“It is polite,” Vivek muttered, “to thank someone after they do a task for you.”
Blinking, she looked up to see him staring at what looked like grainy surveillance footage. “What? Oh. I thought I could cook you dinner when this was all over.” When she could lay the nightmare to rest, sleep knowing her tormentors would never hurt her or anyone else again.
Vivek shifted his wheelchair to glare at her. “Feeling sorry for the cripple, I see.”
“Knock it off, V.” In no fine mood herself, she returned the glare. “If we’re comparing the right to indulge in self-pity, I think I’ve got you beat.”
“I was abandoned by my family.”
“At least you had a family for a while. I was abandoned almost the instant I left the womb.”
“I can’t walk.”
“I was tortured for two months and can’t stand for a man to touch me in a sexual way, even a man I find wildly attractive.” Until the erotic, decadent taste of him was in her every breath. “Despite my better judgment.”
“It’s Dmitri, isn’t it?” A whir of sound as Vivek brought his wheelchair closer.
Returning her attention to the data, she let her silence speak for itself.
“First Elena and then you.” A blown-out breath. “I want to show you something.” Not waiting for an answer, he went to another computer and cued up a video clip on the large wall screen in front of the consoles. “Watch.”
20
She watched, because Vivek, mood or not, would never waste her time, not when he knew how important this was to her. The clip turned out to be a traffic report from one of the local television stations—and then suddenly, the bubbly blonde reporter was yelling at her cameraman to zoom in.
When he did, the first thing Honor saw was the brilliant near-white hair of the woman racing through the streets, her legs long, her grace extraordinary. An instant later, the reason for her urgency came into focus: a sensually beautiful masculine form giving chase, as fast and ruthless as a panther, his shirt splattered with the viscous red of blood.
Honor had been out of the country at the time of the infamous chase across Manhattan, and while she’d read about it, she’d never seen the actual footage. As she watched, Elena pulled out a gun, turned as if to shoot Dmitri—just as a sleek black motorcycle screeched to a stop at the corner, only a couple of feet away.
Jumping on, the hunter held on tight to the driver as the motorcycle powered away from danger. Dmitri, meanwhile, his chest barely moving in spite of the intensity of the chase, stood at the curb . . . and blew Elena a kiss.
“That,” Vivek said with solemn concern, “is the man you’ve got the hots for. Ellie said she slit his throat and he liked it.”
Goose bumps over her skin, a chill sweat breaking out along her spine. “Sometimes,” she said, thinking of the violence she’d witnessed in Dmitri, the casual cruelty, “logic doesn’t work.”
Vivek parted his lips, then seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say. “Just, be careful. And if you ever need to disappear, all you have to do is ask.” He headed to one of the computers before she could respond. “I’m copying the data over here, too. I’ll run search algorithms through the whole file using key words while you go through the e-mails.”
It was twenty minutes later that Honor saw it. An e-mail string hidden amongst all the other business ones, the subject header an innocuous project name. The only reason she’d even scanned it was because it appeared at the beginning of her period of captivity.
The first message said: Did you get an invitation?
The response was as simple: I’ll call you.
Two days later: I haven’t felt this alive in over a century.
The response: I’d forgotten what it was to hunt down my prey.
Except the cowards had done no hunting. They’d simply taken advantage of a trapped woman laid out for their ugly pleasure. Pulse pounding in her temples, she checked the e-mail address of Tommy’s friend. It didn’t surprise her in the least when it proved to identify the writer. “They never even considered anyone would come looking.” After all, Honor hadn’t been meant to leave that pit. Ever.
“Leon and his friends aren’t as sophisticated as my guests.” A lingering kiss that made her empty stomach revolt. “It’ll be interesting to see what remains after they’ve gorged themselves. But first . . .”
Icy jets of water hitting her, creating bruises upon bruises. The pungent scent of bleach in the room, the spray shifting to the concrete for long minutes. Her mouth being wrenched open.
“Now, let’s clean you up. I wouldn’t want your body to betray me when they find it in the trash.”