The driver, Julian had learned his name was Gerald, carried a dart pistol.

Nickey launched to his feet and scuttled into the far corner.

The sickening, strong scent of Nickey’s fear invaded Julian’s nostrils. He bared his fangs and hissed. How he’d love to kill those two bastards.

Gerald raised the pistol and fired.

Nickey squealed and grabbed the dart, yanking it from his shoulder. “Please, no,” he whimpered.

Julian and Xalend approached their cell doors. Xalend growled.

Julian’s hands gripped the bars in a crushing hold. “For God’s sake, he’s a child.”

“He’s plenty old enough to run.” Gerald tucked the pistol in his pants.

“Bastards,” Julian spat. “He’s in so much pain he can barely stay on his feet.”

Gerald laughed and the two men exited the building. They would be back after the drug had time to take effect.

Nickey moaned. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Julian wanted to cover his ears.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness—” A loud bang outside the building made him cringe. “For his name sake. Yea, though I walk in the valley of the shadow … of … of … death … I … I … will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” Tears streaked down his face and he choked on the words, barely getting them out. His legs let go and he wilted to the floor, the drugs taking him down. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies…”

The men came through the door and Nickey moaned. “Please … please. I’m not an animal.”

Gerald opened the cell door. They went inside and pulled Nickey onto his feet.

“Let him go, you dirty bastards,” Xalend railed. “He’s just a kid.”

“Shut the hell up.” Gerald had to support Nickey to keep him upright.

Horror and hate burned in Julian’s chest. “What kind of monsters are you people?”

“Wait a couple weeks, you’ll find out,” Gerald’s companion said and laughed.

They dragged Nickey from the cell. The youngster cast one last terrified glance at Julian before they hauled him away.

The fear in Nickey’s face would haunt Julian the rest of his life, however long or short it might be. A child being led to slaughter wasn’t something he would be able to erase from his memories. “Son of a fucking bitch. They’re going to kill him.”

ASHTON HAD accepted that Saranna and Julian were not coming back, presuming them lost to the traders. Slade mourned his sister and cursed Julian with an intensity that frightened Vali.

He hadn’t given up, not yet. Every night, he searched the streets, hoping and praying he would find someone who had information.

But each night that passed made it more likely that his cousins were right. With a heavy heart, Vali walked toward Dangles.

After three hours of plodding through alleys and talking to street people and turning up nothing, discouragement closed on him with the cloying thickness of late summer honeysuckle.

A slight cough ripped him from his bitter thoughts. He whirled, dropping into a crouch.

His heart stuffed itself into his throat, choking off his breath. Five men in olive-colored uniforms stood no more than twenty-five or thirty feet away.

Fear tightened his stomach. He backed up a step, then spun and fled with the men hot on his tail.

He hurtled into the street, dodging oncoming traffic. A horn blared and tires screeched. Vali turned seconds too late. A car struck him, the impact sending him airborne. He sailed a good twenty feet before crashing to the pavement.

Pain slammed through his body. Red hot agony closed on his right forearm. His breath ripped in and out in frightened, painful pants.

Heavy boots pounded the asphalt, growing closer.

Vali struggled to rise and his body screamed in protest. The scent of blood clogged his nostrils and sent hunger curling through his belly.

He had to drag himself to safety. His fingers raked over the warm, rough pavement. Wasn’t happening. The
pop
of a dart gun and burning pain in his back finished him. He couldn’t propel himself forward.

Out of time and with no options, he lay in a shivering heap. The officers surrounded him. His fear spiked and he moaned in terror.

One of them prodded him in the thigh with a steel-toed boot. “A young one. How old are you?”

Vali eyed them balefully.

The officer lashed out with his foot, catching Vali in the side. Pain exploded in his ribs. He jerked and sucked in his breath. He tried to curl up, but couldn’t force his body into cooperation.

“I asked you a question, you little snot. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” Vali’s heart thundered so hard they probably heard it.

“Eighteen, huh? A baby to you fuckers.” He grabbed Vali’s wrists.

