Ruthless

Chapter 30

He is so going to die

April 21

Sunday evening, screw it

My heart jackhammered.He was carving his initials into me. I’d have Benjamin Cabot’s initials on my body.

Oh, God.

Blood spotted the B. He reached for a white cloth from the tray and dabbed the blood from his handiwork, and nodded as if in appreciation.

“Let’s move on.” Cabot set the now red-spotted cloth aside. “You might as well tell me who you work for.”

“And you might as well kill me if that’s what you have in mind.” I had to force a breath because it was so difficult to speak with still-healing ribs and those clamps and the searing pain in the fresh cuts. “Nothing you can do to me will get me to give you any kind of information.”

“Kill you? I have too many plans for that.” He gave a casual kind of smile. “If you cooperate, I stop. I’ll allow your arms and ribs to fully heal, along with any other injuries, before putting you up on the private auction block.” It burned as he traced his finger along the B he had cut into my flesh. “One man will own you, and use you in any way he wants.” The crows were back, pecking at my flesh this time. Being someone’s sex slave—unimaginable. I’d never let it happen.

I looked up at the black ceiling and its lone fluorescent bulb, and gritted my teeth to keep from saying a word.

“Look at me.” Cabot jabbed the tip of the carving tool into the flesh on the other side of my belly button. He went back to work without a flicker of anger or any other emotion on his face. Except, perhaps, pleasure?

Fire licked at my belly as he carved.

C.

When he finished, he didn’t even stop to ask me another question. Instead, he reached for the salt.

No!

Cabot poured a good amount of salt in his palm before setting the container aside.

Again, he smiled at me before he rubbed salt into the initials he’d carved into my belly.

If I’d thought my belly was on fire before, it was nothing to how it felt now.

He didn’t pause to ask me any more questions. Instead, he picked up the bottle of black liquid, stuck a syringe in through a tiny opening, and filled it.

The ache in my chest increased as my breathing came so hard and fast that I was close to hyperventilating. Maybe I would pass out.

Cabot brought the syringe to my belly and I caught the scent of ink before he started injecting the fluid along the lines of the cuts.

Ink.

“This is very permanent,” he said after he finished filling in one cut. “A specially designed ink that not even laser surgery will remove, especially from cuts so deep.”

“No.” I couldn’t hold the words back and I hated myself for begging. “Don’t.”

He paused as he finished the straight line of the B, the smile of enjoyment on his face. How I wanted to crush his skull. “Does this mean you’re ready to tell me everything?”

My ears felt muffled and I could barely hear. My whole body was numb. It seemed like my head wasn’t my own as I shook it.

“Never,” I whispered.

A hardened expression, then that smile again. “Now that I know how much this bothers you, perhaps I will cover you with my initials in every place imaginable.”

I’d committed one of the worst mistakes of my life and broke a cardinal rule. I let him know one punishment that would hurt me psychologically as well as physically. I couldn’t even think about being sold. I could only think of one thing at a time, and right now it was the thought of being tattooed with Benjamin Cabot’s initials.

I slumped as he finished filling the B and C with the dye. The initials stood out clear and black against my fair skin, to either side of my piercing.

“You’ve given me an excellent idea.” He set aside the syringe and wiped away what ink had dripped down my belly with the bloody cloth. “I will have a cattle brand made with my initials so that I can properly take care of you. You’re nothing more than chattel now, so a cattle brand will be perfect.”

The image and the sensations were too incredibly vivid— an iron brand, red-hot and searing, burning away my flesh everywhere he branded me with his initials.

Cabot picked up a packet with a sterilized pad in it and cleaned his fingers. He opened up another packet and wiped it across the initials before he taped a large gauze pad over them and wound the tape around my waist, back, and the pad several times, until it was bandaged almost as much as my ribs. “Can’t have you picking at it.”

He patted the cuts. I was beyond flinching from the pain. “As far as gathering information from you,” he said, “that was the proverbial exercise in futility, at least for today.”

Cabot removed the clamps from my clit and nipples, and I slumped in relief even though the pain seemed worse. I’d numbed in those places, and now blood was rushing back to them.

