Crystal Mac: A prologue novella to Captive Series Book 3 HELL'S HILLTOP (5 page)

Luke had given him ten minutes to find Crystal, who’d been gone far longer than planned.
A crude map of sorts etched his memory, and he knew the door at the end of the hall was where he wanted to go.

Once it closed behind him,
he pulled off the netted mask, took a cleansing breath of fresh air. Well… not so fresh. It smelled like hot machines and carpet stains, but those things probably wouldn’t give him a rash later.

I
t was impossible to see in the dark windowless room, at least until his eyes adjusted. He was definitely in an office, the many desks only discernable by the glowing pinpoints of light from individual telephones and computer monitors. Just as he palmed the knife he carried in his waistband, pain pierced his skull. His surroundings seemed upright until the floor hit his face. Hard.

With e
yes still open, he could see something pass by the tiny lights, blocking them for a moment. Confusion. Indifference as the knife left his grip.

“Sorry, Mr. Truck,” he heard faintly. “Change of plans.”

When the lights flickered on, four black-garbed figures stood above him. Apprehension tightened his gu
t. Mac looked from one mushroom-shaped hood to the next. Though their features were obscured in darkness, two things stood out plain as day: these ghosts radiated ill intent… and one of them was Crystal.

Her petite frame was
ridiculously small among the others, but he knew she was just as capable of putting a blade between his eyes.
I’ve never killed anyone before,
she’d said, but he was now pretty sure it was all bullshit.

The stink of betrayal caused anger to swell, bleed up his neck until the willies no longer ruled. When he opened his mouth, Crystal spoke over him.

“He has information about Rafferty.”

What?
He hadn’t totally believed it… until her words confirmed it. Mac lifted onto his elbows and glared out his hatred.

“Anything you can’t tell us?” came from the tallest ghost in the middle.

“Just the location,” Crystal answered mechanically. “I was blindfolded when we came and went.”

“Looks like this isn’t his first run-in with us. That wound looks like one of ours.”

In fact, Rafferty had given Mac that cut above his left ear, but how the hell could they tell that?

“Take him to the think tank. We’ll deal with him there.”

Mac decided the
think tank
was a place he didn’t want to be. With a snarl, he got to his feet and took a swing at the nearest ghost. Something pressed against his side, delivering a jolting, painful current. The floor came up to slap him again.

Confusion scrambled his brain
as he was dragged into what seemed like a closet. No tiny lights were in this room, just pitch black. His body felt like tar, but a fierce determination to live bubbled to the surface, awakening his muscles enough to lash out. Another current punched him all over, again ending his attempts to escape.

Pain and fatigue ruled, allowing things to happen without the control to stop it. Mac was able to comprehend t
he paper suit tearing from his body. A florescent light came on overhead, revealing a small, carpeted room filled with gray beanbag chairs. They were moved aside while Crystal brought in an upright chair and they hauled him into it—a feat that took all four of them to accomplish.

“He’s a big sucker, isn’t he?” one said.

“Bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Crystal muttered with cold indifference.

Handcuffs bound his wrists to the metal frame.

“What’s his name?”

“Mac,” Crystal obliged, tying his left ankle to the chair leg while another ghost worked on the right.

“And his last name?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to beat that out of him, too.”

Mac lethargically looked down at the stun baton pressed firmly to his chest. One false move and he’d be juiced again… but, what the hell.

With a strength born from hatred
, Mac tore his left foot away from Crystal’s grip and slammed it into her midsection. She flew back, impacted heavily with the wall behind her. Instead of doling out another jolt, however, the other ghosts laughed. In a shot, she was on him, delivering a backhanded slap that hurt much worse than it should have. While Mac moved his jaw around, her chest heaved with anger and she leaned in close.

“I owe you that,” she whispered just inches from his mouth, “and so much more.”

“Then you better get your licks in now,” he growled in answer. “Because I’m not living through this.” Since he’d never disclose Rafferty’s location. That would mean leading them straight to a house full of the people he loved.

Her lips quirked
beneath the shadow of her hood, then passed over his in an open, flowy kiss that ended before he could back out of it. “Stay agreeable and you’ll be fine,” she said then hopped off his lap.

The light above was
turned off, leaving Mac to await their next move. Though he was blind, he knew they were not, thanks to the drug in their system.

Holy shit
.

Anticipation began to eat at him, just like they wanted.
This was it. He was about to die, not in combat, or in a bar fight, or beneath the tires of heavy construction machinery… No, nothing cool like that. It was to be at the hands of a smallish woman with separation issues. What kind of fucked up world did he live in?

“We’ll need plastic,” Crystal suggested. “These offices open in the morning and we shouldn’t muddy up the workplace.”

“Where do they keep it here?”

“I don’t know. I just g
ot back. Why don’t you go ask the maintenance crew?”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but the other ghosts didn’t take kindly to her orders.

“You go ask,” a male voice retorted with heat. “I’ll get started here.”

“Bullshit,” Crystal argued. “You need to wait until we’ve covered the room.”

“I won’t draw blood until you get back.”

