Bound (Secrets of the Djinn) (11 page)

I see the gas station attendant he tortured, leaving the young kid crippled and broken after hours of abuse.  Each bruis
e, each gouge in the skin, the gunshot wounds in each knee is paid for in this moment as these wounds tear into the man now lying prone on the gravel.  His neck is bleeding from a killing slash he perpetrated on an old man whose house he burgled.  His left eye is gouged out just like the prison guard’s he eventually killed to escape his captivity.

“Stop it!”  I hear
a voice say but it’s so far away.  “Stop it or I kill him!”

I can’t make out where the voice is coming from or what it means.  My mind is too wrapped up in the horror it is experiencing for anything to
truly penetrate it.  As I watch each of these atrocities unfold, unable to look away, the only outside thought able to trickle in is the fact that the man feeling the sharp knife of justice is human.  He’s not djinn.

“I swear I’ll kill him!”

The voice again.  It’s closer now.  A sharp blow to the side of my head clears my mind just enough to register what’s happening and I open my eyes.  The man who first came to the window is holding Roman at gun point and has dragged him over to where I am lying.  The man’s leg moves as he tries to kick me again but I’m too fast.  Despite the biting pain of the gravel, I roll away before his shoe can make contact with my head again.  This only makes him angrier.  He shoves Roman away and comes for me.  I’m still being pulled into the flames with his friend, who is on the edge of death now.  My flames won’t release either of us until he has suffered every wound he inflicted on others.  He’ll die from these wounds.  By all accounts, he should be dead already but my flames keep him alive until the last sin is judged.

The man who had Roman reaches down and grabs my hair, yanking me to my feet.  Roman attacks the man from behind, tearing him away from me. 
I may have a bald spot now as the hair in his grasp rips from my scalp.  The man still has his gun, though.  He points it behind him and pulls the trigger, the bullet lodging in Roman’s side.  Blood pours from the wound but Roman still fights the man, even as his strength wanes.

Another shot rings out. 
It’s a deep boom that can’t be made with a handgun.  Another shot and the man coming for me stumbles, his chest quickly becoming the color of a rose as blood stains his white shirt.  He falls to his knees, the light already gone from his eyes.  His dead body hits the ground with a dull thump.  At the same time, my fire rushes back to me, signaling the end of both men’s lives.  Standing behind Roman is Mr. Darcy holding a shotgun.

Chapter 13

“Have I mentioned you two are frightfully bad at this?” Beelzebub asks.  “Coming to the aid of the damsel in distress is really not my area.”

The words that should come out of my mouth are ‘thank you’
, even if he is the devil.  The words that actually come out of my mouth are, “Then why do you keep doing it?”  I am on my knees, hardly noticing the sharp gravel digging into my skin since my entire body aches.

Beelzebub raises his brows in surprise.  “You are an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

I make myself stand despite the cries of agony from every muscle in my body.  I need to check on Roman who is leaning against the back of the Jeep holding his hand tightly to his side.  Blood is oozing out between his fingers and his skin has turned ashen.  “For all I know, you set this whole thing up.”  Reaching Roman, I ask, “Are you okay?  What should I do?”  Yes, I was in medical school but we hadn’t gotten to bullet removal from the torso yet.  He can’t find his voice to answer me.

I retrieve a blanket from the back seat of the Jeep and press it against Roman’s wound. 
It’s not hard to figure out he’s losing too much blood.  “I must get you to a hospital.”

Behind me, Beelzebub laughs.  “You just tortured and killed two human beings
on top of being wanted fugitives.  Do you really think it wise to bring him to a hospital?”

“I didn’t torture them!” I growl, knowing deep inside that’s not true
.  I tortured the one man.  Is my torture of him any better than what he inflicted on his victims?  Am I just as evil?  “I’m not going to let Roman die, even if that means spending my life in prison for murder.  So, either help me get him in the Jeep or get the fuck out of here.”  My gut twists hard as nausea rolls up my esophagus.  I killed a man.  Again.