He sterilized every tool with alcohol and the antiseptic scent carried to me. When he was finished cleansing what he had used, he carried the tray to the cabinet and put it all away.

He locked the cabinet.

Cabot returned to me. He drew a Sig Sauer out of his pocket and held it on me as he reached for the buckle of the strap over my cast. “Make any movements and I’ll end this with a bullet in your brain.” He kept his eyes on me as he unstrapped my feet and arms.

I purposefully made my movements slow and awkward, like it was difficult to stand. My anger made it easy.

Cabot glanced at the tank of water. “I think a little electrotherapy might be good for you.”

Bring it on. I’ve been through worse.

Just no more initials. Please, no.

The thought of what Cabot had done to me, and what he said he had planned, sent adrenaline rushing back into my limbs, and more of the pain and exhaustion slipped away.

And then I saw it from the corner of my eye. Sticking out of the side of the torture chair. A two-inch nail. Someone probably kept it there to use on their slaves or “victims.”

It wouldn’t do to let Cabot see the fire and rage in my eyes or on my face. For a woman with murder foremost in her mind, I kept my expression as calm as possible. I moved just enough to the right that I knew he wouldn’t be able to see the nail that was within grabbing distance.

The devil scowled. “There are only two choices for the kind of bitch you are. You can be taught as many lessons as needed until you break.” The Sig was still pointed directly at me. “Or you can be put out of my misery.”

“That’s original,”was the first thing that shot through my head, but I managed to clamp my teeth shut and keep from saying it out loud. Good me.

He tilted his head and examined the gun.

At the same time, I reached behind me and prayed he wouldn’t see me grasp the nail. It made a small squeaking sound as I jerked it out, but Cabot didn’t seem to hear. The nail felt small in my fist, but with the strength of my anger it could have been a needle and I’d still damage him.

Oh, I was going to damage him.

“What should I do, Alexi?” His voice was low, soft, serious. “Would it pain you to see a girl die because you refuse to talk? Alyona for example. With all that you have cost me, does a girl’s life matter? Should I kill Alyona while you watch?”

My hearted throbbed and throbbed. No. Noooo.

He was within two feet. Gun gripped in one of his fists. “It’s important for me to find out who you work for and how much they know. One girl’s life is nothing compared to that information.”

Please, don’t.

“Your cooperation in everything I ask of you.” The barrel of the Sig was now within inches of my chest. “Everything you know about the organization you work for. How much they know about my operation. Everything.”

I looked him square in the eyes, my voice level. “Fuck. You.”

I twisted up my arm with its rock-hard cast and knocked the Sig from his hand.

A clank and a skittering sound as it landed on the concrete floor and skimmed across the room.

Gun. History.

The motion of my solid cast hitting his hand caused him to twist. I missed his groin but rammed the nail into his gut.

Damn. Why couldn’t I get the SOB in his balls?

Cabot howled. Fury and pain raged in his eyes as he drove his fist toward my face.

Pure adrenaline surged through me as I dropped to my knees.

His fist skimmed my hair.

Missing me threw him off balance.

I went for his legs with my free arm.

My much shorter height made it necessary to push up as I drove my shoulder into his closest hip.

His knee buckled against my hand as I slammed my fist into the back of his opposite knee.

One moment Cabot was up. The next he’d landed hard on his back on the floor.

His head thunked against the concrete loud enough for me to hear.

His shout rang out in the room.

I rolled away from him and was on my feet in an instant.

He started to push himself up.

My balance was solid as I braced one foot beneath me.

I rammed the other toward his face.

Cabot caught my foot in his hands.

He jerked.

I slammed onto my back. My healing ribs didn’t feel like they were healing anymore as pain ripped through my chest.

No time for little things like catching my breath. Or pain.

Cabot dropped down, driving his knee toward my belly.

Oh crap.

I rolled right.

His knee missed me but his full weight hit me as he landed on my back.

I shouted as he pinned me to the concrete on my belly and my cast.

No pain. No pain. No pain.

Mastery over pain.

Uh-huh.

I hooked my leg back, rocking him.

