Jonas (Darkness #7)(2)

Jonas filed that information away as she started to speak in a low, sensual voice. “By now I imagine you know you’ve been taken. All we require out of you is information. Just a few easy answers and everyone is happy. You don’t need to see me any more than is absolutely necessary.”

She paused expectantly. Jonas simply stared. He was getting bored.

“So let’s start with the easy ones, shall we?” She sauntered closer. As her shoes clicked on the stone she snaked the whip over her shoulder and then down across her body, eyeing the places on his torso her first strikes would land. That leather traveled over well-rounded breasts and delicious cleavage before sliding down her flat stomach and over shapely thighs. She was getting ready, not trying to entice him sexually. Her brutality was coming to the surface.

Jonas’ heart started to hammer. That light of confident ruthlessness sparkled in her eyes as she ran her finger lightly over the handle of her whip. Her pink tongue ran over that sensuous bottom lip before she smiled a little to herself. She was probably planning to punish him for his earlier arousal—probably going to teach him a lesson.

Oh gods, he really hoped she was planning to punish him. For a long time. Really hard.

He opened and closed his fists in anticipation.

“What’s your name?” she asked in a sultry voice.

Jonas let his gaze burn into hers. Without flinching, tightness around her eyes completely gone, rigidity having melted in a graceful sensuousness that could not be taught, she met his gaze with a wild streak of raw violence. This female was stepping onto the battle field and her energy soaked into him like a power line. Jonas’ dick was so hard he was having trouble thinking.

“I usually will not ask a question twice without something to fill the pauses. However, since this is your first time, I’ll be lenient. Just this once.” She stopped right in front of him. Her whip dangled down her thigh. “What is your name?”

Jonas watched her blue eyes flash. Here it comes.

She moved with the grace of a predator. Her hand came up quickly and flicked. The whip splashed out in a string of leather and licked his torso. A stinging pain he barely registered lanced his pec. She was taking it easy on him.

Damn.

“What is your name?” she asked again. He could hear the passion in her voice. The desire to inflict pain humming deeply in her words. But when the next lash fell, it was barely harder than the last.

His ardor started to drain away in his disappointment. She should’ve been able to tell what he could take by sizing him up—any torturer worthy of the title had that trait. And she probably did notice it—it seemed like she had by that analytical gaze—but she didn’t act on it. She had the ability, but not the gumption.

What damned, depressing news.

Jonas let his gaze drift straight-ahead toward the wall. Her sensual voice droned on as Jonas let his mind drift to Sasha and the Boss. He wondered how the little babies were. He wasn’t a people person, but he’d always loved kids. They were so sweet and innocent when they were young. They looked at the world with big, bright eyes. Anything was possible. Jonas really wanted his own someday. He wanted a mate he could protect and support. A family to raise and a home away from the Mansion where he could spend his dawnings. He wanted peace, both of mind and body. Tranquility.

A whip stroke fell, the slice across his chest barely registering. He completely ignored any that came after—it wasn’t hard to do.

He thought back to holding Sabrina when she was just a few hours old. He’d almost felt that tranquility he craved. That deeper purpose. Looking on her tiny, angelic face, he’d let go of his own demons. All he could think about was wanting to give everything he had to make sure Sasha’s two infants went through life with the best it had to offer. They wouldn’t be picked on and torn apart like he was. They’d have someone to stand up for them—to protect them, even if their parents took off. Jonas would make sure they were nothing but loved and supported, no matter what came.

The bite of the leather sank in a little deeper. Not just a housefly, now. A horse fly. Still irritating. He almost wanted to tell her to just move on to a knife—she wasn’t fulfilling his expectations with the whip.

“Just your name. That’s all I want.”

He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he let the caress of the leather lull his mind. Every torturer wanted to break their subject. That was the point. The beginning was an answer to a simple question. Just one answer. That wasn’t so bad, the subject would think. The reprieve of pain would be a nice change. Then the next answer. And the next. When the pain got really bad, those answers were a lifeline until suddenly, the tortured was nothing more than a broken snitch. He was a dog, trained to obey.

That just didn’t fly with Jonas. Plus, he’d been through all this before. It hadn’t mattered that the boys who caught him were just pretending—their knives were real. The blood and pain was real. And he’d squealed. He’d squealed like a little pig. He’d told on his good friend for taking Julia’s sword. He’d told on himself for a million things he shouldn’t have done. He’d made stuff up. He’d pissed himself. He’d cried and begged. He’d promised them he’d do anything, anything if they’d let him go.

He’d been twelve. A child. The boys had been graduating school—much older than him. He’d been their first victim and he’d had to endure five different sessions before they’d gotten bored with him. They’d gotten caught when the next boy told on them. The other boy hadn’t been afraid to speak up and became an instant martyr. Instead of shunning him, the adults all thought he was brave for enduring the torture.