Page 175 of Black Bird

Her ankles strained against the legs of the chair; the rope coiled all the way up her calves. Her chest heaved up and down, and the panic won her over as hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

Not like this … please, God … not like this.

Fuck, her head hurt. Her skin was tight at her temple with dried blood, and her lip stung when she licked the open split near the corner. The tang of iron was bitter on her tongue. How had it come to this? She knew the only reason anyone would have to target her would have been to get to Sarah. What would have happened had they never stepped foot in that club that night? Would anyone still be after Sarah if Athan hadn’t attacked her? She wanted to hate them both. Wanted to blame them for the situation that she’d found herself in … but deep down, Wren knew it was neither of their faults. If there was anyone to blame, it’d be herself for taking Sarah to that fucking place. All Athan and Rhaena had ever tried to do was help them.

Rhaena …

She’d be looking by now. They all would. Wren dug into her memory, trying to recall what she could of the hazy moments that brought her here. She hadn’t called anyone on her way to the house. Hadn’t seen anyone that seemed suspicious when she pulled up at the coffee shop and started unloading the truck. In fact … from what she could remember, it seemed as though whoever had grabbed her had already been inside the apartment. They were brilliant detectives. They’d figure it out … right? And Denver …

Fuck … Denver …

Was he hurt in the fight she’d put up after being grabbed from behind? Had anyone found him in that carrier yet? Was he even alive? The tears came faster, and Wren couldn’t make out a sound other than the unnerving buzzing of thefuckinglight above her head. They would come for her. They would. She tried to remember anything she could about her attacker.

Think Wren … think.

There were no signs that anybody was there. For as long as she’d been through the door, nothing even seemed out of place. She had dropped her bag by the door, and turned to set Denver down, just about to bend over to let him out and close the door, and—and she’d turned just in time for someone to hit her in the face with something hard … somethingmetal. She’d hit the floor and scrambled to find something to fight him off with. What was he wearing? The floor lamp had fallen over, and the bulb broke on the floor when she grabbed around, and he’d kicked her in the ribs. They weren’t boots. Loafers … he was wearing dark brown loafers, and black slacks. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen his face—no—she hadn’t … it was covered.

When he’d grabbed her shoulders to bring her up from the floor, she’d swung both her fists, blindly. She remembered hitting him at least once in the face, and he hit her back hard. A ring. He had a ring, and he was left-handed. He turned her around and she could faintly recall the smell of him. Bourbon and cigar smoke. Then he’d hit her in the side of her head and that was the gist of what she could remember.

Wren stilled as the realization hit her. Bourbon and cigar smoke—loafers. Ugly-ass loafers that only rich old men and doctors wear. “Shit …” she whispered into the empty basement, raising her head and dropping her mouth open.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake this soon.” She knew that voice. Knew it without even having to piece it all together. Conrad Stratford slithered around from behind her and stood a few feet away from her chair, swirling whiskey in a short crystal glass. “How’s your head?”

“Fuck you …” Wren hissed through her teeth. Conrad grimaced, taking a sip from the cup and cocking his head to look closer at her face.

“I suppose I deserve that. I banged you up pretty good. I apologize. I didn’t realize you had that much fight in you.”

“Why did you bring me here, Stratford? What the hell do you think you’re gonna get from doing this? Besides a slow death?” Wren tried to reel in her emotions, and will herself calm.

“I’d be careful what manner of words you choose, Miss Vintorri. I’m not the one tied to a chair.”

“What, you’re gonna kill me?” Wren forced a shallow laugh. “You think that’s gonna get you what you want?”

“Yes, actually. If your whore friend wants you alive, she’ll give me exactly what I want.”

“Psh … you don’t even know her. You’re such a fucking coward. And a fool. Sarah is the most incredible person anyone could ever call a friend. She would have gladly given you what you wanted if you’d just asked her. You didn’t have to doanyof this.”

