Collateral Damage (15 page)

I just had to figure out what.

* * * * *

My hair formed a stringy, damp curtain over my face as I gracefully knelt between Tobi and Steve. Naked. Thighs open wide. Hands rested on them, palm up.

Steady breaths, in and out, like meditation.

All your focus should be on your master.
I heard Vince's instructions in the recesses of my mind, where they'd been absorbed and stored like everything else I'd ever learned. I was a damned good teacher. But I'd been an even better student.
The noise and
movements of others around you should never distract you from him.

And the noises . . . all the voices, what seemed like hundreds or maybe thousands, crashed over and around me, threatening to sweep me away.

I went back to the breathing thing.

This wasn't the arena. Past the steel doors, Darryl and the other guards had herded us into an antechamber with plain, white-tiled floors and two folding chairs.

None of the guards sat, but they did tell us to kneel. And surprise, surprise, we'd obeyed without a whisper of protest.

As time stretched, Tobi's whimpers and Steve's pants joined the noise. I did my best to block them out. They were like static interference. I needed clarity.

The door to the arena opened, and Jed came in. "Cyrus wants you, Darryl."

They both entered the arena.

"There's only two." Steve said, quietly. "Only two. We might make it. We can't go in there. We can't let them bring us in there!"

He bolted for the door to the hall.

One of the guards clotheslined him. Steve flipped backwards and belly flopped on the tiled floor. Blood dribbled over his lips.

The guard put his foot on the back of Steve's neck and looked at Tobi and me. "I trust you ladies will stay put until you're summoned?"

We nodded.

"Good." He jerked his chin towards the door as it opened again. "Well, that didn't take long. They're ready for you, Tobi."

She stood. Stumbled. Then sobbed. "No! Please no! Please don't make me go in there!"

The second guard sighed and went over to grab her by the arms and haul her into the arena. Her shrieks reached a pitch that sent the sensation of spider legs skittering up my spine. She'd already been terrified. What she saw in there was obviously worse than what she'd expected.

"Your turn, pet." The guard said to me as he hauled Steve to his feet. "And don't even think of pulling what this idiot did. I can carry you both if I have to."

Pet?
I wrinkled my nose, but kept my head down as I rose so my expression wouldn't give him an excuse to get rough with me too. I'd centered myself. If this was a test, going to the arena willingly would probably be a good start. I'd be better equipped to handle this once I knew exactly what I was up against.

With sure, steady steps, I approached the opened doors. Men in black robes stood beyond it, forming a small corridor of bodies. As I continued in, squinting against the bright fluorescent lights overhead, I figured out why they were there. They blocked the way up to the seating area.

The seats were set up like those in a movie theater, only these circled the "stage."

Glass walls separated the spectators from the central area, which was about the size of a small gymnasium.

I focused on the stairs that led me down rather than the arena itself. Twenty-seven. Keeping my head bowed, I took in the room in little bits through the corner of my eyes. Three large, wooden worktables like I'd had in my high school shop class.

Wooden partitions beside each table. With power tools neatly arranged on big metal hooks.

Power tools
. The urge to either scream or laugh bubble up in my throat. This wasn't a test. This wasn't even a performance. This was nothing but live snuff. All these people had paid to watch us . . . .

My head swam, and I swayed on my feet. The arena spun around me, and the saws and grinders seemed to be floating, ready to strain against their thick, black leashes, hungry for my flesh.

A hand under my elbow saved me from falling flat on my face. I took a shaky breath and blinked away the hot tears blinding me. My hair screened my vision, but I could make out the outline of a man.

Vince? Was he—would he . . . ?

"Pull yourself together, Nicole." Cyrus tucked my hair behind my ears and guided me across the room to where two guards forced Steve and Tobi to their knees.

"If you faint, you lose. The losers are given to the audience. Don't you think you should at least make an effort to get through this? For Alrik?"

"You're sick." My tears stuck to my lashes, blinding me again. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" Cyrus pulled me against him and slid his lips along my jaw. "Profit, my dear. I would love to keep you to myself and fuck you day and night until I tired of you, but I'm a businessman. These people are willing to pay a fortune to watch you bleed. How could I deny them?"

