Chapter 13
BAIT IN THE TRAP
JAKOB
I am a fool.
Pugli is a wily old fox. You don't stay ahead of international law enforcement for as long and as completely as he has by being easy to find. If it were possible for one untrained civilian to find and capture him, it would have happened by now.
Yet that's what I thought was going to happen. La-la-la, I'm Jakob Kasparek, I'm so cool, I can find Pugli's safe house, bypass his security detail, and make him pay for his crimes all by my-untrained-self.
That is most assuredly not what happened.
I got into the house, cleared the living room and kitchen, and made it as far as the stairs to the upper story.
Which is when I tripped a silent alarm via a hidden laser tripwire.
I was immediately attacked by gunfire from the top of the stairs, which clarified for me that I’d walked right into a trap.
Also, I'd forgotten the basement; guess who had more guards hiding down there, ready and waiting for me to do exactly what I did?
Thus, I found myself pinned down by gunfire from two directions with only one magazine for my rifle.
Maybe an operator like Lash could've fought his way out, if not accomplished the mission. Alas, I am not an operator. I took a round high on my left side; it went straight through, which I think is a good thing as it means I don’t have a bullet lodged inside me somewhere, and it also didn’t bounce around a lot.
Now, whether it hit any organs or not, I don't know. I know I’m losing blood, but they did pack the wound and cinch a bandage around me—none too gently, I might add.
I'm not feigning anything—I'm in a lot of pain, and I'm weak from blood loss.
I'm just playing it up a bit, acting more severely wounded, weakened, and out of it than I am.
It's the only play I have, at the moment.
My worry is for Brys. She's impulsive and braver than she has any right to be, so I can see her trying to come in after me once she realizes something is amiss.
I wish I'd called in Lash and the guys sooner, now that I'm shot and captive in the back of an SUV. Hubris prevented me.
We round a long, tight curve—a freeway onramp. I'm rolled against the side and onto my wound, which rips a long, low groan from my chest, not at all faked or exaggerated.
Getting shot fucking sucks, it turns out.
I know, I know, I'm Jakob Kasparek, I should be above such vulgarity. I usually am. I trained Isabel to speak with fluency, eloquence, and elegance, without swearing, because profanity is the mark of a small mind, and all that.
I’m starting to think I may have been full of shit.
We hit a massive pothole, which sends another jolt of agony through me.
"FUCK!" I snarl. And wouldn't you know it, a good curse does seem to help me manage the pain.
In the row ahead of me, Pugli chuckles. "Hurts, eh? Relish the suffering, Mr. Indigo. I have plans for you. Plans which shall make your current pain feel like the sweetest pleasure."
I ignore him; I believe him, but I'm just banking on the situation resolving…otherwise. In my favor, of course.
Pugli really does do an excellent job of filling the 'maniacal supervillain' role, though. Because he can't just leave it there. He has to monologue at me.
"You're not my primary target, of course." He twists in the seat, putting his back to the car door so he can direct his dead, zero-Kelvin gaze onto me; I've detected more humanity and warmth in the eyes of a reptile at the zoo. "You are merely bait."
This gets my attention, against my will. I let the momentum of a lane change roll me over so I can look him directly in the eye. “I’m bait?"
He smirks, an insidious and maleficent glitter in his eyes. "At this point, Mr. Indigo, you are merely a loose end. You possess evidence of my crimes. I do not debate this. But the evidence you possess is minor in comparison to the evidence your elusive compatriot Lash has in his possession."
Ah. Now I see. It's about Nicolae—it always has been. My Arrows have spent weeks hunting this asshole, dodging his thugs, getting in firefights…my club was destroyed, my home assaulted and compromised.
Because of this man.
Because whatever Nicolae knows about him is just that compromising. It’s worth expending the time, effort, and manpower to hunt down not just Nicolae but all of us. My Arrows. Sophia. Me. Even Brys, who knows nothing.
Makes one wonder what Nicolae knows.
I thought he'd met with someone in Europe regarding his evidence, but that debrief was cut short by the discovery of Pugli's agents on my trail after I bolted following the assault.
"Nothing to say, Indigo?" Pugli pops a Zyn pouch into his mouth, which makes me nauseated. It's a disgusting habit.
I summon a lazy, unconcerned grin, sprawled against the hatch like Dr. Ian Malcolm in the back of the Jeep. "Not really. Your time on this earth is measured in hours, now, Roberto. Enjoy your sense of superiority while it lasts."
