Revelations: Book One of the Lalassu (12 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Staring at dull concrete walls, Eric seriously considered going insane. There was a family precedent, after all. It would be a definite improvement over staring at blank walls and being alternately ripped up by guilt and fear. He had no sense of time passing—they’d taken his watch, and no natural light filtered into his isolated cell. Only a bare compact fluorescent bulb hung from the ceiling, buzzing quietly and incessantly to itself. He couldn’t make out any sounds from the hall or adjoining rooms. No scents reached him other than his own stale sweat.

Meager meals arrived at irregular intervals: stale bread, nauseatingly half-melted cheese, and water. It never varied, and he couldn’t anticipate the delivery. The slot in the door would scrape open, and the flimsy cardboard tray would appear.

For a man who always used his enhanced senses to collect more information than those around him, this isolation was doubly disturbing. He’d never felt so alone and helpless… or guilty.

He’d wanted a legitimate job, something with a W-4—something real, not under the table or between the cracks or any of the euphemisms for the unseen and shadowy parts of society. But thanks to his obsession with legitimacy, he was trapped in a cell. He didn’t even know if Vincent—his little brother, the pest who followed him everywhere and whom he’d promised to protect—was still alive.

Fresh pain blossomed in his clenched jaw, but it provided a welcome relief from the monotony of his thoughts. Vincent hadn’t cared. As long as they had money for parties and to impress women, he didn’t worry about where it came from. He’d done well with their gypsy lifestyle as children, always more interested in the adventure on the horizon rather than the pain of ripping up roots with each move. Eric had been the one to convince him to try going straight, painting pictures of themselves as bodyguards to the powerful elite. In the end, Vincent shrugged, agreed, and followed, only to be shot.

The sensory memory sprang up full force: warm blood soaking through Vincent’s trousers after their escape attempt, the coppery scent of his failure. If there had been anything left in his gut, it would have made an abrupt exit. He’d failed at the only important task in the world: protecting his family.

He wondered if they’d gotten Dani, as well. She’d been on her way when they’d been recaptured. If they’d waited, she would have driven right into an ambush. Had they guessed all of them were related? If they knew, the information would lead them to the little farmhouse and Gwen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered the words, knowing Vincent couldn’t hear but needing to say them anyway.
Please don’t be dead. Please let me have another chance. I’ll make this right somehow. I swear it.

Metal scraped outside, louder than the food slot. Immediately Eric tensed, ready for a fight.
Just let them come close enough, even for an instant
. He would make them pay for locking him up.

Instead, the door swung open. Three men stood in the hall, holding guns pointed at him. Eric stared at them, noting their stance, how their fingers casually rested on the triggers.
Professionals
. He inhaled, breathing in alertness with no trace of fear.

“Come with us, please.” The guns never wavered. Most amateurs automatically gestured with their weapons, leaving opportunities to overwhelm them.

Damn
.

Eric got to his feet slowly. He didn’t have to feign the pain of his cramped muscles. However long he’d been in the room, it had been long enough for everything to knot from inactivity despite his attempts to stay limber. He dragged himself out of the door and limped into the bleak corridor. Gray doors dotted the walls at regular intervals, each with a whiteboard full of cryptic symbols. His guards adjusted their positions, not that he expected any less at this point. All three to his right, which probably meant he should go left.

He obeyed the unspoken command, concentrating on limbering up his muscles. After days in a box, his body wasn’t going to move as swiftly or as easily as normal. He needed to find the new limits.
Always watch and be ready for your opportunity.
One of the first lessons his father had taught him. If he could get away, he might be able to find Vincent and get them both out of there.

More guards were waiting beside an open door around the corner. “In here.”

The scent of bread and meat wafting in the air drowned his tongue in saliva. Peering suspiciously through the door, he saw a small table with breads and slices of chicken and ham. The promise of food loosened his self-control, and he dashed into the room, nearly falling.

As soon as he cleared the threshold, the door closed behind him with a quiet click. Eric whirled, furious over his error. But the food was still there. Drugged or poisoned, it didn’t matter. He needed to eat. Picking up a slice of ham, he forced himself to eat it slowly. Gorging would only sicken him more. As he ate, he took inventory.

A rectangular room, fifteen feet by twelve, he guessed. Ceiling at least twelve feet. Each wall glowed white. The door he’d been shoved through was almost invisible from this side, so no hinges or handle to work with. The table was cheap laminate. It would splinter and collapse if breathed on wrong. Paper plates under the food. No utensils. Nothing he could use as an effective weapon.

Faint vibrations in the floor announced a new arrival. He could make out vehement cursing outside.

The door snapped open barely long enough for the guards to shove someone inside: Vincent. Bruised, thin, and with a bandage around his thigh, but alive. Eric had never seen anything so welcome.

“Asshats!” Vincent pounded on the door to make his point clear. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Eric. “Remind me to never fucking listen to you again.”

“There’s food.” Eric stepped away from the table.

“Oh, well that makes everything just fine. Stick me in a fucking box and poke me, not to mention shooting at me, but spread out a five-dollar snack table and I’m won over,” Vincent shouted at the ceiling and walls, his dark curls matted with sweat.

“Eat it while we can,” Eric ordered. Dramatics wouldn’t help them.

“While we can?” Vincent lifted his shoulders in exaggerated comic surprise. “You mean you have a plan? Count me out. I’m still bleeding from your last plan.”

“We have to stick together,” Eric said as his brother helped himself to the bread and meat.

“And it’s going great so far. Awesome job.”

There would be no reasoning with him. Eric let his brother have the last word and focused on restocking calories. The small supply quickly vanished, barely denting their hunger. “What do they want with us?”

