Break: Angels and Demons Read online

  “And I believe I told you I’ve accepted that.”

  “And you believe me.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  She nodded, unable to speak. Her hands were wrapped around each other in a death grip.

  “Are you so eager to die then?” he asked, softly, so gently that she felt the unmistakable pressure of tears push against the backs of her eyes and coat the back of her throat. “Do you truly have no one to live for?”

  I have no one to live for, but someone to die for. She didn’t say the words out loud though, and instead fixed her gaze on the injured air demon. He’d stopped bleeding, courtesy of Gethin’s power, but he hadn’t moved once the entire time. “I’m sure you did a thorough background search on me,” she said instead. “Surely you know I’ve no one.”

  He made a tsking sound in the back of his throat. “No family, of course. Quite the childhood you must have had with the rap sheet your parents built between the two of them. Judging by how your father traveled, I assume you stayed at home with your mother?”

  Her childhood—or lack thereof—wasn’t something she wanted to go into, but she didn’t have much of a choice. “My father left when I was very young, yes. I stayed with my mother until I moved out for college.”

  “Which you didn’t even graduate from. Why did you drop out after your mother died?”

  She finally looked at him, expecting to see what she usually saw on other people’s faces who knew about her background—pity, scorn, disgust, a shifting of perspective that she was somehow dumber, less capable because she didn’t have a pretty piece of paper signed and stamped hanging on her wall. She’d shown all of them.

  But instead, she saw something that might have just been understanding.

  “I couldn’t afford not to work with all with the debt I inherited,” Layla said flatly. “And by then I was a legal adult and realized I was good enough at what I did that the people who would pay the most wouldn’t care that I hadn’t graduated.”

  “A pretty little hacker then, who’s got her balls in some nasty air demon’s hands,” Gethin mused, almost to himself. “And since it’s not family, and not friends given your all-too-obvious loner status, then who are the air demons threatening to kill if you don’t finish the mission? Who do you care about so much that you can’t even bring yourself to tell me?”

  Her mouth felt bone-dry. “I’ve told you everything I can. They didn’t let me know much about their plans. I really don’t know anything.” Agitated, she bit her lip, realizing with a sinking feeling that very soon she’d have to make an ultimate decision about Nathanial.

  “Can’t, shan’t, won’t.” Gethin almost hummed the words, stretching his body out luxuriously as if waking up from a particularly delightful nap before he got to his feet. “Well then, I see we’ve reached the end of what you’re willing to say. But do tell me this—when your little friends here were training you for being under my employment, how did they convince you to memorize and prepare all that you needed to know? How did they threaten you about whomever you’re still protecting? I’ve never known them to be particularly eloquent—with words, that is.”

  He knew. He had to know. But he stood there, his hands shoved in his pockets, the air demon only a foot away, with a calm, almost friendly look on those beautiful features of his.

  “They threatened someone I care for,” she said slowly, stating only what she was certain he knew.

  “Anything else?”

  “No.” The lie was cold as ash on her tongue.

  He reached out and brutally hit the air demon across the face. Layla cringed at the unexpected violence, wrapping her arms around her middle for support as the air demon came to, moaning. When he tried to sit up, he saw Gethin standing over him and collapsed back again with a whimper of terror.

  “Hello,” Gethin said gently. “I want you to answer me again—was the blonde human tortured when she refused to cooperate or didn’t do what was demanded of her in the exact way she was supposed to? Was she ever hurt just for fun, to teach her who was in charge?”

  No, don’t! Layla wanted to shout out, but the air demon only darted a frightened look her way before answering shakily. “Y-yes, she was hurt whenever she didn’t do something the way she was supposed to. But the demons in charge of her made sure there were no marks, sir, because the marks would have t-tipped you off.”

  “Thank you,” Gethin murmured. Something on his face gave Layla all the warning she needed to close her eyes and put her hands over her ears, but there was no mistaking the sickening crack of a neck being snapped. Then strong arms swept her out of her seat so suddenly that all she could do was grab at his wide shoulders as he strode out the door. “We’re done here, Layla. No more death today. I promise. We don’t need any more pain today. I’m taking you home for the night.”

  And for some reason the word home was all Layla needed to bury her face into Gethin’s strong chest and block out everything else that she couldn’t fix. She’d need her strength later. The next second that Gethin let his guard down, she would be up and out. And off for Nathanial, because maybe, just maybe, she would be able to take him away from his adoptive family before anyone else did. God only knew how she could ever forgive herself for ruining a seven-year-old’s life, but a life on the run was better than death. Maybe she could even approach an angel for the first time and beg for help.

  But for now she would enjoy the fleeting sensation that she was somehow safe in the hands that had just broken another demon’s neck, and might end her life as well. Life sure had a wicked sense of irony.

  “Where are we?”

  At the alarm in her voice, Gethin looked up from the laptop balanced across his legs. Pushing fine strands of hair from her face, she blinked bleary eyes and realized that somehow, despite everything, she had managed to fall asleep somewhere after being carried out of the basement and long before she was put into the car she was now in.