Pain shot from the break in his forearm to his shoulder. He screamed and jerked, but he didn’t have enough control of himself to be effective. The pain was enormous. Tears leaked from his eyes despite his best effort to stop them. Purple-black flowers popped into bloom before his eyes. His arm was badly broken. Maybe in more than one place. A second man grabbed his ankles. They picked him up and carried him toward a van parked at the curb.

Nausea rolled through him. Pain and the tranq drugs churned his stomach. He had a sickening, upside down view as his head lolled on his neck. He struggled with the gorge creeping up his throat, fearing they’d let him choke to death if he vomited. Clammy sweat slicked his skin.

His captors shoved him into a cage and locked the door. He lay on his side, open-mouthed and panting. His arm was black agony and tears streamed down his face. The van doors slammed shut, leaving him in warm darkness with the thud of his rapid heartbeat to keep him company. The van pulled out of the alley with a jerk.

Chapter Sixteen

VALI’S EYES slid open. Was he dead? If so, he’d awakened in Hell.

His cheek lay against cold concrete. Why wasn’t he in the cramped cage he’d spent the last four days in? He shifted and pain slammed him in sickening waves. A vague, flu-like feeling accompanied the pain in his ravaged body. They’d brought him here and beaten him unconscious with a length of chain.

The horror had begun after his fingerprints were matched with prints lifted at the crime scene of the dead whore.

His brands, black and ugly, forever identified him to humans. His arm ached to his shoulder. The burns weren’t healing and wept clear fluid. His forearm needed to be set and immobilized.

Why had they even bothered torturing him with the branding? They had known he would never leave the security center alive before they had done it. Did they enjoy inflicting pain so much? They had hit him with all three brands and given him a series of painful injections. All unnecessary.

He licked the brand on the inside of his arm, hoping the mild healing agent in his saliva would help. But the stroke of his tongue sent waves of pain rushing up his arm and the foul taste sent his stomach into a nasty roll.

His parched mouth had a nasty coating, like someone had dumped dirt in it. He tried repeatedly to swallow, but his tongue, swollen to an impressive size from where he’d bitten into it to keep from begging for mercy, lay in his mouth like a wadded-up sock. He rubbed his scratchy, burning eyes. He hadn’t had a single sip of water since his capture and dehydration compounded his misery.

With a total lack of emotion, the realization that he’d shit himself filtered into his consciousness. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side to relieve the discomfort of lying on the floor.

His body didn’t want to move.

Using his left hand, he pushed himself onto his side. His legs tingled with a strange numbness. He pinched his thigh, but didn’t feel it. He must have lain in a bad position.

He stilled. This was the first time he hadn’t been in a cage. Could he find a way out? Hope fired to life. Maybe he wasn’t going to die here after all.

He pushed himself upward and the room swam in dizzying circles. He groaned, lowered his head, and tried again. Nausea twisted his insides and he gagged, but he had nothing in his shrunken stomach to throw up.

Once he stopped gagging, he gave sitting up another shot. This time he managed it.

Drawing his legs under him was another story; they were dead things attached to his lower body. He tried again.

Wasn’t happening.

He positioned his legs with his hands and pushed himself onto his knees. They held him upright, but wouldn’t move. He had no feeling in his legs at all except the awful tingling.

Unable to move and not knowing what else to do, he collapsed back onto the concrete with a jarring thud. He moaned and waited for the pain in his body to back off enough so he could at least think straight.

When he was able, he used his arms to drag himself across the floor. The broken arm sent waves of unrelenting agony through him, but he refused to stop until he reached the door. Groaning, he eased back to the concrete and lay shaking.

They hadn’t bothered to cage him because it wasn’t necessary. Paralysis crippled his legs.

Had his back been injured while he was unconscious? He didn’t know, but he didn’t think so.

The knob turned and the door opened until it came to a sudden halt against his body.

“Son of a bitch is lying against the door,” a man he’d come to know as Frances said from the other side. Terror zinged through him. He feared Frances the most. The door slammed into his back and pushed his body across the floor. He didn’t give them the satisfaction of the cry that wanted to rip out of him.