Night Beyond The Night (38 page)

Elliott’s fingers curled into his palms and he met the other man’s gaze steadily.

Preston, for his part, seemed wholly unconcerned with the interaction. Instead, he’d gently brushed his hand over Allie’s cheek, trailing his fingers over her jaw. “Such a shame.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on crystaling her,” Ian said, his voice steady . . . but cold. “Did you know she’s with child?”

“I’d suspected,” Preston replied.

“And you crystaled her anyway? Even after the last one was rejected?”

“Ian, my dear boy,” Preston said, “you overstep yourself. And I cannot even congratulate you on bringing a
doctor
”—he said this last word with great contempt—“to our abode, for he’s unable to do anything to save her. Not withstanding the fact that it’s because of you that my cargo was nearly stolen.”

Ian seemed to pull himself back, but revealed nothing else.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you’d done? You betrayed me for this little piece of nothing?” Preston jabbed his hand at the gray-faced Allie. “It’s too bad you risked everything for
nothing
.”

Preston turned and seemed to notice Elliott for the first time. A flare of something appeared in his gray irises. “You must be the one my darling Diana was calling for, earlier. Unfortunately, she was in distress.” He smiled. A smile that one would bestow upon a babe, or a charming puppy. “Elliott, is it? What a pity.” He sounded completely sincere.

Then he turned to Ian, gesturing to the bed. “She’s going to die. There’s nothing that can be done and we no longer need him. I see no reason to delay the inevitable. Perhaps we ought to allow Diana to watch. She’d enjoy the entertainment.”

Ian inclined his head and then turned back to Elliott. The gun had not wavered. “Very well.”

Preston turned back to Elliott. “I believe I’ll go break the news to Diana. She’ll be most inconsolable, I’m certain. Ian, I’ll expect you in thirty minutes.”

Elliott launched himself at Preston. The gun discharged, sending a bullet whizzing past him, and as he crashed into the dark-haired man, Elliot felt something heavy slam into him from behind. He tossed off Raul’s weight, and grappled with Preston, shoving him against the wall, but the other man was stronger than he looked. They bounced against the corner, and Elliott smashed a powerful fist into Preston’s face, took one in his own abdomen, and then felt strong hands yanking at him.

It took Luke, Ian, and Raul to pull him away from Preston, yet he struggled hard enough to get another well-placed kick into the man’s abdomen. When Preston lifted back up, his face was ugly and the simpering was gone.

While Ian and Raul held Elliott, Preston jabbed his fists into Elliott’s cheek, his jaw, nose . . . Elliott managed a whale of a kick, but Ian and Raul jerked him off balance so that he missed Preston.

By the time they allowed him to sag to the floor, he was bleeding and gasping for breath, barely able to notice that they’d released him—but fully conscious that Preston was also in pain. Not enough, but at least he hadn’t gone down without a fight.

Ian stood over Elliott for a long moment after Raul, Luke, and Preston left. “That was a stupid thing to do,” he said, tapping the toe of his boot sharply into Elliott’s sore shoulder. “Three against one.”

“Bastard.” Elliott would have pulled to his feet if that gun hadn’t been trained on him once again.

“This time, I won’t miss,” Ian told him, looking down with flat eyes. “Stupid bastard. Now he’s even more furious. And your woman will suffer for it.”

“You risked everything for yours,” Elliott said, swallowing blood. He swiped his hand over his mouth. It came away wet and sticky. If it were just him, he’d risk it—lunge up and swing for the gun. But with Jade at risk. . . .

“It doesn’t matter any longer. As soon as I leave this room, I’m a dead man anyway,” Ian said. His face had gone blank. “By his hand or someone else’s.”

For a moment, Elliott felt almost a kinship with the man standing before him. He’d done no more than Elliott himself had for the woman he loved.

“Will you tell me where she is? How to get to her?”

Ian looked at him for a long moment, and seemed to be ready to speak, but suddenly his lips clamped together. An instant later, Elliott understood why, for Luke and Raul had returned.

Luke had the pasty white face of a man in pain, and a glazed look that indicated he had no idea why. Elliott felt no remorse for what he’d done. He only wished he’d been able to do it twice more.

