Page 27 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
Caesar’s gaze, cooler, swept over the other guards. “As for the rest of you, get back to digging the trenches for the aqueduct. I want running water within the week. Do I make myself clear?”
Judging by the chorus of “Yes, Sire!” that rang out, he had.
Caesar left the room, whistling, on his way to make an important call on his satellite phone.
Time for stage two in his plan for world domination to be set into play.
The moment the black hood was pulled over her head from behind and the line of bobbing boats moored at Pier 61 at the Chelsea docks vanished from sight, Jack experienced a terror so bone deep and incapacitating she wasn’t able to move her legs when a hand placed at the small of her back gave her a firm push forward.
She’d tried to mentally prepare herself for death, but that’s like trying to mentally prepare yourself for childbirth, or being cheated on by the love of your life. No matter how well you think you can handle it, reality is a bitch with a twisted sense of humor.
In such situations, dignity is the first thing that flies out the window.
Jack’s frozen legs refused to bend. She pitched forward with a strangled gasp, sucking cold night air into her mouth through the scratchy cloth of her new headwear.
The hand that had pushed her grabbed her arm before she could hit the ground face first. It was joined by another hand—big, with a vice-like grip—and Jack was pulled back to her feet and steadied.
“Better get your legs working, Red,” said a gruff male voice into her ear. He was so close she felt his warm breath slide down her neck. “You’re gonna need ’em where we’re going.”
Beyond the thundering of her heart and the roar of the blood rushing through her veins, Jack recognized that silk/sandpaper voice, though she hadn’t yet glimpsed its owner. Terror morphed instantly to rage, an emotion she was far more comfortable with.
She hissed, “If I were you I’d be more worried about how well my hands are working. Because the minute they get the chance, they’re going to claw out your eyes, asshole!”
A low chuckle. The musical chink of metal sliding against metal. Then his voice, now amused. “Glad to see we’re still on the same page.”
“We were never on the same page, you lying, scheming, underhanded, son of a—”
The cold bite of metal encircled her left wrist, then her right. A snap and a tug, and both her hands had been pulled behind her back. It happened so quickly it was over before she could react, before she could even draw in a breath.
Handcuffs.
The rage grew. Burning hot, engulfing, it felt as if she were standing on the surface of the sun. Her entire body vibrated with the urge to kick and hit and scream and claw and hurt him, hurt him, hurt him.
Beside her, Hawk exhaled a slow, ragged breath. “Yeah. The feeling’s mutual, believe me.”
Trying to regain a shred of her lost dignity, though her emotions were evident from the way her voice shook, Jack said, “This cloak-and-dagger routine is unnecessary. Just kill me now. Just get it over with.”
Jack felt Hawk’s surprise. There was a beat of silence as he processed that. He answered ominously, “If I wanted you dead, woman, you already would be.” Then his big hand curled around her bicep, and he propelled her forward.
He walked quickly, with purpose, his strides even and long. She had to hurry to keep up, but it was difficult, due to his pace, her blindness, and the way he kept her so close beside him, dragging her along. She muttered a curse as she lost her footing on an uneven patch of ground.
Hawk’s fingers tightened around her arm. “What did I tell you about that mouth?”
Judging by his tone, she’d found a sore spot . . . which she intended to ruthlessly leverage. In the darkness behind the hood, her lips formed a bitter smile.
If I’m going to die, I’m going to piss you off as much as possible before I do.
She didn’t believe for one moment that Hawk wasn’t going to kill her, probably in the most gruesome of ways. She’d seen the violence his kind was capable of. She knew the nature of these Shifters who called themselves Ikati was bloodthirsty, and utterly merciless. Their leader, Caesar, had slaughtered the Pope on live television during his Christmas Day speech, for God’s sake! Then on Easter, he’d murdered every important religious and political leader across the globe. The US, French, and Russian presidents; the UK, Israeli, Canadian, Japanese, and Italian prime ministers; the chancellor of Germany; the chairman of the US Joint Chiefs of Staff; the Supreme Leaders of Iran and North Korea; the two Chief Rabbis of Israel; archbishops and cardinals from various countries; Grand Imams . . . it had been a highly coordinated, perfectly planned, chillingly effective declaration of war that screamed in big, bold letters: WE HATE HUMANS.
The entire massacre illustrated with chilling clarity the Ikati’s ability to bypass with ease even the most sophisticated of human security measures.
So Jack had no illusions she would be treated well, or would be alive when the sun rose tomorrow morning. This was her final night on Earth, of that she was sure.
What she wasn’t so sure of was the reason he’d wanted to meet at the docks.
The “proposition” he’d offered in his emailed video had been ambiguous at best. In return for not releasing the photos of the two of them in flagrante delicto, she would be required to come to the docks at midnight three days’ hence, with nothing other than the clothes on her back. No handbag, no cell phone, no camera, no questions asked. She was to tell no one about him or their agreement, and he assured her all her communications were being carefully monitored, including her cell phone, email, work phone, and house phone, so he’d know if she talked.
That was all bad, but what finally cinched the deal was the threat to her father.
