She’d only just woken up, wasn’t sure how much time had passed or what had been done to her. The thought made her gag.
After the…the…attack—oh, God, don’t think about it— she had raced to her shabby apartment to gather her things. Mistake. She should have left the gun and clothing behind, but without the day’s pay she’d known replacing them would have been too expensive. And since she hadn’t yet mastered the ability to steal without getting caught, she’d felt she had no other recourse.
A group of strange men had been waiting for her, standing in the shadows next to the fire escape as though they’d known what route she most often took. As if they’d been watching her for days and knew her habits.
She could have fought one or two. Even three. But there had been six of them, all bearing the same figure-eight tattoo on their wrists as the man she’d—she’d—she couldn’t even think the word now. They’d possessed the same tattoo as the man who’d died in that dirty alley. They’d overpowered her, knocked her out.
Never helpless again, huh?
When she’d first opened her eyes a little bit ago, her hope that the men were cops and she might make bail was completely dashed. Cops did not chain women to strange beds. Who were these men? What did they want with her?
Nothing good, that much was clear. Panic bloomed inside her chest, freezing her blood. Her ears rang with fear. Her jaw ached from the knock it had taken. Her strength was depleted, hunger gnawing at her. She had trouble drawing in a breath, her airways too constricted.
Don’t make a sound. The chains were cold and heavy, abrading. She tugged at them as her wild gaze circled the room. It was nicely furnished with overstuffed chairs, colorful beaded pillows and a mahogany vanity that boasted a square, gilt-edged mirror.
Reyes’s doing? she wondered, not knowing what to think about that. He had kept her in comfort, too.
No, not Reyes, she decided in the next instant. He wasn’t the kind of man to send others to do his dirty work. He would have been there, would have subdued her himself. So who had taken her? she wondered again. Friends of the man she’d…hurt, obviously. Those tattoos…
Did the men mean to punish her for hurting him? Did they mean to rape her? Torture her? Oh, God. Did they think she was a hooker, too, and plan to sell her services?
Tears burned in her eyes. Right now she was alone. She continued to work at the chains, minute after minute dragging by. Sweat poured from her and soaked the sheets underneath her. The more she moved, the more her clothing pulled away from the metal bands, no longer acting as a block. Soon her skin was sliced and blood oozed from her wrists and ankles.
A knock sounded.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she pursed her lips to silence a whimper. She stilled. Should she pretend to be asleep?
The room’s only door creaked open, revealing a tall, average-looking male. She couldn’t force her eyelids to close. Could only stare at him, taking his measure. He wore a white button-down shirt and black slacks and looked to be in his late thirties. He had brown hair, which was combed from his face. His eyes were large, green like hers. He appeared very professional, very unmurderer-like. Calm, perhaps even friendly.
That didn’t lessen her terror.
Danika swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Not a sound. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Don’t reveal fear. In, out, she breathed, slowly, each intake and exhalation precise.
“Good. You’re awake.” With barely a pause, the man added, “Relax, my dear. I have no plans to hurt you.”
“Unchain me, then.” The pleading quality of her voice stripped away every effort she’d made to appear strong.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely upset. “The chains are a necessity.”
“Just let me go and—”
He held up one hand, silencing her. “I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time. My name is Dean Stefano. My friends call me Stefano, so I hope that you will, as well. You are Danika Ford.”
“Let me go. Please.”
“I will, just not yet.” His brows disappeared into his hairline. “Let’s cut to the heart of the matter, shall we? What do you know about the Lords of the Underworld?”
The Lords? This was about her other kidnapping? A crazed laugh escaped her. What kind of shit had Reyes and company dragged her into?
“Tell me.”
“Nothing,” she said, because she didn’t know what kind of answer Stefano wanted. “I know nothing about any Lords.”
Irritation flickered in his eyes. “Lying will only get you in trouble, my dear. So let’s try again. You stayed with a group of men in Budapest. Not just any men, but unquestionably the most violent men the world has ever seen. Yet they didn’t harm you. And if they didn’t harm you, that means they considered you a friend.”
“They’re monsters,” she said, and prayed that was what he wanted to hear. “I hate them. I don’t know why they kept me, and I don’t know why they let me go. Amusement, maybe.” Truth and hate blared from every syllable. “Let me go. Please. I didn’t mean to hurt… It was an accident and I…” Tears once again stung her eyes.
Stefano sighed. “We kept you drugged while we decided what to do with you. Drugged yet safe. You took a strong soldier from us, Danika, one of our best. We miss Kevin terribly. His wife hasn’t stopped crying since I told her of his demise; she refuses to eat and prays for death so that she can join him. You owe us now, don’t you agree?”
As he’d probably hoped, his words filled her with white-hot guilt and that guilt cut deeper than the shackles. “Please. I just want to go home.” Not that she had a home anymore. She laughed again, feeling a little crazed and a lot shaky. Dizzy. “Please.”
Stefano’s expression didn’t soften. “The Lords—Maddox, Lucien, Reyes, Sabin, Gideon, they call themselves. Shall I go on? They are demons, created in the heavens yet spawned from hell itself. Did you know that?”
She blinked, breath congealing in her lungs. “D-demons?” A few months ago, she would have rolled her eyes at him. Now, she nodded. That explained so much. She’d seen her captors’ faces morph into skeletal beings. She’d been flown through the city cradled in the arms of a winged man. She’d seen fangs elongate and claws sharpen. She’d heard growls and screams of pain and torture.
Demons. Like the ones in her dreams, her secret paintings. Had she somehow known, even as a little girl, that she’d end up in Budapest with Reyes and his friends? Then later, with this man? Had the nightmares she’d always battled been a means of preparing her for this?
“Yes. Oh, yes. You believe. You see the truth.” Stefano stalked toward her, hate radiating from him. That hate transformed him from calm and friendly to menacing beast. “Death is a demon. Destruction is a demon. Disease is a demon. Every evil deed the world has ever known, every evil that has ever transpired, can be traced to their doorstep.”
The closer he came to her, the more she shrank into the mattress. “Wh-what does this have to do with me?”
“So