But his train of thought was interrupted as Luke lunged toward him. His arm whipped out, something hard and metal smashed into his head and everything went black.

The door opened and Jade felt the prickle tingle her spine even before she turned.

She knew it was bad . . . she already knew it would be worse than she’d imagined. Her fingernails dug into her thighs and she forced herself to turn. To face whatever it would be.

She had to live through it.

Preston stood there, his eyes wild and furious. No longer the flat and cold, controlled gray. His hair had fallen from its queue, and hung in wicked straggles around his face, and she saw dark red marks on his face. Traces of blood near his nose.

Elliott
.
What have they done to you?

“So it was your friends,” Preston said, his voice ugly. No longer playing gentle. “They tried to ruin everything. But they didn’t succeed.”

“What do you mean?” Jade was certain she knew, but confirmation would be nice. At least if she knew for certain it would be easier to handle whatever came next.

“My cargo, my specially handpicked cargo. Nearly sneaked out from under me,” he said, almost to himself. “Do you know how long I’ve been working to get such prime specimens?”

Specimens.
He was talking about
people.
Jade’s belly lurched.

“That young Marck would have allowed it. All for her.”

Preston looked back up and his expression sent renewed shivers down her spine. Jade stepped back, her throat dry, heart pounding. “But he knew better than to barter you, didn’t he? You must be more valuable than a dozen slaves . . . to me and to them. So let’s see how loudly I can make you scream. I want your lover to hear you.”

When Elliott opened his eyes, it was to the sound of screams. Horrible, pained screams. Crashes, ugly thuds. Directly above him.

Jade
.

He tried to move, and was rewarded by the clink of metal. His arms and legs were chained together, and anchored to the wall. A faint cast of light colored the room gray, and he realized he was in the hold of the houseboat.

A variety of manacles puddled on the floor, hanging from the walls . . . and he realized that this must be one of the holds where the slaves were kept. Where were they? Was there another storage place? Or had they somehow escaped . . . or been taken away.

But now Jade was paying the price.

Loud thumps and crashes came from above, and he could hear the grunts of exertion, followed by sharp cries of pain. Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes and he barely held back the deep roar that threatened.

“Let me go!” he shouted, bellowing at the top of his lungs, even though he knew it would make no difference. Elliott pulled on the chains, rattling and kicking and struggling with every bit of power he could muster. Even his abnormal strength would do him no good now, though he pulled and twisted, scoring his wrists and ankles with the sharp metal.
Please
. How long would he have to listen to her being beaten?

How long?

The cries and thuds continued, his desperation and hopelessness rose and Elliott wept, still battling the relentless iron.

He wept for his family and his life . . . he wept for the world, annihilated by these creatures who called themselves men, who’d lived among them . . . he wept for those who’d lived through the destruction and those who had not . . . and most of all, he wept for what he could have had with Jade.

Jade. My God. I never got to tell her . . .

A soft noise pulled him from the depths of despair and he looked up. Ian Marck stood in the doorway. Sagged.

And as Elliott watched, he sank to his knees. Even from across the room, he saw the blood staining his clothing. A dark red blossom on the center of his shirt.

“Please,” Ian said. His eyes were haunted but determined. “A life . . . for . . . life.” He barely managed the words.

And Elliott suddenly had hope. “I have to touch you.”

It seemed like forever as Ian dragged himself toward him . . . breath by breath. He was so near death, Elliott could feel it. But . . . just a bit more.

Come on. Come
on
.

The screams above had ebbed into desperate whimpers, and Elliott couldn’t allow himself to listen, to her, nor to the other distant cries of the teens, still enslaved somewhere nearby. Instead, he focused on each breath of Ian, counting between them, praying that there would be another one . . . as the man slowly worked his way to him.

Blood stained the floor, sometimes pooling there beneath him as he waited to gain more strength and move closer. Closer. Inch by inch.

At last . . . Elliott crouched on the floor, reaching his arms as close to Ian as he could. Their hands touched, Ian’s cold and deathly.

Closing his eyes, Elliott felt the sizzle of power rush through him, knowing that this would be the last time.

Ian’s breathing had slowed, but now it eased into a regular rhythm. The raspiness disappeared and Elliott could almost see him come back to life.

