Last Kiss Goodnight

chapter Twelve



But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.

—EPHESIANS 4:13

GREAT WAVES OF PAIN raked Solo’s entire body, but all he could think about was Vika’s deafness. And she was deaf. He had no doubts. She had watched his mouth constantly, and when he’d gotten over his assumption that she was merely staring in horror at his long, sharp teeth, he’d realized she hadn’t heard anything he’d said. Otherwise, she never would have approached him.

“Come any closer, and I’ll chew off your face,” he’d said through teeth gritted from rage and mortification, and though the words had been a falsehood, she hadn’t known that.

She had come closer.

“Free my arms so I can snap your neck in two.”

Another falsehood, but still she’d freed his arms.

“You’re begging for it, aren’t you?” he’d said. “Well, now you’re mine, and I’ll never let you go. You want mercy, you’ll have to earn it.”

She had displayed no fear.

Then he had recalled the way she had watched her father’s mouth, and the way she had watched the otherworlders’ mouths. The way she had seemed to so easily tune out the rest of the world. The way her father’s men were comfortable enough to discuss her while standing directly behind her.

And really, the handicap explained so much more. She had to have her hand on her throat to judge the volume of her voice, but even that wasn’t 100 percent accurate. She would whisper at inappropriate times and bellow at others.

Solo wasn’t sure what to make of the development . . . or of the fact that she wasn’t as aloof as she wanted him to believe. She hadn’t liked watching his whipping; the knowledge had struck him at the same moment the whip had, stunning him as well as strengthening him. With every blow, Vika had jolted in sympathy. Tears of genuine sorrow had filled her eyes, big and fat and rolling down her cheeks. Her knees had eventually given out.

She had become his anchor.

A laughing Dr. E had abandoned him.

A sighing X had abandoned him, though he had first promised to help the moment his strength returned. Help Solo would have refused if he’d been alone. X had already failed him. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to trust the creature again.

Vika, though, she had stayed put, holding his gaze without wavering so that he was never alone and never had to concentrate on someone else, never had to consider what was happening.

What a puzzle she was. He couldn’t figure her out.

And he wouldn’t be given the chance tonight, he was sure. He had let her go, and she had bolted, which was probably a good thing. Right now he hung at the end of a fraying rope, ready to fall into his most dangerous at any moment. He hadn’t lied about that. His mind was hazed by the ever-increasing pain he had refused to reveal to Jecis, even in the smallest degree. He would rather bathe in acid and towel himself dry with broken glass than satisfy the sick desires of such a madman. Michael had trained him better than that.

“I’m back,” Vika said.

How utterly shocking. She’d kept her word without being forced.

He wanted to howl as she gently tended his wounds, but once again he remained quiet. He didn’t want her to stop. He needed this. And he liked the thought of her hands on him, no matter the circumstances.

“You’ll heal,” she whispered. “You have to heal.”

As the sound of her soft voice drifted through his mind, he was able to pretend they were at his farm, in his bedroom. On his bed. They had just made love, and he was exhausted. She had loved every moment, and now, she couldn’t stop touching him, had to have more of him. But as his fellow captives marveled aloud, throwing rapid-fire questions and commands at him, he was drawn back to the present.

“Why are you just lying there?” the Mec whispered fiercely. “Kill her!”

Did he know she was deaf?

“Bob! Fred! Over here!” Criss rattled her cage door. “Fight through the pain and free us!”

“Now’s your chance,” the Bree Lian growled. “Do something!”

No. They didn’t know. They would have told him to use the defect against her. Right now they were simply desperate for action.

“Why don’t you all shut up?” the Targon snipped. “Let the girl aid the man.”

Support. From the Targon. Miracle of miracles.

Vika cast a glance over her shoulder. “Hush,” she said, and turned back to Solo.

Solo frowned. Maybe he was mistaken about her. Maybe—no. No mistake. She had simply followed the direction of his gaze. She had no idea the creatures had commanded him to end her life. Her expression was sad rather than angry, guilty rather than fearful.

He should listen to his companions and act. He should fight his way out. Now. He should do whatever proved necessary.

He wasn’t against hurting a defenseless deaf girl to save himself . . . was he? Only yesterday he would have said no, no, a thousand times no. But twice now Vika had tenderly ministered to him, and only his mother had ever done such a thing for him. Vika had given him food and earned herself a beating.

His mother would expect him to aid the girl aiding him.

Yes, he was against hurting a defenseless deaf girl. This deaf girl.

Using every bit of his strength, Solo pulled himself into a crouch. Whatever salve she had spread over his wounds seeped deep and thankfully dulled the pain. She slid an arm under his chest and applied pressure, helping him straighten.

“Can you lift the rest of the way?” she asked softly.

He opened his mouth to respond, realized she couldn’t see his lips at this angle, and settled for nodding. He lumbered to his feet, tried not to cringe. Vika urged him toward the cage; he resisted.

“I’m not going back there,” he said. New plan. He would leave with Vika and Kitten, find a hiding place, one Jecis wouldn’t be able to track, even if there was a GPS chip in the cuffs, and take time to heal. He would contact Michael. Together they would come back here and destroy the circus. Some aspects of the plans would always be the same. Vika, he would . . . He wasn’t sure what he’d do with her anymore.

After the circus was destroyed, he would hunt John and Blue if they were missing.

“Please,” she said, giving his arm a tug. The single word was drenched with fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to allow your father to hurt you, either.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and forced her into his side.

She struggled for freedom, but he merely tightened his hold. She struggled some more, but surprisingly enough, she was careful not to brush against his wounds.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

“I must.”

As the otherworlders called him over—save me first, no me, please, me—she finally stilled.

“Okay,” she said with a dejected sigh, “that does it. I’m officially throwing in the wet blanket.”