“Maybe it’s a focus group for testing bullets. Which ones hurt the most going in.” Vincent picked up crumbs with a finger.

“Be serious for once.”

“I am serious. Deadly fucking serious. Who cares what they want? Does it really matter at this point? We’ve got nothing to fight them with. And we’ve already proved we’re not bulletproof.” His brother glared at him, eye to eye.

“Let me think.”
There has to be a way out
.

Sprawling in a corner, Vincent began to hum the theme song to
Jeopardy
.

Despite himself, Eric smiled. “You can be such an asshole.”

“Aim to please, big brother.” Vincent’s smile vanished. “Someone’s coming.”

Eric frowned. He couldn’t feel any vibrations in the floor or hear any steps in the hallway outside. He looked back at Vincent, whose hand was spread wide on the wall beside him. Eric’s eyes darted up as the top half of the wall blinked into transparency, revealing a powerfully built man in a suit.
The puppeteer finally revealed
.

Vincent slowly got to his feet, moving to stand behind his brother.

The man nodded at them. “My name is André Dalhard.”

“I’d care, but I so fucking don’t,” Vincent replied.

A hint of a smile touched Dalhard’s lips.

“What are you laughing at, fuckwit?”

“I’m glad you haven’t been broken. Empty defiance shows you still have hope. Your brother is keeping quiet. He isn’t quite so sure.”

Eric didn’t need to glance back at Vincent to know that his brother got the message.
Stay quiet, learn what we can.

“It’s been a life-long pattern with the two of you, hasn’t it? You, the elder, watching out, playing protector. And you, demanding attention, playing the fool so others underestimate you. But there’s a missing party to this family dynamic, isn’t there?”

Dalhard’s amusement was not shared by his audience. Eric refused to answer. He’d heard enough psychics “fish” for information to avoid giving up anything he didn’t have to. The phone call might have led them to Dani, but he wouldn’t betray Gwen’s existence.

“Care to try to guess my age and weight?” Vincent took refuge in sarcasm.

“I care to offer you both a job,” Dalhard replied frankly. He signaled briefly to someone out of sight, and a doorway blinked into view beside the window. Dalhard stepped through, and the door immediately resealed behind him. Someone else had to be behind the wall to manage the controls, making the door a less-ideal method of escape.

Dalhard made a show of examining the brothers. “You’re doing better with food in your stomachs, but neither of you is in particularly good condition.”

Eric took a deep breath to catch Dalhard’s scent. Expensive cologne underlaid with the harsh bite of hand sanitizer.
A mask, like the designer clothes
.

“Stupid move, coming in here. What’s to stop us from getting a little payback?” Vincent snarled.

“The certain knowledge that you would be killed in seconds. Neither of you have a death wish, and thus I can be certain you will behave as reasonable men. Shall we settle the terms of our agreement?”

“Neither of us has agreed to anything,” Eric said. All of his instincts were screaming warnings at him.

“I’m offering two hundred thousand per year, each, plus expenses.”

“To do what?” Eric watched Dalhard’s face carefully for signs of deceit. He was definitely hiding something, but Eric couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Now that is the question. I know you both have certain abilities beyond the norm. I know you’ve worked hard to keep the fact hidden. You and your sister.”

Eric knew the sudden tensing of his neck and hands betrayed him. Even if Dalhard wasn’t a skilled observer, this session would undoubtedly be taped and watched by someone who was. He waited, desperate to know what this man had discovered.

“I would ask you to handle certain jobs for me and serve as donors for some scientific experimentation. Nothing too onerous.”

Play along. Find out what he knows.
Hoping Vincent would follow his lead, Eric took the first step. “I want details.”

“And I want out,” Vincent announced. “I don’t know who you are, freak-ass, but this is not some kind of fucking job interview. It’s usually considered bad form to shoot the potential employees.”

So much for the hope of Vincent following along
. Eric needed a new plan.

“It’s also considered bad form to trash a lab and seriously injure nine of your future colleagues. One of them won’t walk again. You shattered his lower vertebra with your bare hands.” Nothing fazed Dalhard, not Vincent’s surliness or Eric’s silence. “It was quite a demonstration.”

“Take it out of our paycheck,” Eric retorted. He needed to convince Dalhard to relax the security measures, and pretending to accept the offer might do it.

“I see we’re finally starting to understand each other.” Dalhard extended his hand.

The brothers glanced at each other. Vincent looked horrible. He couldn’t go much longer trapped in a cage. And neither could Eric.

“I’m traditional,” Dalhard thrust his hand forward. “You can learn a lot from a handshake.”

Eric took the proffered hand and immediately regretted it. Pressure built in his skull as if someone were driving a heavy wedge deep into his brain. Dalhard’s cool green eyes stared at him, overwhelming every other sense. His eyes were like poison seeping into his body, taking up residence like some sort of invasive vine.

The sensation vanished as soon as Dalhard released his hand. Eric forced himself not to reveal how it affected him. True fear began to chill his confidence. Had he made another potentially fatal error in underestimating his opponent?

Vincent took Dalhard’s hand before Eric could gather himself enough to warn his brother. Vincent winced at the contact, but Dalhard held on for a few more seconds, staring intently at Vincent’s face. Eric gritted his teeth. His brother could spoil everything now with one ill-timed comment.

“Now that we’re settled, it’s time for a performance test.” Dalhard released Vincent and sauntered back to the door.

“What kind of test?” Eric demanded, grabbing Vincent before he could fall to the floor. Vincent shook him off, clinging to the table to keep himself upright.

The door resealed behind Dalhard before the man answered. “I need you to kill a man.”