Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(44)

Young voices rose into wails. Pleading. Begging.

I’m sorry, man, it’s just a game, you know. I gotta do it for my team, but when this is over, I’ll find that dickhead paper pusher and watch him die for you. He chose you, not me.

The pleading rose to a crescendo. She could see their eyes. So young. So scared. They’d never even been with a girl and they were going to die. Frog kept talking to them, assuaging his guilt at the expense of his two victims. He wanted them to understand that he had no choice. It was all part of the brotherhood. He needed forgiveness.

Girlish screams of fear. Tears tracking down baby faces. They couldn’t be more than fifteen. Two young boys just beginning life. Mom. Dad. I love you. I’m sorry.

What did they have to be sorry about? Only that a killer had trapped them and was about to end their lives. Nothing else. They hadn’t lived long enough or screwed up bad enough. Two boys who were intelligent and loved gadgets.

Her entire body shuddered, muscles locking. They were just babies, and Frog was going to kill them and then cut them into tiny pieces. At least he was merciful enough to kill them with a single shot to the head, to make certain they didn’t suffer. And then he began to slice them into pieces. Thirty each.

Stay cool, baby. I’m here with you. Feel me. Look into my eyes. You’re only far away in your head, but if you reach for me, they can’t take you. I’m your anchor.

Why thirty? What’s the significance of thirty? The number had to mean something. It meant something to Frog. A signal, a message, but to whom?

Kadan slid his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, holding tight, needing the contact more than she did. Her mind was amazing to him, cataloguing data, working fast, discarding theories. He’d never seen anything like it. But it took its toll.

Keep the barrier in place.

It wasn’t second nature to her, holding that wall to keep a separation. As a rule she merged herself totally with the killer and victims. Maybe the details were a little blurry, but as far as Kadan was concerned, she was picking up enough through the gloves to destroy her mind.

“What’s significant, Tansy?” she murmured to herself. “Thirty pieces of silver is all I can think of. What would that have to do with . . .” She trailed off, her eyes going wide. Blood trickled from her nose.

Pull away, break off completely.

She swallowed. Blinked. Her opaque eyes looked into his. Blood leaked from her mouth and one ear.

Kadan’s fingers tightened on her wrists and he dragged her into the shelter of his body, thrusting his mind into hers, dominant. Controlling. You f*cking listen to me, Tansy. Break off. He was prepared to use anything to get her back. Sex. A beating. Hell, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but separating her from those whispers calling to her, beckoning, raping her mind, filling her full of oily sludge and too much blood, so that she was drowning in it.

His hand went to the nape of her neck, thumbs under her jaw, forcing her head up. He took her mouth brutally. Desperately. His mind vibrated with sexual thoughts, with erotic visions, with need and hunger and such a craving for the taste and texture of her he shook with it.

Her mouth moved against his, and he felt that first burst of real awareness, her mind recognizing him as the sludge receded, leaving her raw and shaking but intact. He held her close, burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder, shaken beyond anything he could remember since he was that eight-year-old boy standing alone, frightened and covered in blood.

Damn it, baby. Just damn it. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his arms locking her head to his chest as if he never wanted to let go of her.

“I’m all right. I’m with you.” Her voice was small and muffled. Thin. As if she was stretched beyond endurance.

“I’m not going to survive this,” he said. “I’m not. We have to do better than this or you’re done.” He tipped her face up to his, his gaze drifting over it, brooding, edged with icy resolve. “You’re done, Tansy.”

“Thirty pieces of silver. Betrayal. This is huge. It was worth it.”

“Fuck that. It wasn’t worth it. It will never be worth it. Look at you. These are disgusting savages and they’re raping your mind. They eat you alive. You think I can’t feel what they’re doing inside your head?” He wiped at the blood on her face. “Like pieces of glass digging at the inside of your mind, scraping you raw. Leaving scars. And in each of those scars, images, voices—sick, perverted killers who won’t ever leave you alone. You’re done.”

She traced the rough angles and planes of his face with her fingertips. “Shh. You’re so upset, Kadan. I’m all right.” The pad of her finger stroked the deep scar.

“I don’t get upset.” He caught her wrists, dragged her hands down to his mouth and pressed kisses into each palm. “I’m not upset. I just know this isn’t right and I’m not letting you do this again.”

He was trembling. He didn’t seem to know it, but she’d shaken him. She couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at her with that stark, raw need, the fear and possession on his face. The show of emotion wrapped him around her heart as nothing else could have, because he was, as a rule, rather distant and cold. She felt the separation, the disconnect in his mind from everything around him—except her. It was both terrifying and exhilarating to know she could shake him so badly.