Uh, what? Maybe it was his injured state, but he so did not understand what she’d just said. “Throwing in . . . the towel?” Maybe.

She must not have caught his words, because she launched into a desperate rumble of words. “I give as much as I’m able, and I sacrifice as much as I’m able, and I sometimes endanger myself, and yet no one thinks twice about ruining my life further. So, fine, whatever. I’ll go with you. I can’t stop you from escaping without using your injuries against you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.

“But when you’re captured, and you will be,” she continued, “I’ll be sure to mention how you overpowered me. The last man who laid a hand on me lost it. Jecis chopped it right off. And then, to really prove his point, he chopped off the other one. And I won’t even mention what will be done to me!”

“How kind of you.” As she spoke, he kept a firm grip on her and ushered her to Kitten’s cage. “But nothing will be done to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

From the otherworlders, the demands for freedom became pleas for help. As loud as they were, another guard would soon be called. He didn’t want to waste precious time having Vika free them. Although . . . if Jecis and company discovered Solo’s abduction of Vika, they’d have other people to chase, other tracks to follow, buying Solo more of the time he needed.

Cruel of him? Maybe. But also a mercy. They would be free. If the situation were reversed, he would want to be released for any reason, even that one.

He switched direction, approaching the cage closest to him.

“Thank you, Blue Eyes,” Vika said, her tone dripping with relief. She must assume he intended to walk back into his own prison. “Thank you. You won’t regret this. I have plans, and if you can just hold out for—”

“My name is Solo,” he interjected, making sure she was looking up to watch his lips. She had plans? What kind of plans? And was she fond of men with blue eyes?

That last question irritated him greatly. Why should he care?

“Solo.” A grin lifted the corners of her lips. “Nice to meet you.”

He would have sworn the sun had just broken through a thick shield of rain clouds, lighting her entire face. He wanted her to smile every second of every day . . . but her soft amusement died a quick death the moment he stopped in front of the Mec’s cage.

Dread radiated from her. “You’re going to free everyone, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to do that. Please!”

“I must,” he repeated.

Though she tugged and tugged and tugged, he forced her to place her thumb against the lock. The moment the two halves parted, the Mec burst free. As overjoyed as he was, his skin glowed a bright blue. Foolish otherworlder. He would never be able to hide that way.

“You’re all dead,” Vika said, emotionless. “You, me, all of them. We’re all as dead as . . . things that are dead.”

“I will protect you.” He stumbled over his own feet and barely managed to right himself. But he meant those words with every fiber of his being. He wanted her safe. Now and al— Oh, no. He wasn’t going there. He wanted her safe. For now.

He stopped, peered into her eyes, and again said, “I will protect you.” This time he added, “I vow it.”

She didn’t jolt, as any other would have, and that astonished him. Maybe it was because she couldn’t hear his voice, he reasoned. Maybe it was because he was drugged and in such a weakened condition. Whatever. Didn’t really matter, he supposed. A vow was a vow, and he’d just tied himself to her.

A sigh slipped from her and she nodded. “Okay. I’ll trust you.”

Solo walked her to the next cage, and this time she offered no resistance whatsoever.

“Hey, you. Stop,” a guard shouted in the distance, and Solo wasn’t sure if the command was issued to him or the Mec.

Either way, there was no time to liberate the others. Kitten, yes, but not the others. He would have to come back for them. He dragged Vika to the girl’s cage, and she placed her thumb against the lock’s ID without any prompting from him.

Kitten raced to his side. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Quiet,” Vika said, a desperate quality to her voice. “Please. We don’t want them to catch us.”

“You be quiet!” Kitten snarled, reaching for her. “Better yet, keep talking. I’ll silence you myself for what you allowed to happen to me.”

Solo spun Vika out of Kitten’s reach. “Don’t threaten her,” Solo told the otherworlder. He wasn’t sure what he’d do to her if she did it again. He only knew anger was already budding inside him—an uncontrollable anger. One that, when unleashed, would be unstoppable.

“Fine,” Kitten muttered. “But I have a problem with her, and one day I’m going to catnip the hell out of her.”

“Not without permission from me.” Permission he would never give.

Jaw clenched, he lumbered forward with the women at his sides, the rest of the otherworlders hurtling curses at him . . . curses that were fading in volume, not just because he was moving farther away but because the strength of the otherworlders’ emotions were engaging the cuffs and causing drugs to be pumped through their systems. They were dropping swiftly, as though Solo had targeted them for a job.

He quickened his step, trying to keep his own emotions under control.

He only made it a few more feet before a stocky man rounded a corner.

“Matas!” Solo heard the Targon shout. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you so dead!”

Not just a shout, but a spew, as if the name were a terrible curse. Bars rattled. The ground shook.

Matas. Finally they met. He’d been at the whipping. Had been the one to hand the weapon to Jecis. The one to grin the widest as every blow was delivered.

But there was no time for a proper meet and greet. As Solo shifted directions, the male zeroed in on him. Black mist rose from the male’s shoulders in thick, writhing coils. Evil, Solo knew. As many criminals as he’d targeted throughout the years, he’d seen such evil before. Slightly crooked teeth flashed in a scowl as the man withdrew a gun from the waist of his pants and squeezed the trigger.

Solo twisted so that his body completely blocked the females. Fresh pain bloomed in his shoulder, and his vision instantly hazed.

Vika released a bloodcurdling scream that joined the chant of failed again, failed again, failed again suddenly echoing in his head. He collapsed, no longer able to hold himself upright, and because he still had a grip on both Vika and Kitten, the two females went down with him. He managed to tuck them both underneath him, still determined to use his body as a shield in case the male decided to open fire.

He—

—knew nothing more, for darkness had eaten him alive.

Or as dead as things that were dead.