Caged Warrior (15 page)

And find her way out of the complex.

Carefully, somewhat impatiently, she’d interpreted
slivers of sentences and carelessly exhaled facts. The human quarters were her best
bet. When the workers’ contracts expired, they needed a means in and out. The Dragon
Kings never left except for matches, and so far, that procedure was swathed in questions.
How were they transported? To where?

She would be gone before that was her issue.

The most important piece of information had been a guard’s casual grouse that he needed
to help transport another lab patient into the complex.
I hate the walk to that place. It’s creepy as fuck
.

Walk.

Walk to that place.

It made sense, considering Audrey had been dropped into this underground hell while
still wearing a hospital gown. She must have been transported without the possibility
of outsiders seeing her curious state of undress.

She would get free. Save Jack. Contact Mal.

Malnefoley would not fail her on this. They would put their differences aside. He
would not bow before the Council’s wishes again.

Wearing her silk-lined leather clothing, Audrey tucked the practice knife into the
strap of one of her boots. She wanted the armor Leto had begun training her to wear.
Kilgore’s expectations, however, were clear as glass behind his sickly yellowed eyes.
She needed to be a neophyte, dictated by his whims.

The butcher paper from the peppermints, mud, and the tip of her practice knife had
come in handy for her second letter. She’d composed its words using using the Tigony’s
ancient language. Then she’d re-coded so that
only those among Mal’s inner circle could read it. The Sath knew too much about all
of the houses. No language was considered safe without private ciphers. She’d spent
an evening scraping mud into the paper’s waxy sheen.

She would get Kilgore to deliver it—and learn enough about Jack’s whereabouts to hazard
an escape. All while manipulating an avaricious man who apparently hadn’t touched
a woman in forever and a half.

Dragon help me.

After a deep breath, she returned down the corridor.

She automatically presented her wrists. Manacles. An advantage in this case. By Leto’s
example with the mace, she knew how effective chains could be in downing an opponent.
She’d rather chew nails than admit what his instruction had provided her by way of
skills and resolve.

But it was true.

Kilgore hadn’t lost his half–puppy dog, half-salacious expression. He was too desperate
for it to be called leering. She almost pitied him.
Almost.
She knew too much about what he expected of her.

“Shall we?” He even offered his arm.

Again, that date analogy. While she wore manacles.

Audrey would’ve laughed. Her thundering heart, however, reminded her to keep quiet
and focused. She was right to be afraid, just as she was right to be amped up on a
double shot of adrenaline.

She cupped her hand around his forearm. “We have business to attend to, yes?”

He literally licked his lips. The further she delved into this situation, the less
Audrey liked it. And it had started out unpalatable.

With her free hand, she touched the fabric of her tunic, over the spot where a scar
was a constant reminder of what Dr. Aster had done to her. Although he had cut her
in a hundred different places, her emotional losses centered there, where he had removed
an ovary.

Kilgore led her toward the mess hall. Then past it. She hadn’t been allowed any farther,
so she gathered as many details as possible. Cinder block walls, just like the rest
of the complex. Painted white. Cheap fluorescent lights stretched along the ceiling
in a single-file line. They made the paint seem to glow with a ghostly blue aura.
Goose bumps prickled the skin beneath her sleeves. She only noticed she was reflexively
gripping Kilgore’s arm more tightly when he lifted a pleased smile.

Good. Whatever made him believe she was there to meet his needs.

Using old mnemonic training, Audrey memorized the twists and turns. He steered her
left, then right, right again, and down another endless corridor of blue-white fluorescent
and cinder block. The long hallway was dotted with doors at intervals of roughly five
feet.

“The workers’ quarters?”

Kilgore nodded. “Mine is better.”

“Oh?” She returned his smile. Hers felt meaner. “That’s where we’re going, yes? On
our little walk?”

“You’re coming with me willingly.” Kilgore’s mouth puckered as if having scraped his
teeth along the inside of a banana peel. “What do you expect of me, neophyte?”

“The fairest trade we can both agree to.”