He didn’t have a chance to get a good hold on me.

My opposite knee met my elbow as I brought it up. I rocked to both knees, kept my knees and elbows in tight.

With my good hand I grabbed one of his wrists. My cast made fair leverage as I pushed up.

I flipped him onto his back.

“You bitch,” he said as we both rolled to our feet and we stood and faced each other. “This is going to end.”

“You bet it is.” I gave him my best taunting smile and put a good dose of mockery in my voice. “And you’re going to be on the losing team, limp dick.”

If fire could spring from someone’s hair, I swear it did from his. “I’m through screwing with you.”

I laughed. “Your dick would shrivel if you tried.”

I’d never seen such an interesting shade of red as the color his face turned. “You’re dead.”

“Where’s your help?” I rocked on the balls of my feet while weighing my options. Blood had spread in a huge circle on his beige Armani slacks and white shirt, from where I’d literally nailed him. “If you remember, you have to have two men hold me while you knock me around. Or shoot me. Can’t do it yourself, loser, can you?”

Instead of going for me, he dove for where the gun had slid.

“Slimy coward.” I bolted after him. “An injured five-foot-four woman with a cast too much for you?”

I flung myself on his back in my version of a petite woman tackling an almost-six-foot man just as he almost touched the gun.

He went down on his chest with a thud and a shout.

Cabot’s fingers hit the Sig hard enough that the gun moved a few inches from his fingers.

Before he could move, I slammed my cast against the back of his head and my opposite hand against his jaw.

The satisfaction of the connection of my knuckles against skin and bone could only last so long.

Damn. That blow with the cast should have knocked him out.

Cabot tried to shove me off as he went for the Sig.

I did him one better.

I played leapfrog off his back and propelled myself toward the gun.

My hands hit the handgun too hard. The Sig skidded straight under the edge of the St. Andrew’s cross’s platform.

“Cabot!” Danny shouted from the doorway as I rolled away from Cabot. “It’s a raid. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

A raid. RED was here. It had to be.

Cabot took one moment to look at me, a former prize he now wanted to destroy.

Before he made up his mind on what he was going to do, I dove for cover. Pain spiked the shoulder that had been dislocated as I landed behind a metal spanking bench with cabinet drawers beneath it.

Should protect me from bullets. No way to grab me fast and easy.

And I had the distinct impression they were in a hurry.

My cast slipped a little as I maneuvered enough to see them around the corner of the bench.

“Come on!” Danny yelled at Cabot. “The bitch isn’t that important.”

For one brief moment, Cabot’s gaze met mine. His face was bruised and bloody. The stain on his belly was growing. “There will be a next time. And I’ll blow your goddamned brains all over Boston.”

“Language, Cabot.” I smiled, just to piss him off. Maybe hold him back so the good guys would get to us in time. “And watch your clichés. You’re full of them.”

Danny grabbed Cabot’s arm and jerked him from the room right as Cabot started toward me.

Cabot let Danny hurry him out the door.

Damned if I was going to let him escape.

Gun within reach. I pushed myself toward the Sig under the St. Andrew’s cross.

My grip was solid as I grasped it in my left hand.

I scrambled to my feet and bolted across the room.

The door shut behind them.

A distinct click echoed through the room.

“No way.” I reached the door and jerked the handle. About fifteen times. “Oh, no way!” I shouted at all the unfortunately inanimate dungeon equipment.

I aimed the Sig at the lock. Two shots and it was history.

“Come back, you slimy coward, Benjamin Cabot,” I shouted as I rushed out.

And stumbled into a group of men all dressed in black, all carrying very illegal guns. Wearing ski masks, and not wearing standard RED raid gear.

Uh…crap?

A man shoved his way through the group.

Before I knew what had happened, his big arms enveloped me and he hugged me tight enough to just about crack my ribs again.

No need to see his face to know whose arms I was in. His scent alone told me it was Donovan. Nothing ever smelled so wonderful. Ever.

He lessened his grip on me just enough to push up his helmet and for me to look up at his intense features. “Goddamnit, Lexi,” he said, right before he kissed me.