Collateral Damage (27 page)

"Very true." He gave me a small, sad smile and bend down to pull out the plank under the bed. Then he reached in and brought out a dagger half the length of my arm.

"You're quite handy with a blade. And to be honest, I think the odds are in your favor if you're cornered and fighting for your life and the life of that little boy."

"You're damned right they are." I took the knife and gave him a level look. "Just swear to me you'll do everything in your power to make it out of this. Don't be a fucking hero. Fight dirty, and make a break for it. If you make it to the house it's over."

Hand curved under my jaw, Vince gave me a fierce kiss. "Cyrus taught me how to fight. Dirty is the only way I know."

At a shout from just beyond the mouth of the shelter, we both went still.

"I can read a damn map, asshole." A man snarled. "This is the place Cyrus marked. It should be here."

I closed my eyes and shook my head.
Figures.

"It's here." Patrick said, sounding very, very close. "I smell sex."

"No surprise there. You nailed pussy until you passed out."

"Shut up!"

"With all the noise you're making, I'm sure they've heard us." Chris' tone was much calmer than the other two men. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. "And if you think about it, there's only one place they can be. There's no solar repellant tents that I can see, and Vince wouldn't have survived the day in a tree house—not that I see one of those either."

"You think they went to ground? But how?" A new voice—female, and not the shrill whine from the night before. "He could bury himself and survive, but she—"

"Needs air. So we should look for an opening."

Vince pushed me behind him and then scooped up his spear. He stared at the opening, tense, ready.

I took his lead and tightened my grip on the knife.

Plants ripped, rocks thrown, a circle of light sweeping back and forth across the entrance. Any second they'd find us. Which was good. Let them crawl in here. Where we were in control. They'd be worming their way to the slaughter.

"Nicole . . . ." Vince glanced back at me. "Stop—"

"Wait," the woman said, quietly. "There's a better way."

A
slam,
then a chunk of dirt dropped from the ceiling. More followed and the roof caved in, crushing the bed and shelves before swallowing them in darkness. Vince covered me with his body, holding up the weight of the collapsed earth with his back, using his hands to keep the crumbling bits from my face. The air thickened, and I held my fingers over my mouth to filter out what I could.

I'm going to die in here!
Terror wrapped its crawls around my throat. I gasped and locked my arms and legs to stop myself from struggling. Reason clawed its way to the surface of my mind, but my instincts shoved it aside.
Getoutgetoutgetout!

"Do whatever they say, Nicole." Vince's tone was strained, as though the pressure was too much for him. "Do not fight. Don't give them any reason to hurt you."

Suddenly, I couldn't feel him anymore, but I could feel the earth's smothering embrace. I writhed to give myself space, trying to move my arms enough to dig my way out. But the packed dirt restrained them.

I was buried alive.

* * * * *

I was drowning.

Water filled my mouth, my eyes. I choked and tugged at my arms, prepared to swim. But they were bound underneath . . . no, behind me. Around something. A tree?

And my feet where flat on solid ground.

A rough cloth dried my face. I looked up into Patrick's smiling face.

"There we go." He held the rag to my nose. "Blow. You'll feel better when you get all the dirt out."

Too disoriented for pride, I blew my nose and then gulped in air. Grit crudded my vision, so I blinked fast.

Patrick forced my head back and dumped more water over me. "You almost didn't make it, honey, but I took care of you. Are you grateful?"

I sputtered, tossing my head wildly from side to side. "Vince!"

A hard slap brought me back to my senses. Patrick glared at me. "I saved you!

And I asked you a question! Are you grateful?"

Do whatever they say.
Vince had told me.

Giving Patrick an answer would probably be a good start. "I'm grateful. I'm sorry. I just kinda freaked out."

"That's understandable." Patrick dropped the rag and bent down to take another from the bucket by my feet. He wrung it out and spread it over his hand, bringing it up to clean the mud from my breasts. "But you're fine. Just make me happy, and you'll stay that way."

Didn't take much to figure out what he wanted. But I asked anyway. "What should I do?"