“I don’t have the keys,” was the first thing he said. “I don’t know—”

“I didn’t think you did,” Elliott replied. “Just . . . get her out of here. There’s not much time. For her . . . or for me.” Ian had been too far-gone, and the injury moved rapidly to take over Elliott’s body. “Get her . . . safe. All of them.”

Ian rose to his feet, still a bit slowly, but Elliott knew how quickly he would regain his strength.

And for the second time that day, he felt the life easing from his body.

Preston was on her, pummeling Jade with his fists, slogging her to the ground with his weight. His knee shoving between her legs, his hands pulling at her hair. She screamed when he hit her broken arm, and then felt his fingers curling into the side of her face, the dig of his nails into tender skin, the heat of his breath as he held her steady. Crashed her skull to the ground. Pulled her hair, like an enraged teenaged girl. Tore at her clothing. Smashed the wine bottle at the back of her shoulders, sending glass shattering everywhere.

She fought, bucking and kicking, trying to hold back the screams. But he was relentless and vicious and even though she knew that was his desire, she couldn’t keep from crying out.

He was strong. So strong.

She lay unmoving on the floor as he pulled to his feet, breathing heavily. She heard him stagger across the room, the sound of sloshing liquid and gulping. Heavy breaths laced with fury. The back of her neck prickled, knowing the next blow would be the last. The worst.

Unless he raped her first.

Then her eyes fell on the bottle. The wine bottle . . . broken in half, smashed on the ground next to her.

Jade reached for it with her good hand, moving stealthily, and pulled it close to her. Positioning the top half of it by the neck, she closed her eyes and said a little prayer.

It was a slim chance. But her only chance. With a moan, she half rolled to her side, readying herself.

She heard him coming again, heard the unmistakable sounds of a belt buckle clinking, the swish of a zipper. And as he bent toward her, over her, grabbing at her shirt, she lunged . . . with every last bit of her strength, for her, for Elliott, for the kids . . . and as she watched, as if she were apart from it all, as she brought the jagged edge of the bottle down . . . stabbing like a knife . . . down toward Preston.

Down toward his
shoulder
. Into his flesh.

Preston screamed as the jagged glass cut into his shoulder, digging into the flesh that held his powerful crystal. His lifeline, the source of his strength. His shield.

Blood spurted everywhere, and he tried to tear away . . . but adrenaline rushed through her, fury and power and she lashed up at him and tore the bottle down into his shoulder.

He flung his other arm up, slamming it against her, trying to bat her away—but still she held on, thrashing down with the glass weapon, tearing into Preston’s skin again and again, gouging the crystal out of his flesh.

Weakness seeped into Preston’s face. He gasped and kicked, slowing and slowing until he was nothing but a shuddering mass.

At last, Jade staggered to her feet, breathing heavily. Blood dripped from the jagged glass, and she saw that the crystal lay on the floor in a mass of blood and flesh. Long, silvery threads tangled on the ground with it, bloody and useless. Some of them were still attached to Preston.

Just then, the door opened.

Ian Marck stood there. Jade gasped and looked around for another weapon. But he held up his hand as if to hold her back.

Shock clear on his face, Ian looked down at the other man, who was gently blowing bloody bubbles. Preston’s gray eyes had gone lifeless, and his fingers had ceased to twitch. “You did that?” Ian murmured. “Unbelievable.”

“Where’s Elliott?” She angled the bloody wine bottle at him, ready to spring if he dared try and stop her.

That seemed to jolt Ian back to life. “He’s hurt. Below. I don’t. . . .”

“The kids? Where are the kids?” she demanded, brandishing the bottle as she moved toward him. She didn’t want to hear what he was going to say about Elliott.

“Below. You’ll need the keys. From . . . him.”

Jade, beyond caring about the blood and gore, fairly dove toward Preston and found the keys clipped to his trousers. They were slick with blood, but she scooped them up and started out of the room.

Then she stopped and faced Ian. “Your father. And Luke. Where are they? And the others?”

Ian’s expression hardened. “Luke’s dead. And my father . . . I’ll take care of him. He made his loyalty clear today, and it was not for me.” He rubbed his chest as though it ached, and Jade realized his shirt was covered with blood. “The others are gone.”