Conrad clicked his tongue. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, I’m afraid. It’s a shame, really. But … I’ve learned through many years in politics that if you want something done right, you just do it yourself. My son is a weak little piece of shit. He couldn’t handle something as easy as fucking her and getting simple information. I find this sends a clearer message.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Senator. I’ve never much cared for Brent, but he’s not as weak as you think. You’ve fucked up. The other side of Sarah isn’t so gentle, and there’s really no gentle side to Detective Kane. You have no idea what you’ve done. I hope I live to see the hell they’re all gonna rain down on you … you fuckingsnake.” Wren spit at his feet. Conrad took a step backward and sneered at her. “Oh, I’m sorry … did I get any on your fancy bedroom slippers?” She made it a point to grin at him through lowered brows and disheveled hair. “Guess not … come closer so I can try again, you dusty-ass, leather jock strap.”

Conrad threw his liquor into her face, and the bourbon set her split lip on fire. There wasn’t much difference in the way it ignited her swollen eye, either. Wren bit back a scream and squeezed her eyes shut just as he backhanded her and knocked the entire chair over, causing her to hit the uninjured side of her head on the concrete floor. “I was gonna chain you to the wall and let you eat, but you can starve tonight. Maybe you’ll play nice in the morning after being stuck like that for a while. If you can’t watch your smart mouth, I’ll gag you. Do we understand each other?”

Wren held tight to her dignity and forced another smile with her cheek against the floor. “Gross …” she ground out. “I’m already gagging, you son-of-a-bitch. Old men are so fucking disgusting.”

“Suit yourself, bitch.”

He left her there, and from this angle she could see him walk up a long set of rickety-looking steps and slam a heavy door that was out of sight. Once she was confident he wasn’t coming back, she quietly sobbed. They’d come for her. She’d make it through this. She had to be as strong as Sarah had been this entire ordeal. Her good eye caught movement near what looked to be a nasty mattress on the floor near the wall. When she squinted, and blinked back tears, it became a little clearer. A spider—a big one … moving toward her. Wren shrieked, struggling against her restraints, and having absolutely no luck as she heaved heavy sobs.

She hadn’t called on him for sex in a very long time. So long, that he couldn’t rightly remember when. Decclan had been just as surprised by the summon, as he was by the very different ways that she had him bed her this time. His queen had seemed softer—more affectionate—as if some foreign part of her was starved and she didn’t know how to satisfy it. He couldn’t remember a time that she’d kissed him on the mouth, especially not as passionately as she seemed to right now. Her long claw-like fingernails were once so bloodthirsty, but now barely scraped the side of his face. He knew deep down that being on the receiving end of this behavior wasn’t because she suddenly realized that she loved him—loved him the way he’s always loved her.

As much as he’d silently prayed for a union that felt like this, a huge part of him was apprehensive after what she’d done to the newborn, who the entire coven now knew was her mate. His loyalty had suddenly felt so wrong, and many of the others felt the same, though they wouldn’t dare express it. For the first time in hundreds of years, he questioned his deep regard for Dahlia Van Hausen. The heartbeat of his coven had slowed with the death of one of their own that they barely even had the chance to know. Even with as many of their own as she’d slaughtered with her bare hands, the heaviness of Patrick’s demise weighed far too much on them all. Decclan tried earnestly not to think on it as he effortlesslybrought the queen to her euphoria. She thanked him by offering her throat.

As he graciously fed from her, he exploded inside her body, raking the deepest growl free from his chest at the way that she quivered around him. They quieted and her eyes remained closed as she slumped on his bare chest. They had been closed the majority of this time together, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been right to think that she was imagining someone else inside her. The hard truth was … it could have been more than one person. The longer he held her in silence, the more the question festered within him like some kind of infection waging war on all his good sense. Before he could think to stop himself, Decclan lowered his face to look at her.

“What is it that you love so much about him?” He regretted that ushering of words the moment they left his mouth … but there was no way now of taking them back. Dahlia’s eyes opened and her slender eyebrows drew together as she raised her head and peered into him.

“Excuse me?”

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