The Darkest Torment Read online

  Baden fought—yes. An actual grin. “You think I have a heart?”

  Even Destruction snorted.

  Adorable.

  “A human hostage?” Cameo burned rubber, speeding away from the chapel. “Really, boys? Whose bright idea was that?”

  Everyone cringed, lances of sadness accompanying Cameo’s words. Baden, William and Torin were used to the sensation and rebounded quickly. Not the human. She paled and trembled, curling into herself.

  “Only one of us stopped using our big-boy brain.” Torin hiked his thumb in Baden’s direction. “Our very own beastie boy.”

  “What just happened?” Katarina whispered. “I never cry, and yet suddenly I want to bawl.”

  Never? “Misery,” he replied, and left it at that.

  “But...I’m always miserable.” Bitterness laced her tone. “You...this...this is nothing new.”

  What did she mean, always miserable? She’d just married her dream man, had she not?

  Cameo took the next corner a little too swiftly, nearly tossing everyone out the window. “Almost there.”

  Again, the human curled into herself.

  He snapped, “Not another word out of you, Cam.”

  “What’s your name?” William asked the human, a clear tactic to distract her.

  “Katarina Joelle,” she said, tremors in her voice.

  “Katarina Ciernik now,” Baden corrected, unable to hide his disdain.

  She bucked up, her temper once again pricked. “You’re right. I am. And a bride’s place is beside her husband.”

  “So eager to return to your doom?”

  “As if staying with you is any better, vyhon si.”

  “Jerk-off? Words hurt, petal. Perhaps you need your mouth washed out with soap. Or the magic elixir. Lucky for you, I happen to have a little magic elixir right...” William unfastened his pants. “Here. A potion so strong it will take down Typhon.”

  Typhon, also known as the father of all monsters. Baden grabbed William’s wrist to stop him from showing Katarina the source of the “elixir.”

  “So suspicious.” The male tsk-tsked, and after shaking off Baden’s hold, pulled a tiny glass vial from a hidden pocket sewn on the inside of his slacks.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  Katarina reared back. “Nie. Nie drugs. Please.”

  Finally, the proper human response from her. Baden stuffed the vial of “magic elixir” in his own pocket, casting her a just in case look. “No drugs. If you stay still and quiet.”

  * * *

  Katarina took stock, calculating the LGB. By remaining still and quiet, as commanded, she would avoid sedation. Awake, she could listen to conversations, learn more about her captors, fight if necessary, and keep track of her surroundings to better her chances of escape.

  Though she trembled, she did her best to settle comfortably against the seat. And, even more difficult, she kept her lips pressed together for the remainder of the drive.

  Finally, the driver—a black-haired, silver-eyed beauty—parked at a busy curb. She turned to wink at Katarina. “You’re in good hands. Promise.”

  The sadness! Katarina wanted to die. The sooner the better. All of her loved ones were dead. Midnight was dead, and not just because of the poison. Her brother hadn’t administered a strong enough dose, had merely caused Midnight’s organs to begin to shut down. Her precious dog had been in pain, so much pain, with no hope of recovery, the vet had told her. She’d had to put a dog in the prime of his life to sleep, holding on to his paw as he slipped away.

  “What part of not another word out of you did you not understand, Cameo?” Baden asked. “The bride looks ready to scoop out her internal organs and set them ablaze.”

  He acted as if the woman’s voice was the source of the problem. Which was impossible...yes?

  Baden opened a door and wrapped an arm around Katarina’s waist, his gaze locking with hers. “If you run, I’ll catch you. If you scream, I’ll make you wish you’d died inside the chapel.”

  She shuddered. If ever a man would do as promised—and enjoy it—it was this one.

  “I won’t run,” she croaked. “Won’t scream.”

  As he “helped” her from the car, a barbed lump grew in her throat. She studied her new surroundings, memorizing details for police. Myriad flower boxes bloomed with begonias and lined the road’s median, separating the traffic running north and south. The design of buildings varied, everything from medieval Gothic to box-shaped chrome and glass.

  She’d seen very little of Manhattan, having spent most of her time confined inside Alek’s country estate, and had no idea where she was.

  Baden ushered her toward the only brownstone with copper-framed windows. A doorman let them pass a set of large glass doors without impediment, saying, “Congratulations on your nuptials, sir.”

  Baden ignored him. Katarina silently begged for help.

  When the man merely smiled blankly at her, her shoulders hunched with disappointment.

  People sucked. Her dogs would have helped her without hesitation.

  Summer warmth gave way to cool air-conditioning. Once again she searched her surroundings. The ornate interior boasted a colorful ceiling mural and four three-tiered chandeliers that dripped with thousands of crystal teardrops. To the left was a beautiful winding staircase, hand-carved cherubs perched along the railing. To the right, multiple sitting areas delimited a massive unlit hearth.

  The people milling about the lobby stared with open curiosity at the leather-clad warrior and the gaudy bride, but only for a second, not wanting to appear rude.

  Can’t scream, can’t scream, really can’t scream.

  “You can be reasonable,” Baden said as the elevator doors closed, sealing them inside the small cart. Alone. “I’m impressed.”