I supposed the
why
wasn't all that important, but for some reason, I didn't believe him. There was more than money involved. I just couldn't figure out what.

Either way, he'd told me one thing, intentionally or not.

There was a way to make it out of here alive.

Taking my place in the center of the room, kneeling again, I watched Cyrus pace around the room. He touched the tools, nudged the toolboxes on the floor by each table with his foot, and then plugged the grinder into an outlet build into the floor. The high, mechanical growl echoed off the glass walls and silenced the audience.

He shut the tool off, set it on a table, and spread his arms wide. "We have something new for you."

The crowd cheered and stomped their feet. I'd gotten the impression they were all rich, refined. But they acted like sports buffs at a big game.

After they quieted, Cyrus continued. "As some of you might know, we've caught ourselves a prize. Daederich's son. You've all heard of Daederich?"

Grumbling. Some booing. They obviously weren't fans of the guy.

"A sweet boy, but still rather ignorant. We plan to educate him." Cyrus gave the audience a sly smile, like they shared some secret. Laughter burst out, and then trickled away. "We have three of the best teachers we could find, right here, all eager to teach him—but that's not enough! What use are they to you?"

The audience hung off their seats, waiting for him to tell them.

"Every man, woman, and child I bring here is here to entertain you, and they will do the same. If they cannot, I will give them to you as a gift. Your loyal following means more to me than words can possibly express. If not for you, I couldn't have rebuilt after our enemies massacred our friends and family. I hope you can accept this token of my gratitude."

A standing ovation. The sound of them cheering him beat at my skull until I was sure my ears were bleeding.

"This isn't the first token, nor will it be the last!" Cyrus backed to the far side of the room, close to the exit, and lowered his voice so the crowd hushed to hear him. "Let the show begin."

Eerie, foreign music seeped into the room like a dark cloud. Smoke crawled along the floor. Three large, cloaked forms appeared before us, faces masked in black leather held together with rows of metal staples. The black cloaks flowed around the forms as though stirred by a gentle breeze. Then went still.

Each cloaked figure extended a black-gloved hand. I stared up at the one in front of me. His eyes were black in the shadows of the slitted eyeholes of the mask. I studied them, hoping to catch a hint of brown. But they were too dark to tell.

Could this be Vince? And, if it was, had he forgiven me? Or would he use this opportunity to make me suffer for my betrayal? The look on his face when he'd seen me with Cyrus and Darryl made that seem possible, but then again . . . .

I remembered the last thing he'd said to me before he'd told me to go with Lacy.

Trust me. If I've taught you anything, let it be that
.

The cloaked man could be Darryl. Or Jed. Or Eddie. Or any one of the guards.

But would Vince just stand by and let me go through this alone? He'd stood up to Cyrus once for me. I had to believe he'd do it again.

The gloved hand made a sharp motion in front of my face, and the fingers curled inward. An impatient gesture. As though to say, "You know what you're supposed to do."

Already, Tobi and Steve were being towed to the tables by the other two cloaked figures. Their naked bodies where hidden by the black fabric as they were chained to the wood surfaces.

But I hadn't been forced. He waited for me to submit.

I lay my wrist on the cool, leather-covered palm.

He brought me to the table and then picked me up and sat me on the edge. The wood was nice and smooth, carefully sanded down to leave no splinters. He reached under his cloak and came out with two solid steel shackles. Soft fabric lined the insides, covering the blunt edges.

I bit my bottom lip and held back a smile. It
was
Vince. No one else would have cared enough to make sure I was as comfortable as possible. I let him attach the shackles to my wrists and didn't resist as he lowered me to the table. I stretched my arms over my head, and he clipped the shackles to a chain attached to the table legs.

Then he went to the other end of the table, shackled my ankles, and chained them as well.

"Three rules for the performers," Cyrus said. "You lose points if your . . . victims scream or come."

Come? Fucking psycho! As if!

"If they die, you are eliminated. If one word is spoken, you are disqualified.

Whoever finishes with the most points wins." He paused. "Aside from that, enjoy!"