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.
The door opened and Crystal’s silhouette lingered against the lighter backdrop for a moment. Then, commanding assistance, she disappeared with the other two ghosts. Left him to deal with a threat he couldn’t see.

“How would
you like to start this…
Mac?
”

He searched the dark. “How about with the standard ‘fuck you’ and we can go from there?”

A low laugh punched through the man’s chest as he unsnapped Mac’s denim shirt. “You’re a funny guy. Especially since you expected to sneak through these premises unnoticed, knowing who we are, what we do.” The presence bent closer. “I guess you forgot…
we don’t miss much
.”

“Maybe when you’re
lookin’,” Mac sneered as the shirt was peeled down his arms.

But, did they know about Derek’s rescue the night before? Had Crystal filled them in on his survival? How much would she have told them when half of it would have branded her a traitor?

Something cold pressed into Mac’s exposed chest and another current raced through him. He jumped, grimaced as he fought against the painful contraction of muscles. Once it stopped, he drooped in the chair, two hundred-plus pounds of dead weight.

“The one time we blinked,” the ghost replied smoothly, “you killed Angelo. And for that, Crystal wants first crack at you.”

Once Mac was able to unscramble the words, he slurred, “Felt like… first crack to me.”

“Nah. This is nothing compared to what she’ll do to you.”

Shit.

“You see
, she has her own special brand of electric torture. She calls it ‘The Soloist’.”

“She’s not
gonna… try and sing is she?”

Laughter followed the remark, which Mac didn’t think was all that funny.

“Well, you’re half right. Let’s see if I can expand on that for you. When a man has a ground wire attached to his big toe and a hot wire around his testicles, who do you think will sing when she turns the dial?”

Holy Mary.
“Thank God,” Mac slurred bravely. “I was getting nervous for a minute.”

A few agonizing seconds passed.
Blue light zapped before his eyes, but he was still too weak to flinch.

“Are you thinking about the validity of the answers you’ll be giving us?”

He managed an, “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Because all we want is Rafferty. Cooperate, and no one else has to get hurt.”

“Okay,” he conceded in the dark.

“Wow. You’re such a big guy, I thought you’d be tougher than that.”

Without the ability to see, Mac couldn’t predict his tormentor’s next move. Not that he’d be able to prevent it… “You wanna know where your boss is or not?”

The
air around him changed as the ghost knelt before him. “I do.”

“Probably exiting the ass-
end of a coyote by now.”

It took a moment to sink in. “You’re saying he’s dead?”

“We didn’t know he’d shut down so fast without his pill.”

Dim light entered the room when the door opened. “He’s lying,”
Crystal said woodenly, hood flaring over slim shoulders. She plunked a roll of plastic onto the floor and kicked it open. Mac noticed she held a rectangular box in her hand. “Rafferty’s alive, I saw him with my own eyes. Give me a moment alone with Mac. If I can’t get the truth, you guys are free to draw blood.”

T
he ghost who’d been keeping him company went to the door and closed it. “I’ll stay.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Crystal’s voice dripped with annoyance.

The obscurity of her statement wasn’t lost on Mac
, who suffered the exchange in complete darkness.

“I like watching you work, Crystal,” the other ghost answered with finality. “Don’t begrudge me this rare opportunity.”

Plastic rustled. Something ripped. “Fine,” she conceded through gritted teeth. “Get his pants off while I plug this thing in.”

Mac’s nostrils flared as he fought to adjust his vision. There was a tug near his crotch. No fucking way was he giving up his balls without a fight. With ren
ewed vigor, he threw his weight to the side and tipped the chair over, landing with a muted thud.

“Hit him with the
baton again,” Crystal snapped.

Without the ability to function, Mac braced himself, waited for it. Electric noise sizzled in the air followed by a thump and a swishing sound.

All was quiet for the span of a heartbeat. Then Crystal’s voice filled the void.

“You are the most predictable jackass idiot I ever met.”

Mac opened his eyes to the darkness. More plastic rustled. The chair-back had slammed into his triceps upon impact and he groaned in pain as he rolled onto his knees. The light came on. He blanched against the assault to his pupils, but through the narrow slit of his eyelids, he saw lots of blood.

Just a hint of it made his stomach churn,
a weakness he’d fought since the unfortunate beating in Port-au-Prince that left him in an eternal sea of red.

But, this wasn’t the blood of a child, nor was it his own
. A black uniform shone through the clear plastic, confirming it was that of the other ghost.

Crystal
sheathed her bloody knife then stood, a noticeable tremble to her shoulders.

Mac blinked, shook his head to clear it.
“What just happened?”

“Shut up,” she snapped,
her back still to him. “Just… shut up.”

Keys fell from her other hand and she scrambled to pick them up. Within seconds, his ankle bonds were cut and the handcuffs removed. “Lana’s waiting in your van. We have to hurry.”

Mac staggered to his feet, shirt open and swaying with him. “You… you were
acting
the whole time?”

“I chose the only game you could walk away from, so don’t crawl up my ass for it.” She shoved her hood back and put her ear to the door.