  His condescension irked. Death would be a small price to pay for standing up to such a brute. “You can be an asshole. I’m not impressed.”

  “You have spirit.” He used a key card and punched a button for the top floor. The key card must have programmed the elevator to continue ascending, despite anyone waiting for a ride on any of the other floors, because they never stopped to acquire new passengers. “Your problem is you can’t back up your spirit with brute strength.”

  The comment only irked her further.

  Be strong, Katarina. Her mother’s final words echoed in her mind. Without strength, we have nothing...we are nothing.

  I’m someone!

  “I suggest you be careful when dealing with one such as me,” Baden added. “I’m a monster.”

  “The boogeyman,” she whispered. The only real emotion he’d displayed was delight, and all because men were in pieces around him. He was the kind of person who cheered and placed bets as dogs fought to the death.

  Keep his mind on his goal. “What’s so special about the coin you’re looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her brow creased with confusion. Had she mistranslated his words? “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  And yet, he’d killed dozens of people to obtain the thing. He even planned to dismember Alek. “Explain. Please.”

  Ding. He led her down a hall, past a door and into a spacious room with gleaming dark wood floors draped with Tibetan rugs. Every piece of furniture was antique, boasting a unique animal carving: a swan, an elephant, even a winged lion. The fabric bordering the large rounded windows matched the rugs, the sides pulled back to reveal elaborate stained glass.

  “Sit.” He gave her a gentle push, and yet she stumbled onto the couch, plopping onto the comfortable cushions. “Stay.”

  Two commands she’d often given her dogs. Her fists clenched around her gown’s colossal skirt, wrinkling the material. She was the trainer, not the oth
er way around.

  When an aggressive canine was sent to her for taming, she would introduce herself slowly, often pretending she was alone as she puttered around in places he could watch her without feeling as though she encroached on his space. What she didn’t do was allow him to scare her away. He would only lash out more aggressively the next time she appeared.

  Baden wasn’t a dog, but he was certainly feral. The same principle applied. So, she stood.

  He said nothing as she increased the distance between them. She pretended to scrutinize lamps, vases and the portraits on the wall, each a different type of flower.

  “You appear calm and at ease, and yet I can sense your terror.” He leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Surviving a feral, rule one: Never show fear.

  Basically, fake it till you make it.

  Two: Use a soft but assertive tone. Anything else could rouse hostility.

  Three: Remember you get what you reinforce, not necessarily what you expect.

  In this case, she ignored number four: Place the dog’s needs first.

  And skipped to number five: Find out what will work best with each individual dog.

  “How do you sense my terror?” she asked, her tone soft but confident. “I have no tells.”

  His raspy chuckle held a note of self-deprecation. “Trust me. You have tells. My more beastly qualities enjoy them.”

  “Do your more beastly qualities think I should thank you for kidnapping me?”

  “Yes. I did you a favor, nevesta. Consider this a holiday from the terrible life awaiting you.”

  “You know nothing about my life. Or me!”

  He scoffed, his disgust back in full force. “You are married to Aleksander Ciernik. I can guess.”

  Don’t know this man, don’t like him. His opinion doesn’t matter. But...

  What would he do if she told him about the dogs? Would he understand her plight? Help her? Or would he condemn her?

  Will never tell him! He was a killer, as bad as Alek—maybe worse—and he might hunt down her babies just to spite her.

  “Your greed will bring you nothing but pain,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “Greed?”

  “You covet your husband’s money and power.”

  Her fingers curled into her palms, her nails cutting. “What about his pretty face? And what of redeeming him? Could I not want to make an honest man of him?”

  “A bad man is a bad man,” he said, his tone flat.

  “No hope for you, then, eh?”

  Direct hit. He scowled at her.

  Clearly, she’d stumbled onto dangerous territory. She backtracked, forcing a saucy grin. “Perhaps I spoke too hastily. Perhaps I just don’t know you well enough. Yet.” If she could get her hands on the vial in his pocket, she could drug him. She could escape, return to Alek, save her babies, and run...for the rest of her life.

  Her grin slipped. “Why don’t you order room service for us both, pekný?” Handsome. She winked at him. “I’m dying—hopefully not literally—to learn more about you.”

  * * *

  Baden was no longer amused by the girl’s outbursts. The angry ones...and the flirtatious ones. More and more, he disliked how she made him feel. She looked at him as if he was a disappointment—because he was. She considered him as bad as the human she’d married—with good reason.

  By the time he finished with the siren, he would be far worse.

  “I’m your captor,” he told her, “not your provider.” She was beautiful, somehow more beautiful by the minute, and she most assuredly had plans to charm him. How many men had she tricked over the years? How many had she bled dry before moving on to another one?

  Power before sentiment.

  “Do you plan to keep me weak with hunger?” She continued to meander around the room, the innate sway to her hips acting as a summoning finger. Come here. Touch. He found the strength to resist. Barely. “Fear I’ll overpower you otherwise?”

  “Hardly. I’ve never met a feebler female.” How easy it would be to wrap his hands around the elegant column of her neck and end her.

  Or better yet, he could chew her up and spit her out.

  She whipped around to face him, anger crackling in her eyes. “I’m feeble because a he-man was able to cart me away from my wedding?”

