Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(93)

“But you knew I’d come for you, didn’t you? You knew I’d come.”

His voice echoes around me, filling my ears, filling my body, staining me from skin to marrow. Yes, I knew he’d come. He might be a criminal, a murderer, and a complete psychopath, but he is a man of his word.

“That does raise the question, however.”

“Hmm?”

“The Bank of America job? That did me some harm.”

His laugh is indulgent. “Don’t be ridiculous. That was a minor inconvenience that made you stronger in the end. I did you a favor, Tabitha. I taught you what bumbling incompetents are running the circus.”

I snap, “It taught me not to trust anyone. Along with everything else you did.”

“Which is the greatest gift I could ever give you. Trust is for children and fools. We are neither.”

With a sharp pain in my chest like a knife twisting, I recall Connor’s words.

“Trust is better than anything else.”

That memory makes me miss him with a feral ache. But he’s not here, and I have to stop thinking about him or I won’t be able to do what needs to be done. I won’t be able to put one foot in front of the other if I think too long about the possibility that I’ll never see him again.

S?ren says, “What we have is stronger than trust, Tabitha. It can never be broken. We have blood. We’re family—”

“You murdered my family!” I say suddenly, loudly, the words unexpectedly raw in my throat. My head is finally clear, and fury has arrived along with the clarity. But I have to control it, or I’ll lose my edge. And when S?ren is involved, losing an edge means losing everything.

I drag in a deep breath, let it out, do it again and again, ignoring the trembling in my hands.

“I set you free,” he says gently, as if by killing everyone I loved, he’d done me a great kindness.

My hands stop shaking and curl to fists. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. You know why I’m here.”

“You’re here to kill me,” his disembodied voice replies, matter-of-fact. “Or at least that’s why you think you’re here. But how will you justify it to yourself? You’ll have blood on your hands. Won’t my death make you just like me?”

“I’m nothing like you.”

He sighs. “Your relentless denial bores me. You’re exactly like me, Tabitha. If you’d only embrace your true nature—”

All at once my patience snaps, and I’m shouting. “Open this f*cking door!”

“Now, now,” he scolds lightly. “That’s another ten lashes.”

“I’m not afraid of your threats, S?ren! I told you nine years ago that eventually I’d finish what I started, no matter how long you tried to hide! You’re a rabid dog who needs to be put down! You could whip me a thousand times and I’d still find a way to kill you!”

That smug, silken laughter again, stoking my rage. “Oh, dear sister. I never said I was talking about whipping you.”

On silent tracks, the steel door slides open. What I see on the other side makes me gasp in shock.

“No,” I whisper, realizing too late what he means.





Thirty-Four





Tabby




The cave the tunnel opens into is vast, the ceiling so high above it’s wreathed in shadow. The walls are bare rock, rough-hewn and craggy, a dark gray color veined with pale mineral deposits that glimmer in the dim light. The floor is made of the same rock, polished to a mirror sheen. A long bank of computers sits along the wall to my left. The monitors cast a dim blue glow, which matches the blue glow of the LED strips circumnavigating the room a few feet above the floor. On the opposite side of the room is a sitting area, a modern sofa and three chairs in white leather, a white bearskin rug. Above me to the right is a large, elevated platform with a spiral steel staircase at one end, leading down. The air is warm and still, and smells strongly of sulphur.

Directly in front of me, suspended from a thick woven steel cable attached to a leather collar around her neck, is Juanita.

She’s gagged. Her wrists are bound behind her back. She’s barefoot, dressed only in denim shorts and a T-shirt with the MMA wrestling logo on the front. The cable from which she’s suspended is measured perfectly so that she has to stand on tippy-toe to avoid being strangled by the collar.

When she sees me, she starts to cry uncontrollably. The sound is muffled by the ball gag in her mouth.

I cry out and lunge forward. I’m instantly flanked by four of S?ren’s guards, pointing high-powered rifles at my chest. They’d been standing just inside the door.

I jerk to a stop. The guards slowly move in front of me, keeping me in their sights.

Twisting on the cable, her bare toes slipping over the polished floor, Juanita softly sobs.

From above comes S?ren’s voice, floating down like gossamer. “Welcome home, Tabitha.”

I look up and see him leaning over the metal railing of the platform, smiling down at me. He’s holding a coiled bullwhip in his right hand.

My pulse thundering, I shout, “Let her go!”

His smile grows wider. Light from behind him haloes his golden head. He’s dressed in perfectly fitted black trousers and a white button-down silk shirt, the cuffs rolled up his forearms, the collar open at his throat. Like mine, his feet are bare.