Amused, the devil contemplates his options.  “Leave you to be crucified by the human authorities or help the sniveling Defiler
whose mark you bear survive.  I simply can’t decide which would be more entertaining.”

I glower at him.  “How would Roman’s survival be amusing?”

“You playing Mother Teresa to the djinni who shattered your life even though his death would free you?  I see a great deal of entertainment in that.”

Shaking my head, I take Roman’s
free arm, the one not holding the blanket against his side, and place it over my shoulders.  Trying to take the brunt of his weight despite the wrenching pain in my shoulder and wrist, I edge him along the Jeep until we reach the back door.  I open it and let Roman slump down inside, hitting his head first on the top of the doorway because of his height and lack of motor control.  I do my best to lift his legs in and he moans in pain at the pressure against his abdomen. 

“Hang on,
Roman; I’m bringing you to the hospital.”  He doesn’t respond.  I’m not even sure he’s still conscious. 

“I will save him for a kiss.”

Before the disgusting image can enter my mind, my mouth is saying, “I would rather kiss one of the dead guys.”  I give a last push to Roman’s legs and am able to close the door. 

An arm stops my progress to the driver’s side of the Jeep.  “Then I will save him if you kiss a dead guy.”  A twinkle of amusement is floating around
Beelzebub’s eyes.

I push at
his arm.  “Get out of my way so I can get him to the hospital.”

Instead of letting me go, Beelzebub pushes me against the side of the Jeep, closing in on me until our bodies touch. 
I try not to cringe when his erection presses against me, but it makes me feel dirty inside and out.  “If not a kiss, then let me finish what I started last night.”

It takes my wounded brain a second to figure out what he means.  It becomes clear when he brushes my hair aside and his head descends.  He’s going for my mark.  I push against his chest but I might as well be pushing a water tower for all the good it does me. 

His breath hits the mark first and my body shivers.  I push harder against him and he grabs my wrists causing me to cry out in pain and he presses them to my sides.  His lips nuzzle my mark and heat shoots to my core in waves, making me forget about the pain in my wrist.  Every time he moves his lips, my body aches more, but now it’s with the lust he’s creating within me. 

I don’t care if he’s the
devil; I’m not letting him do this.  With a sharp upward movement of my knee, I discover even his testicles are vulnerable.  Repeating oaths in what I assume are several different languages, Beelzebub backs away in pain. 

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I growl and am not surprised to see fire dancing from my fingertips.

Despite his discomfort, Beelzebub laughs.  “You become more interesting every day.”  He looks down at himself.  “I rather like this body.  I believe I will keep it for a while.”

That’s a strange tangent in conversation. 
Despite myself, I ask, “Why?”

Leering grin in place, he says, “
You have no interest in the façade of an old man so I will wear this one until I make you mine.”

I don’t know in what context he plans to make me his.  I do know it will not involve sex or intimacy of any kind
with him.  I would rather die.  “It’s not the façade.  It doesn’t matter what disguise you wear.  You disgust me down to my toes and right back up again.  I will never be yours.”

As if I didn’t say anything, he says, “Someday, I must decide to kill you or to love you.  I haven’t decided which
I will do yet.”

“I’d rather you kill me.”

He reaches out and holds a few strands of my new red hair between his fingers.  I manage not to flinch.  “That was my original plan, yet things have changed.  Now I find I desire you.”

“Lucky me.”  I pack as much loathing into the words as I can.  Some of
my bravado is downplayed by my next comment, though.  Him, Roman, Zane.  They’re all idiots.  “I’m not that special.  I’m a mess and I don’t know why any of you want me.”