"You think you're going to fight your way free and kill me in the process, do you?" The derision in his eyes is wickedly sharp. "How amusing."
Inside, I'm freaking out—mainly about Brys. It's tempting to bring her up and see what he says, but I hold my tongue. No point in baiting him on that topic, in case she's gotten away or has slipped his mind.
"Your friend," Pugli says conversationally, immediately dashing my hopes. "The curvy blonde. CEO of Bennett Development, yes? Miss Brys Bennet? I imagine you'd like to get her off the hook. Or perhaps 'off my radar' would be a more accurate way of putting it."
I can't stop fury and hate from bubbling up inside me, but I do my dead level best to keep it from showing on my face. I'm sure my eyes betray something, however. "I'm listening."
"Give me Lash, and Brys Bennett is free to live her life. She'll never see me or any of my friends again."
"You overestimate my influence on Lash," I say, truthfully. "Especially as regards his antipathy toward you."
"Oh yes, his hate burns most brightly, I know.
I'm counting on it, as a matter of fact.
I have you, and he owes you his loyalty.
He hates me—not without reason, I suppose.
" So flippantly, so casually does he reference his evil acts.
"It's a perfect setup for an ambush. He won't be able to resist. If I could add your Miss Bennett to the trap, I'd be happier, but things got rather exciting as we were leaving.
If it wasn't Lash himself out there, it was another of your damnably effective Arrow friends.
" A shrug. "No matter. Death comes to us all, but to you and Lash rather more immediately. "
I hold his gaze silently, and it becomes a staring contest, which is, I understand, patently ridiculous and utterly childish.
It’s not a don't-blink-or-you-lose contest, though.
It's a don’t-look-away contest. It's like trying to stare down a cobra, though: there's just no life in his eyes, not a scrap of humanity, no warmth, no light.
We're saved from having to declare a winner when our driver slams on his brakes, cursing angrily in Bulgarian, drawing both Pugli's and my attention at the same time.
I'm thrown painfully around the trunk as the driver swerves while cursing; I brace against the hatch and sides with splayed arms and legs, snarling through the pain.
Dizziness washes over me, which isn't good. I close my eyes and sink into my mind, pushing aside the pain, Pugli, chases, gunshot wounds, everything.
What fills the void of my thoughts is Brys.
The hot, bright gleam of arousal in her exotic, blue-ringed hazel eyes. The small softness of her hands. The hunger in her as she swallowed my cock, the way she gazed up at me, begging for more. Obeying me so willingly, greedily.
The way she collected herself and kept moving despite the horrific gore of dead bodies.
The gleam of humor as she doles out wicked, cutting sarcasm.
I sink deeper into the darkness of quasi-consciousness, letting Brys fill my mind and overtake my thoughts.
Inevitably, however, Isabel ghosts through my awareness—the Isabel that was: Madame X.
The woman locked in my tower, nameless and without a past. Mine to create, to control.
She was a study in grace, elegance, and understated perfection.
She moved through the world like a dancer, even as a coltish sixteen-year-old.
I was her world. My word was all there was. I had but to speak, and my will would be carried out.
She was a living doll. Almost a golem, a barely animate thing without a will of her own.
For years, I worked tirelessly to create a perfect vessel for my will, a creature I could bend to my purposes. For someone with an undiagnosed but very real obsessive disorder—or whatever is plaguing my brain—she was my ideal possession.
And a possession she was. I didn't see her as a person, an individual. I stopped seeing her individual qualities, her sense of self. I knew who she was and where she came from, even if she didn’t…
I just stopped caring. The pursuit of ever more finely-tuned control over her behavior, her decisions, her thoughts, even her needs—that was all I cared about.
She was all I wanted, all I needed.
And then she met Logan. Her eyes were opened. She began asking questions. Began wondering.
And so the house of cards I'd built came crashing down around my ears.
And I realized, sitting in the balcony of a cathedral watching her marry Logan, that I had formed my entire world around her.
My businesses, my billions…none of it mattered without her. I could have lived out my days as Caleb Indigo, building my corporate empire, raking in billions upon billions until I was worth more than many third-world countries. But without her, to what end?
No one knew me. No one cared about me. No one knew Jakob Kasparek. No one knew Caleb Indigo, not really—because Caleb Indigo was fake. He was a fraud. A creation, a fiction as carefully crafted as Madame X.