He slopped the rag in the water, and then ran it up my leg, between my thighs.

"Nothing much. I'll do most of the work. All I ask is that you don't scream."

I swallowed and nodded.

A blast ripped through the air. His head exploded.

I screamed.

Chaos erupted. All around, men and women stumbled around the tents, falling as shots rained down on them. Staked to the ground at the other side of the camp, Vince struggled to buck the body of a dead woman off him. He finally managed to get one hand free and fling her aside. Then he caught my eye and nodded towards the bonfire in the center of the camp.

Cyrus slung the strap of a shotgun over his shoulder and surveyed the carnage.

"You paid for one night, people. Time's up."

My head thunked back into the tree.
Who'd have thought I'd ever be happy to see
Cyrus?

Steady footsteps approached me. I knew who it was, so I didn't bother looking until he spoke. "You put on quite a show, my dear. Ready for another?"

"Show?" Brow creased, I lowered my head and stared at him. "And another?

What are you talking about?"

"You'll see." He winked and pulled out a knife, swiftly cutting my restraints before picking me up and carrying me over to Vince who had also been released. "Think you can manage to get her back home?"

"Yes." Vince held out his arms, and I practically threw myself into them. "But why—?"

"Don't question me, Vincent. It will irritate me, and I'm in a very good mood."

Cyrus clapped Vince on the shoulder. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

We both gaped at him as he strolled into the woods, whistling "Sweet Georgia Brown."

Cyrus
was
in a good mood. And that was very, very bad.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mud caked the bath drain. As hot water rained down, I stared at the crimson puddle forming around my feet. There'd been blood on me.

Not mine
.

And this wasn't the first time I'd washed someone else's blood off me. The first time, it had been Amanda's blood. And there'd never be a last time.
Never.

I started shaking.

"Nicole, listen to me." Vince pressed against me as he soaped my hair for the third time, letting me feel him there, solid and strong and real, before he spoke again.

"We made it. We're both alive. The horror you witnessed is nothing. Less than nothing.

If I had gotten free, I would have killed them. They deserved to die."

"Yes, but you had a
reason
to want them dead." My lips quivered as I heard that song again, so light and cheery, so sick and twisted. "Cyrus did it because he could."

"Better them than us." He turned me to face him, adjusting the showerhead to rinse my hair. "It might be a cold way to look at it, but it will keep you sane."

"When does it end? How far will it go before I'm just like Lacy, not caring how many women and men are raped and murdered as long as they're not me?"

"That won't happen," he said as though his words made it so. Then he knelt, cleaned the drain, and swept away the dirt and blood. After lathering up a loofah, he held out his hand. "Give me your foot."

I braced myself against the tiles and let him wash me, feeling a little more human as the coppery scent in the air faded and a rich, jasmine aroma took its place. Strange how being clean could change things. All the way back I'd hung onto Vince, whimpering whenever anyone came close, a pathetic, broken thing. He'd carried me all the way to the bathroom, sat me in the bath and climbed in with me just to hold me up.

Because I'd been ready to curl into a little ball and just hide there forever.

But he hadn't let me. He'd pulled me back together and forced me to stand on my own two feet. And now that he'd gotten me talking, he was determined to keep me there.

"I was wondering if maybe, after whatever show Cyrus has planned, you'd mind if I read to Alrik." He ducked down to turn off the faucet as he spoke and then stepped right out of the bath without looking at me. "I may need your help, but I think I can manage something simple."

"Of course, I don't mind." I took the terrycloth robe he handed me and frowned at his back. "I'd still like to know when you figured out you could read."

He shrugged as he scrubbed his hair with a small towel. "When Alrik had trouble reading words he hadn't had a problem with before—right after Cyrus came in. I think he wanted me to know. To show me how powerless I am. Anything Alrik is taught can be taken from him as it was taken from me."

I shrugged on the robe and then tied the belt tight. "So your teachers
did
teach you to read?"

"No . . . I can vaguely remember being able to read before . . . ." He shook his head. "But I, like Alrik, wasn't interested in learning Shakespeare. Or much of anything.

