Page 106 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
Caesar came and stood over her again, and now all his lightness and teasing were gone, all the chipper, chilling playfulness vanished. He was utterly serious, the light shining blue off his black hair, his face wiped clean of emotion. Even his black eyes had gone flat; this seemed more ominous than any of his other moods.
“It’s been lovely getting to know you, little rabbit,” he said coldly. “But I’m afraid playtime is over. Tell me how to contact your boyfriend or I’ll cut off stepmommy’s head. And I’m pretty sure that’s not something that can be healed with a few drops of my blood.”
From behind him, Marguerite let out a low, anguished moan. Ember hesitated, and Caesar added, “Although I’m willing it try it if you are.”
“No,” Ember whispered. She swallowed and sat up straighter in her chair, a loud buzzing in her ears. “Please, listen. Just let her go and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I promise you I’ll cooperate. But please—let her go. She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
One corner of Caesar’s mouth curled, the tiniest smile. “Au contraire, little rabbit. She has everything to do with this. She’s what I like to call motivation.”
Without taking his gaze from hers, he backed up slowly until he was beside Marguerite’s chair. The whole time he’d been holding the knife, and now he raised it to Marguerite’s face. She stiffened in horror and let out a choked sob.
“Her left eye first,” he said softly, savoring the words. “Then her right. Then her ears. Then her lovely, lovely lips. And then—if she’s still alive at the end of all that—her head. After I scalp it.”
Ember felt the room begin to spin. This was not how this was supposed to happen. She had to get him alone, away from Marguerite…she had to think—
She begged, “Please—please Caesar—”
“No negotiating!” He pressed the tip of his knife against Marguerite’s cheek, and she froze, a little mewl of terror escaping her lips. Caesar moved the knife up to a millimeter beneath her eye socket, and his question came deadly quiet.
“How do I contact him, September?”
Trembling in rage, Ember looked him in the eye and said, “All right. I’ll tell you, but there’s something you should know first.”
Caesar’s brows rose, and Ember screeched, “He is going to tear! You! Apart!”
An eye roll, then an aggravated sigh. With a glance at one of his men, Caesar directed, “Search her for a cell phone, will you? This is getting tedious.”
Ember’s heart seized. Her mind screamed No!
It took all of four seconds for her coat to be stripped off, rifled through, and tossed aside. Then she was surrounded, thrown to the desk and pinned once again, her arms yanked roughly back and held aside while a pair of hands shoved up her long, bulky sweater to her waist.
“Here we go,” said a satisfied voice as her cell phone was pulled from the back pocket of her jeans. The man tossed it to Caesar who caught it easily in on hand.
r /> For a breathless, heart-stopping moment, Ember thought she was safe. But then she glanced at Caesar and knew she was oh so wrong.
His eyes, wolf bright, had focused on where her sweater bunched up around her waist. His lips parted; he took a slow step toward her, his expression one of outraged disbelief.
Then faster than her eyes could track, he was beside her. He yanked up the sweater, revealing what lay beneath. Then he looked at her with such violence in his eyes she thought he might kill her with his gaze alone.
In the darkest, most threatening voice she’d ever heard, Caesar whispered, “Oh you silly, silly rabbit. Tricks are for kids.”
He flipped her onto her back, slammed a hand around her throat, and tore off the sweater with his other hand, ripping it down the middle as easily as if it were tissue.
And the air in the room went electric.
“Don’t touch it!” Caesar screamed when one of his men reached for the black nylon vest strapped around her body. Front and back, the vest sported pockets filled with thin orange bricks of plastic explosives.
Ember kicked out with both her legs, but the big black-haired males grabbed them before she could make another move, and her arms were similarly subdued. Shaking in fear, anger, and desperation, she was stretched out over the desk, utterly helpless.
Across the room, Marguerite stared at her in white-faced, open-mouthed horror.
“Semtex,” said one of Caesar’s men, looking down at the nylon vest with an expression of grudging admiration. “That’s some serious shit, boss.”
“Serious shit indeed—and enough of it to blow anything to kingdom come,” hissed Caesar. He leaned directly over Ember, staring down at her with hatred and a crazed sort of fury, his teeth peeled back over his lips. “Where’s the detonator?”
Ember spat in his face.
He snarled and squeezed his hand harder around her throat, cutting off her air supply.