Vince came to my side, ran his knuckles down my cheek, and studied my face for a moment. He held up a thick, red, velvet blindfold.

I shook my head.

He nodded.

Okay.
He wasn't asking if I wanted it. It was required. I inhaled and bent my neck so he could tie the ribbon behind my head.
I can do this.

The soft material covering my eyes gentled the blackness that stole my vision.

The feeling of being closed in came and went. Cool air brushed my body, as though to remind me how exposed I was, but it didn't bother me. There was nothing in the room but Vince.

I know it's him, and he made sure I did. He'll take care of me.

But when a saw
whirred
close, I wasn't so sure. I tensed and swallowed spastically. Metal teeth bit at the flesh of my abdomen. Fast, but not nearly as fast as a saw blade. It cut across my skin . . . yet didn't actually
cut.

The sensation moved up, and the sound followed. My body convulsed as though convinced it was being sliced open, but a remote part of my mind told me I remained whole. The teeth moved around one breast, then the other. My nipples tightened as the tiny bites circled closer and closer to them. Fear diminished, and something else took its place. Arousal. Now that I knew it was Vince doing this to me, I could find pleasure in it.

A high, metal whine rose high then dwindled away. Sputtered off, then kicked up. The table shook. Woodchips hit my hip. The saw cut into the table. I could feel the heat of the blade coming closer and closer. I choked back a scream and tugged at my restraints. Even with the padding, the shackles chafed my ankles and wrists.

What is he doing?

A jerk and the blade whirred free. Slashed across my—no . . . not the blade.

Something else brushed my thigh. Something soft.

The sound died. I could hear similar sounds across the room drowned out by what I was sure were Tobi's screams.

Another sound rose above me. Gritty buzzing. The vibrations hit my pussy, and my hips bucked. Harsh scraping, skinning me. But again, I knew it wasn't. I did my best to separate what I heard from what I felt. A roughness, scratching like sandpaper. But it didn't hurt enough for me to be losing flesh.

My inner thighs were scraped lightly. Then my pussy lips. Moisture spilled as I absorbed the harsh touch. It made me feel so hot down there. I spread my thighs as wide as I could, inviting more. I wanted more. Wanted it deep inside me. As it rubbed, I felt something building deep in my core. My head tossed from side to side as something brushed my folds.

The buzzing stopped.

I groaned and thrust my hips up. Mindlessly, I sought something to fill me.

Beneath the blindfold, my eyes flooded with desperate tears. Suddenly, nothing touched me, and I needed something. Anything.

A click. Another and another. Cool metal brushed my hip. The edge pressed in, just a little, giving me a taste of the sharp edge.

Knife? No, that didn't go with the theme of the performance. What else could be found in a tool box?

An Exacto.

I pressed my eyes shut tight. I'd told Vince to cut me, but he'd refused. Maybe he didn't have a choice now. But Exacto blades were so sharp . . . what if he cut too deep without meaning to?

The razor edge skimmed my hip bone. Slid across my stomach. It was so cold, I couldn't tell if it was just the icy sensation than made my flesh feel like it was coming apart. All I knew was I had to trust Vince. Absolutely. Explicitly. He'd shown me how much control he had. Fine, he couldn't stop Cyrus. But Cyrus wouldn't interfere now. In this it was only Vince and I. Playing Cyrus' game, yes, but by our own rules.

A tiny prick caught me off guard, but I inhaled and rode the heat that followed, recalling the needles that had pierced my flesh, recalling how Vince had shown me how exquisite pain could be.

My insides clenched as the pain and wet heat traced my abdomen, taking shape.

A butterfly. Without seeing, I knew what it was. The crowd sighed in appreciation as Vince once again turned me into a canvas.

The heat stung a little. I pressed my lips together. A cold drop splashed the rim of a wing, and it caught fire. I gasped in a breath as fluid flames covered my stomach.

They lapped up over my breasts and down my thighs, consuming everything in-between. And then my mind switched . . . not off, just to another frequency, where the burning reached deep, deep inside me, but I knew it wasn't hurting me. I inhaled and caught the sharp scent of alcohol. That was what made the flames.