“Good. You’re no more naïve than I am. Don’t think
the guards would side with you if they happened on our negotiations.” His eyes were
beady, but they glittered with a menace she fully believed. “They get their dirty
magazines, extra rations, and even their mail through me. They’d just as soon hack
off their own balls rather than lose my services.”

No allies. No real weapons. One mercenary piece of slime.

This was going to be tricky.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said. “Because you’re right. Neither of us is
naïve. I have a letter I’d liked mailed. You have physical favors you want fulfilled.”

“That I do.”

Another left, then a climb up shallow steps that curved to the right. By the time
Kilgore pulled out a set of keys, they stood before another unmarked door. This one,
however, was at the end of its own hallway. Practically private. Just the sort of
place where skin-crawling sounds would never be heard.

Her optimism remained. Kilgore had more than one key on his ring. She watched which
he used to enter, which narrowed the possibilities to four others.

One particular door during their journey had been colder than the rest. The light
beneath it had been different, too. Darker. More like pale gray than eerie blue. She’d
identified two other possibilities as well. Exits. Chances. All she had were chances.
And Kilgore’s self-importance could be to her advantage. He liked to boast. She just
needed him to brag about the right details.

His touch turned suddenly rough. With a fist closed over her manacle chain, he threw
her into his room. She
landed hard on the bare floor. Her forehead slammed against the iron encircling her
left wrist. Blood. Instantly. Its coppery warmth dripped down toward her cheek.

That was nothing compared to how her heart lurched, then froze, when Kilgore slammed
the door.
Slammed
it. She’d been right. No one would hear them.

“We haven’t reached our agreement,” she said calmly, despite her injuries and fight-or-flight
fear.

“You’ll need to give me a great deal if you expect me to smuggle a neophyte’s letter
out of the complex.”

“Tell me what.”

“Oh, no. That’s part of the fun. I want to see the look on your face with each new
surprise.”

She didn’t apologize or contradict his threat. Kilgore was a haggler by trade. He
wanted a good negotiation before either of them gave in.

And, apparently, a good fight.

He moved faster than she would’ve imagined. Maybe that was because her forehead still
throbbed. He retrieved a pair of handcuffs and locked her manacle chains to the foot
of his bed. Not even
on
the bed. Just sprawled on the floor.

It was almost worse to know she possessed a gift from the Dragon—no matter how erratic—when
her collar kept her powerless. She felt no better off now than she’d been when a Dragon
King in a black trench coat had watched the Asters take her and Jack hostage.

She indulged in that one flicker of panic. Self-pity, really. Because she had a hell
of a lot more resources now. She didn’t need her gift to best one lust-blinded human.

Flipping onto her back, she thrust up with her legs and caught Kilgore around the
waist. He tried to push her off, but she squeezed with the strength of her thighs
and calves. A hard grunt indicated when she’d found his kidneys with her heels. With
one hard slam, she planted the soles of her boots dead center of his chest. He staggered,
coughing and clutching. His back connected with the bedroom door.

Bedroom. Hell. It was just another cage, this one with a bed, a dimly lit lamp, and
only one way out.

Although Kilgore still coughed and reeled, he dredged a warped smile. Subservient
weasel? No way. He was calculating. His yellowed eyes shone with a cruel glint she
hadn’t seen since her internment in the labs.

“Do you know why I’ve been down here for so long?” he asked, spitting the words at
her.

“Don’t care.”

“You do. You’re smart, and that means you’ve wondered.” He pushed off the door and
limped toward a waist-high chest of metal drawers, like a filing cabinet. “Why is
Kilgore still here, when all the other human workers leave after three months?”

From the top drawer he removed what looked like a child’s pencil case. All black.
Plastic. Unassuming—like he was.

“I was one of Dr. Aster’s assistants. A PhD in genetic engineering. Now I slop beans
for human moles and put up with the scorn of your friend Leto. We’re both slaves.
Only he thinks his servitude is a good thing.” He opened the case and removed a hypodermic
needle. “I don’t think that at all. But it does have certain advantages.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“The way I’m going to make you cooperative. I’m not delivering any letter for you,
Mrs. MacLaren. I like my guts intact. And I’m not so stupid as to let you escape either.”
He raised one brow. “That was your other plan, yes? Tell me the truth or I’ll start
with your asshole before the sedative sets in.”