My teachers paid for their failure, but I was too young to understand. Or care. My time with the guards and Cyrus was fun, and I looked forward to the moment when I could escape the classroom and join them."

"Which is what Cyrus is doing with Alrik. It won't be long before Alrik figures I'm wasting his time. Why learn how to read and write? As far as he knows, you can't.

And he admires you. Wants to be just like you—just like you wanted to be like Cyrus." I bit my lips and touched his shoulder. "But do you really think Cyrus will let that continue? He might let me keep teaching Alrik so the kid can decide on his own he doesn't need me . . . might let us get close so he can use me . . . ."

"But I don't work into his plans, do I?" Vince let out an empty laugh. "I spent my entire life trying to become something more than the people who disappeared into the basement, and now that's all I am."

"Don't." I hugged his waist. "Don't give me hope only to lose it yourself."

The door swung open.

"Oh, you two are priceless. Of course, that's why you're still alive, but it never ceases to amaze me. You make such a cute couple!" Cyrus chuckled. "I didn't spoil the moment, did I?"

Vince drew away from me and donned the second robe. "You said there'd be another show?"

"Yes, but I'll let you go check in on Alrik first. He's been asking for you."

"You—" Vince started.

I grabbed Vince's hand and towed him past Cyrus. "That's a great idea. Let's go."

Cyrus followed us to the bottom of the stairs. "I bought the boy a few new books, Vincent. Perhaps you'll find one to your liking to read to him?"

At Cyrus' words, Vince's spine stiffened, but I kept tugging before he could give Cyrus the reaction he obviously wanted. Cyrus was being generous. We could question it, or we could take the rare opportunity we'd been given. I chose the latter. Gift horse and all that.

Alrik was sitting on the floor in his room, playing with about a dozen matchbox cars and a tank. I watched him line up the cars and run them over with the tank.

"Victory is mine!" He let out an evil cackle. "You'll never stop me!"

Kid play.
I took a deep breath and did my best to convince myself Alrik's game didn't mean anything.
You wouldn't freak if he was pretending to be Darth Vader, would
you?

Here? Yeah, I probably would. But I pushed the thought aside and went to the pile of cushions in the corner. "Hey, buddy! Guess what? Vince is going to read to you tonight!"

"He is?" Alrik's face lit up. He glanced at Vince, and his color dropped. “Did you get hurt?”

“Just got something in my eye,” Vince said, smoothly. “So what do you say?

Should I take over story time tonight?”

Alrik stared at the patch over Vince’s eye, lips pursed. He dropped the tank and crawled onto the cushion I plunked down in front of him. "
The Worm's Hand
?"

Vince shook his head as he looked over the new books on Alrik's shelves. He swallowed twice before he picked the one on top of the pile.
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
.

"This was my favorite . . . when I was about your age. I think my father read it to me."

"You think?" Alrik frowned at Vince. "You mean you don't remember?"

"This place makes you forget." Vince tapped his fingers on the cover of the book.

"What you know, who you are . . . those you love. Hang on to that as long as you can, Alrik."

"I won't ever forget." Jaw clenched, Alrik hunched forward. "I love my father, and I know he'll come get me as soon as he can. He always comes back." He bit his lip.

"I'm sorry your father didn't."

"He couldn't." Vince forced a smile and then cleared his throat. "Are you ready?"

Alrik nodded, and Vince started reading. He stumbled over a few words, but managed them with only a bit of help from me. My throat caught when he reached the part where the caterpillar became a butterfly. He smiled and took my hand, stroking my knuckles with his thumb as he read "The end."

A knock sounded at the door, telling us our time was up.

"Cyrus wants you both to meet him downstairs in the living room," Darryl said when we joined him in the hall. He leered at me. "Then on to the show."

This time, it was Vince dragging me away before I could come up with a retort.

Just being near Darryl made me feel sick, so I didn't resist, but I really wished I hadn't lost my machete.

The living room wasn't anything special. Black, leather sofa and chair. A high-end home theater system. It didn't look like a place to cuddle up and watch sitcoms.