  “We’re going to one of my properties.” He shut the laptop with a quiet click and stowed it away, turning that taut, muscular body towards her. He had changed clothes, and was back in one of the tailored suits he tended to wear when doing business of the non-bloody kind. She was, confirmed by a quick scan, still in the same bloody, wrinkled skirt and blouse she’d been wearing the whole time, however long that was. Three hours? Five? Twelve? It was dark outside, so that meant at least nine, ten hours had passed since her glasses had been snapped. A lifetime away.

  “Why?” The question that slipped out was a part of the longer question she wanted to ask—why am I still alive?

  He ignored her, instead focusing on her bare feet. She looked down and winced at how swollen her ankle looked.

  “I would have iced it had you told me,” he chided.

  “Can you make the swelling go down?” Layla asked hopefully. “You know, just shift my blood around or something?”

  The blasted demon shook his head, not looking the slightest bit repentant. She tried moving her foot. It throbbed dully in response. “How am I supposed to get anywhere?”

  The look he slanted at her was nothing short of ice. “Why would that be a concern of yours?”

  She bit her lip. True, if she intended to sit docile and demure at his…his lair, then certainly, she could have every bone in her body shattered and it wouldn’t matter. But she sure as hell intended to take off as soon as possible. “I want to be able to walk because I need to protect myself,” she responded finally with every shred of dignity she could muster.

  He turned his attention to the scenery flashing by, brightly lit storefronts and neon signs contrasting with shadowed streets and dark glimpses of the sky. “From whom, may I ask, do you need protection?” It was said in the same tone he might condemn someone to death, she decided. All arrogance and icy demeanor with something seething right beneath the surface.

  “Because the air demons might break into your home and try to kill me.”

  He had the audacity to laugh. “You don’t fear d
eath. Remember? You’ve accepted your death is imminent at my hands.”

  “Well, maybe you won’t torture me the way the air demons will.” She said it softly, under her breath, but she could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders that he’d heard every single word.

  “They won’t get to you. They won’t get to anyone I keep under my protection. No one knows you’re here. Anyone who knows that you were locked away to begin with in one of the rooms will assume you’re still in there.”

  The irony was too rich. “And we’ve established you can pick out traitors, haven’t we?” Her bitter laugh strangled to a halt on a gasp of shock as he suddenly loomed over her, hands tight on her shoulders as if uncertain whether to shake or slide up and strangle.

  “Don’t remind me,” he snarled. She watched in horrified fascination as the red of his eyes grew darker, deeper, and spread to slowly dominate his pupils until they were nothing more than a dying star among swirling pools of lava.

  “I didn’t mean to bait you,” she whispered. To her chagrin, she realized the sensation tickling her cheeks were tears. Perhaps now was not the best time, but she had to ask. “How many—how many died?”

  His hands slid away from her body. He didn’t move back to his seat, instead remained too close for comfort. His harsh features seemed even sharper as he kept his face close to hers, gaze slashing across her face as if searching for the slightest hint of insincerity. He wouldn’t find any.

  “You might have saved Todd’s life,” he finally murmured. “He’s none too happy with you. Not only did the pretty office girl turn out to stab us all in the back, but she denied him a chance to protect his allies, and he shoulders the blame for the death of three friends.”

  Three. Three seemed like such a small number in the grand scheme of things, but that was three demons who had lived and laughed and maybe even loved. Three demons who died because of her, and she had no intention of asking for their names just yet. Call her a coward, but that knowledge she couldn’t handle right now. All she could focus on was getting out. Out and away from a blood demon who held so much power over her, but left his intentions murky at best.

  He reached out and touched her cheek, her temple, with strong hands lighter than a feather’s stroke. The skin was sore and tender. Probably bruised where Vyn had struck her. That bastard.

  “How did they torture you?” he asked.

  “They didn’t,” Layla answered automatically. When she saw his eyes narrow she retracted the statement. “Well, they didn’t make it pleasant. But I’m alive. I’d rather not discuss it.” She realized belatedly that she was squeezing her hands together and made a conscious effort to keep them palms down on her lap.

  She thought he was going to pursue it or make a dark comment about her limited time on Earth. She could see the words forming by the way he watched her with an odd combination of curiosity, anger and sarcasm. But whatever words were tethered on the tip of his tongue were swallowed back as he turned away to back into his side of the limousine.

  She did her best to avoid the temptation of looking at him, dark and brooding, streetlamps illuminating the planes of his face in repetitive, violent flashes. She kept her gaze on her hands and forced herself not to shift uncomfortably whenever she sensed the weight of his gaze, and ignored the fact that her elevated heartbeat would be completely apparent. Damn him for bringing the torture up again and again. She was no stranger to deliberate pain—violence in her childhood and teen years was borne of alcohol and anger, slaps and scratches from her mother, the occasional backhand or shoves from the many men her mother brought home.

  The violence under Vyn’s orders hadn’t been just deliberate, but methodical. No marks were ever left—scars on her body or too much damage to her mind would have been detrimental to their goals. Rather, it was emotional, it was magical and it was done to show her not only how vulnerable she was, but to showcase what would be done to her brother should she not succeed.