Oh fuck.

She flipped a short lock of hair back from her temple. “Tell me one reason why I’d
want to stay in this piece of shit basement? Of course I want to escape. I thought
you’d be smart enough to take the right side in this little . . . negotiation.”

“And what do you have to offer?” He eyed her breasts, then the apex of her thighs.
His grin was demonic. “I wondered if I’d be able to get the jump on you. For all your
vaunted training . . . you’re a piece of meat now. I particularly enjoyed that privilege
in the labs. So many oblivious bodies to choose from. But you, Mrs. MacLaren, will
feel everything. Sedated doesn’t mean unconscious.”

Audrey swallowed to keep from vomiting. The idea that he’d taken advantage of Aster’s
patients was too reprehensible to dwell on.
Was I one of them?

She hid what she could of her reaction. “You know damn well who my cousin is. Get
me out of here and he’ll—”

“Be lenient? I doubt that. My list of crimes is too long. And besides, life is too
short. You’ve seen that. What was his name? Caleb? That was it. See, the good Dr.
Aster trusted me with even that detail. I’d rather take my chances with the feast
lying before me. The Giva can suck his own dick. He has no influence down here.”

Audrey sneered, although her stomach was a boiling knot of nerves. “But
you
do? Answer your own question. If we’re so special, why are you here now?”

“Make one little attempt on the mad doctor’s life, after one insult too many . . .”
He grinned, appearing half-mad himself. “I knew too much, but I was too useful to
kill. You should see how he reacts to catch-22s. My current occupation is to keep
the guards happy, keep ambitious bitches enslaved like good little girls, and keep
you from learning where Dr. Aster is busy cutting your boy into bits.”

“You sick fuck.”

“No, that’s for later.” Advancing, still clutching his injured chest, he stood with
the needle ready. “How else will we have any fun?”

♦   ♦   ♦

Leto knew Nynn wasn’t in her cell the moment he came to retrieve her. No scent of
her skin, either freshly cleaned or tinged with sweat after a hard workout.

And he knew who’d set her free—not that she would be free in Kilgore’s quarters.

Bathatéi.

She couldn’t just let things be. Dragon Kings used their powers. Cage warriors used
every means at their disposal. She’d been given a task and promised a reward.

She never had a choice.

His anger pushed that objection aside. She didn’t have much time.

“How long has she been gone?” His gaze was needle-sharp as he skewed each young guard.
The one to his left was the first to drop his eyes. Toward a breast pocket.

Leto pounced. He felled the man in a single lunge. The guard grunted, then squeaked
a token protest when Leto dragged out a tin of dipping tobacco. The other guard made
a halfhearted attempt to help his comrade. Leto glared over his shoulder and rasped,
“You’ll be next.”

The man resumed his post on the far side of the training cell bars, as if a scuffle
weren’t taking place four feet away.

“This is mine now.” Leto shoved the tin into a fold in his leather armor. “And I’ll
report you to the Old Man for possessing contraband if you don’t tell me.
How long
has she been gone?”

“About twenty minutes,” the guard said, a warble in his voice.

Really, he was big for a human. Maybe six foot. Brawny, with a decent amount of muscle.
In his own world, he might have fought in boxing matches—human cages, with as scant
honor and significance as humans themselves. Leto only felt disgust.

“When I find her, I’m bringing her through here. Past you both. And you won’t say
a fucking word.”

The downed guard nodded, his brow soaked in sweat that smelled like fear. The second
man’s face has gone a sick, milky white. “Yes, sir.”

Sir.

That’s what Leto called the Old Man. For the first time, he wondered what purpose
the guards really served. They could be bribed, overpowered, even harmed. If Leto
killed one of them, what punishment would the Old Man inflict? Not physical pain.
That was easy enough for Leto to slough off now. Maybe harm against his family.