Understanding my meaning,
Beelzebub laughs.  “Don’t you?”  He pauses, waiting for me to respond but I simply stare at him, counting the seconds of Roman’s life slipping away while the devil is playing games with me.  When I don’t answer, he continues.  “You are powerful, my dear, more powerful than I originally believed.  You are not the sniveling, useless girl I imagined you to be when I first met you.”  How charming.  Confirming my thoughts from a moment ago, he says, “You must understand
that
your power falls under my domain.  You cannot be a brutal killer and still consider yourself to be good.  There is true evil in your core, regardless of those who will tell you otherwise.  If you didn’t, this power of yours wouldn’t work.  That is why it’s being left to me to decide what to do with you.”

He’s lying.  The devil always lies. 
I am not evil like him.  I tell myself this over and over, but I don’t really believe it.  Fighting back tears, I make my mind focus on Roman. 
I can obsess
over Beelzebub’s words later.  Right now, I can live in denial and do something good.  “Please,” I say quietly, “help me save Roman.”

Beelzebub steps closer to me.  Placing a finger under my chin, he
lifts my face until I meet his eyes.  “I told you my price.”

A chill runs through me. 
He wants me to trade something sexual for Roman’s life.  It is only a kiss, but if I give in to this, what will he demand of me in the future?  What are the chances of me never needing his help again?  The way things are going, that’s not likely. 

A glance behind me makes up my mind.  Roman is dying.  I can almost feel his life force leaving him.  He won’t make it to a
hospital; he’ll die in the back of the Jeep long before then.  With a deep breath, I give in.  “One kiss.”

A vision of self-satisfaction, Beelzebub moves a step closer to me.  Positioning his legs so I can’t knee him in the balls, he is once again leaning against me.  His delight is obvious against my belly. 
He lowers his lips toward mine and I somehow manage not to cringe. 

I expect his kiss to be rough, even painful.  I don’t expect his kiss to be
nonexistent.  Moving his mouth to my ear, he whispers, “We will kiss when you are the one asking.”  He nips my earlobe and steps back.

“That will never happen.” 

Confirming another fear, he says, “You will need my help again, my dear.  Now, you know the price.  I suggest in about thirty seconds, you take cover.”  Without warning, he disappears.  At the same time, a car pulls over to the side of the road behind the car belonging to the dead men.  Zane is behind the wheel.  He saw the devil almost kiss me.

Brielle flies from the passenger side of the car and stalks towards me
, channeling the anger Zane must be feeling.  “What the fuck is going on?  Did you kill those guys?”  She gestures to the two dead men.  “And who the hell were you just making out with?” 

“Get back in the car!” I s
hout, rushing over and ripping open the driver side door of the Jeep, grateful the keys are still in the ignition.  Brielle takes one look at the fear on my face and dashes back to Zane’s car.  I throw the Jeep into drive and put my foot on the gas.  Gravel goes flying when the tires start moving.  In the rearview mirror, I’m relieved to see Zane’s car is right behind me. 

I’m not sure if it’s exactly thirty seconds, but the roar of the dead men’s car bursting into flames threatens the integrity of my eardrums. 
In the rearview mirror, I see Zane veer towards the middle of the road.  Some of the windows of his car shattered.  Other than that, he and Brielle seem fine.  The dead men on the side of the road catch fire, real fire this time, from the burning pieces of metal flung at them.  The devil is cleaning up the crime scene.  My debt to him is piling up.

Zane speeds up and passes me on the left.  In front of me now, he turns his blinker on and makes a sharp right at the next road.  I follow.  He does this several more times until we’re on a lonely stretch of dirt road miles from the exploding vehicle.  
Finally, he pulls over to the side of the road and parks.

Roman sat up after the car exploded but he hasn’t said a word until now.  “How did they find us?” he asks. 
His voice is weak, but the color is coming back to his face and I don’t think he’s losing any more blood.

I’m not sure if he means the kidnappers or Zane and Brielle. The answer to either
question is the same, though.  “I don’t know.”

Not giving him a chance to say more, I throw
the Jeep into park, rip my door open and am out and running to Zane.  He barely has time to get out of his car before I fling myself at him.  He wraps his arms around me and holds me close.