  She had technically given the air demons what they wanted, but she was a loose end, and no one ever cared to trip over one. She would escape tonight, because there was no way Gethin would devote an entire night and day to babysitting her. The breach in security would demand all of his attention, and that would leave her to get past whatever guards he would put on her.

  Except what would she do about her ankle?

  The car rolled to a stop. Through her tinted window she saw they had reached a tall, thick wall with a heavily fortified gate that slid open smoothly a moment later. The car continued, slower now as the wheels crunched over gravel, and finally pulled to a stop in front of a mansion that probably had more in common with a high-tech fortress than just appearances alone.

  “Go,” Gethin said tersely. Without thinking, she opened the door and stepped out. With a gasp, she clung to the door to avoid falling as her injured leg sent a wave of dizziness and nausea over her. When her vision cleared of black dots Gethin’s arms surrounded her.

  Pride stiffened her back. “I can do it myself,” she said, but then felt silly. Who was she trying to deceive? She couldn’t, and the despair was another brick in the wall she felt was slowly and surely being erected around her, blocking her from what she had to do.

  Gethin’s eyes flashed in sudden anger and the arms around her tightened almost painfully until he gained control over himself. “I’m not going to carry you, you little fool.”

  It was as if Gethin seemed to understand and respected what little pride she had left. Despite their roughness, his words made her feel a bit better as she slowly made her way to the front of the house. The front door was opened by a demon who could have doubled for a linebacker. He spoke to Gethin, but focused a contemptuous glare on her. “Matthias just died from his injuries, sir.”

  Someone let out a small gasp of horror. Gethin’s body was rigid, his pupils swallowed up in red, but the look in them was just as blank as the man’s in front of him. “He did not die in vain, Marc. He’ll be avenged. How many air demons were captured?”

  “Twelve.”

  “How many of them are still alive?”

  She remembered Gethin had snapped one of the demons’ necks.

  “Seven. What do we do with them?”

  Gethin was quiet, and she searched his face anxiously. There wasn’t an ounce of pity in his face, but she hoped. Kill them quickly. Put an end to this gruesome war, please. Please.

  “I’m heading back for a few hours tonight after I handle her,” he finally concluded. “Keep them drugged. We don’t need them to play any of their damn asphyxiation games with us. Fucking exhausting.”

  She knew those asphyxiation games, and something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because Gethin turned the full force of his attention on her. “It’s fairly exhausting for us to manipulate our own blood to increase the red blood cells and hemoglobin necessary to stay conscious. In attacks such as the one you witnessed, they can group together and really do damage. You, on the other hand, had no defenses, did you?”

  She hadn’t. Turning her face away from the all-knowing smile, she focused her attention to the austere interior of his living quarters. There was no sense of personality, of a warm household or relaxation. It was a building made for a warrior, one who valued survival over the luxurious trappings of a privileged life. She realized with a start that this was the way she’d lived. The simple decoration—admittedly, his probably cost twenty times more than hers—revolved around security. There were no large glass windows that would be difficult to defend, no frivolous furniture to inhibit movement.

  Chances were it would be nearly as hard to get out as it would be to get in, but perhaps her handicap would also lure them into a false sense of security. She certainly hoped so, because the idea of grappling hand-to-hand with Marc wasn’t pleasant at all.

  As she studied the locks on the door they’d just entered, she realized it was quiet. Both men had stopped talking and were observing her with suspicious eyes. Hers widened in dismay. Did she have “
escapee” tattooed on her forehead? To cover up her reaction, she blurted out, “May I have a shower, please?”

  Marc’s expression of distrust didn’t flicker the slightest. Gethin’s look, however, shifted imperceptibly. His nostrils flared, his jaw hardened and she was inexplicably reminded of his last words to her before he realized her betrayal—You owe me a hell of a lot more than a kiss for this, and I fully intend to collect as soon as possible.

  Gethin must have sensed her heartbeat increase. He reached out to grasp her firmly by the shoulder. “I’ll get her settled in. Once that’s done, I’ll leave and return in about three hours, four at the most. I expect her to still be here when I get back.”

  Marc addressed her for the first time, his voice cold. “Don’t even try to run, whatever the hell your real name is.”

  “It’s Layla,” Gethin interjected, his gaze firm. “And I fully expect her to make a break for it. Your job is to keep her here without injuring her. Feed her too while you’re at it.”

  The giant man didn’t look too happy at the prospect of wasting food on her but nodded brusquely in acknowledgement of Gethin’s orders. “I’ll bring up something once you leave, sir.”

  Gethin’s firm grip supported and guided her up two flights of stairs, though by the last one she was exhausted. Perhaps she should have swallowed her pride and let him carry her to conserve her strength. It sure looked like she’d need it, given that Marc was more than aware of her imminent jailbreak attempt. “Where am I staying?”

  “In an extra room I have here.” He steered her into one of the first doors on the third floor. Behind the dark wooden door that was probably more fortified than a tank lay a small bedroom with a queen-sized bed and connected bathroom.

  “For how long?”

  “As long as I say.” He ignored the despairing noise she made. “And, so that you don’t have any grand illusions of escaping, pick up this chair and swing it against the window.”