  “Yes. You are unable to protect yourself, or even to take care of yourself. You need others to do it for you.”

  Threatened by those with power, disdainful of those without it. Was there any type of person he liked?

  Katarina looked as if he’d slapped her. Then she blinked away the wound and pouted at him. “Can any woman protect herself from you, pekný?” She picked up a vase, weighed it in her palm. Deciding if it would make a decent missile? “I bet you slay hearts...figuratively as well as literally. Oh, and let’s not forget the panties you must melt.”

  Just. Like. That. He shot hard as stone.

  William strode through the front door, spotted Baden’s state, and rolled his eyes. He launched into a speech about necessary tweaks to security.

  Focus. Engage. But Baden...couldn’t. The bulk of his attention remained on Katarina. When she filched something from a side table, he stalked to her side and, ignoring the pain of skin-to-skin contact, pried open her fingers.

  She gasped as he stepped back, taking...a pen with him. A simple ink pen?

  “Fine,” she said. “Keep it. I didn’t want to write down the poem I’d composed about you, anyway.”

  A lie. She’d hoped to use the pen as a weapon. Silly woman. Did she not know her own limitations? She’d vomited at the sight of blood. She would never have the courage to attack him. “Tell me the poem.” A command, not a request. “I’m brimming with anticipation.”

  She smiled sweetly at him, batting her lashes. “His beauty is terrible, just like his temper. I look at him and I can only whimper.”

  Funny. Baden leaned down, putting him nose-to-nose with her. “Do you like the beginning of my poem? I’m no better than a homicidal maniac right now. Mess with me, and you’ll see how.”

  5

  “If this situation sucked any harder, I’d have an orgasm.”

  —Paris, keeper of Promiscuity

  KATARINA REMAINED DOCILE as Baden ushered her down a long hallway. He probably viewed her passivity as another sign of weakness. Let him. His mistake, her gain. He would never expect her to act against him. Which she planned to do, in three...two...one...

  She sagged into him, pretending to faint while reaching inside his pocket to filch the vial. Success!

  She hid the drug within the folds of her gown as he snarled and hefted her into his arms. He carried her inside a spacious bedroom, the sleeves of his shirt lifting to reveal the metal bands fixed to his biceps. Bands warm to the touch. He tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

  She maintained a smooth expression and lax body as she bounced.

  “Behave, girl, and tomorrow morning you’ll be returned to your husband in the same condition you left him.” Footsteps pounded. The door snicked shut, sealing her inside. The lock engaged with an ominous click.

  She waited one second...five...ten...before opening her eyes. Alone! Yes! She jumped up and rushed around the room, searching for a way out. Maybe Baden would take her to Alek tomorrow, maybe he wouldn’t. Probably he wouldn’t. She’d seen his face; she could identify him to authorities. Once he had the coin, he would be better off killing her.

  The window had been sealed shut. The knob on the balcony doors had been removed and plastered over, preventing her from picking the lock. Fine. She switched gears, hunting for weapons. But all knickknacks had been removed. There were no paintings on the walls—nothing to smash over his fat head. In the bathroom, there were no
brushes to use as shanks.

  Either he’d expected to take a prisoner and prepared, or she wasn’t the first person he’d abducted.

  Think, think. She spun in a circle, eyeing every piece of furniture as if it was the answer to the question: Will I live or die? The dresser! Determined, she opened an empty drawer. A sense of triumph overtook her when she noticed the knobs were attached with nails.

  The plan: use those nails to gouge Baden’s eyes and escape.

  Though she broke several of her own nails and ended up with multiple cuts on her fingers, she managed to unscrew two before the door lock clicked.

  Her heart an unruly hammer against her ribs, she dove onto the bed, hiding her hands in the folds of the comforter.

  Baden rolled in a cart of food. “Eat. You won’t wither away on my watch.” He threw a bundle of clothing at her feet. “Also, do us both a favor and change. I’ve never seen an uglier dress.”

  Then he hadn’t rifled through the closet Alek had filled for her. “I’m curious. What poison did you use to flavor this food?”

  He scowled at her, but took a bite of every dish before stalking to the exit.

  “Don’t you want to eat with me? We can—”

  He shut the door and turned the lock.

  Great! How was she supposed to drug him if he refused to spend time with her?

  The answer ceased to matter as the scents of sugar, spice and everything nice wafted to her nose. Can’t...resist... Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled as she walked toward the cart. Since her arrival in New York...however long ago...Alek had basically starved her.

  Have to maintain your girlish figure.

  And, she was sure, the lack of nourishment had the added bonus of keeping her weak and befuddled.

  Weak...

  I’ve never met a feebler female.

  Don’t like him, his opinion doesn’t matter.

  As she lifted the lid from each dish, the scents intensified, and so did the grumbles in her stomach. She discovered creamy pasta with flakes of crabmeat, a bacon-wrapped filet with butter-drenched asparagus on the side, a strawberry-and-spinach salad, and a bowl of French onion soup. But her favorite? The pecan pie soaked in melting vanilla ice cream. Baden might be a bastard, but he was a bastard with excellent taste buds.