Novels 03 After Twilight, page 27
The souterrain.
She must be in one of the little chambers along the passageway. One that fronted the cliff. She shivered, remembering for the first time that she was not exactly dressed for the occasion.
A ratty looking sheet covered the mattress and she grabbed it with her good hand, twisting it around her torso in a makeshift toga. Surely what all the well-dressed madmen’s concubines were wearing these days.
She swallowed her panic. It wouldn’t do to lose it now. Alex would be back.
She shuddered, remembering his touch.
Oh, yes, he’d be back.
Her mind flashed images of his leaning over her, touching her, licking her … Her stomach churned at the thought of what had almost happened. She drew in a shaky breath. But it hadn’t. For whatever twisted reason, he’d stopped and the fact remained, he hadn’t.
But she also knew he’d be back to finish the game. She ground her teeth together, fortifying herself for battle. If she had any say in the matter, he’d never finish any game ever again.
She took a step toward the far side of the chamber. The feeble light played out, the shadows taking over. She couldn’t really see the wall, just a slight change in the darkness, the sense of something solid. But there had to be a way out. And her money was on the wall.
Arms stretched in front of her, she moved cautiously forward, trying to ignore the white hot pain shooting down her left arm. Step after step, one foot in front of the other until her hands hit rock. Then, inching first one way, and then the other, she felt for the door.
Finally, in the farthest, darkest corner, she felt wood.
Strong, solid, impenetrable wood.
The door.
Not a centuries-old rotting door. A new and completely unopenable door.
She fumbled for the handle and tried to pull it open, knowing already what she would find. If Alex had gone to the trouble to install a new door, he wouldn’t leave it unlocked.
She sank to the floor, cradling her mangled wrist.
She was trapped.
“Where the hell does this thing go?” Braedon shone the light down a dark, curving corridor of the souterrain.
“I haven’t been here in years, but if memory serves, the main passage runs in sort of a Y.” Fin’s whispered words sounded hollow, bouncing off the shadowed walls.
“So what? That’s the tail?” Braedon motioned to another opening with the flashlight.
“I think so. It’s hard to keep a sense of direction in this hellhole.”
“I thought you said you played here when you were a kid.” Braedon stooped to pick up an iron rod lying in the passageway. The thing resembled a poker—a rusty poker. But it was still a weapon—of sorts.
The flashlight illuminated Fin’s rueful grin. “I’m afraid age has made me a bit more cautious. Not to mention the small fact that there’s a madman loose in here.”
Braedon shuddered with the thought, his overactive imagination picturing Kacy. “Which way?”
Fin eyed the two passages, shining his pocket torch at first one and then the other. “I’ve no idea. Maybe we should split up.”
“All right. I’ll take this one.” He took a step down the straighter part of the tunnel. “We’ll meet back here, unless we find something.”
“Fine.” The Irishman took a step down the other corridor. “Good hunting.”
“Aye.” Braedon smiled at the Irish lilt, realizing somehow that it felt good—right. “You, too.”
He moved into the passageway, shining the thin beam of the flashlight into the gloom. The pathway angled sharply downward, then curved, disappearing around a turn in the wall. He tightened his grip on the poker, staring into the dark shadows of the opening.
If the situation wasn’t so dire, he’d laugh. He could wither a boardroom full of men with a single well-placed look, but when Kacy needed him, all he could manage was to arm himself with a rusty fire tool.
Great.
He was no better than a weekend warrior. And he seriously doubted a thin piece of iron was going to make much of a statement against a loaded gun. Hopefully backup was on the way. Fin had called the Garda. But no matter his choice of weaponry, he couldn’t afford to wait for them.
He started down the pathway, the little light cutting a swath through the dark. The tunnel was quiet. Oppressively quiet. The only noise the hollow dripping of water and the occasional rattle when he hit a loose rock.
He tried to clear his mind, to form a plan, but all he could think about was Kacy—Kacy with Alex. Blistering rage flowed through him, leaving burning resolution in its wake. If that bastard had hurt her …
He clenched his fist around the poker. Gun or no, he’d enjoy taking on the son of a bitch. He’d be damned if he was going to stand by helplessly and wait until it was too late.
A rock rattled in the passage outside the door. Kacy raised her head, fear surging through her. She scrambled to her feet, fighting to maintain balance, muscles protesting the movement.
She looked around frantically for a weapon. There were some small rocks on the floor, but nothing big enough to do serious damage and she was fresh out of slingshots.
The door shook against the wall, the sound rattling through the room.
Alex was here.
She grabbed a piece of rope from the bed, not certain what she was going to do with it, but needing to have something in her hand. Visions of strangling Alex ran through her head, but she quickly discarded the notion. He towered over her. She’d be lucky if she managed to cut off the blood supply to his stomach.
She backed against the wall, trying to press herself into it, to disappear. Hiding in the deepest shadows, she listened intently, shivering when she heard something slide against the outside of the wall.
She tried to hold the rope in both hands, but her left was swollen and starting to go numb. No amount of willpower was going to make it serviceable. Maybe she’d lasso him. Now there was a brilliant thought. Fear was making her slap-happy. She clamped down on her panic and tried to focus on the situation. She needed her wits about her.
One way or another, she wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Kacy?” The whispered word sounded louder than a scream—a beautiful, wonderful, scream.
“I’m here.” Her voice was hoarse, but she knew he could hear her and that was all that mattered.
The door squeaked as it opened, and she sucked in a breath, waiting.
With a muffled wail, she launched herself at the shadowy figure. Braedon. Strong arms closed around her and she greedily consumed the comfort of his touch.
“What has he done to you?” Braedon’s voice was tight, filled with emotion. He released her, pulling her gently into the pale wash of light, his eyes moving from her head to her toes, taking in her injured wrist, her bruises, and the bed sheet.
Wordlessly he spun around, taking in the ropes and the bed. His fists clenched and he uttered a string of curses. He turned back to her, his face twisted with rage. “Did he—”
She held out her hand, wanting to soothe him, reassure him. “No. He … he touched me, but he didn’t …” She shuddered, unable to finish the sentence.
His face softened, concern replacing anger. Yanking off his sweater, he carefully eased it over her body, loosening the makeshift toga, allowing the tattered sheet to fall to the floor. The sweater hung to her knees, surrounding her in his warmth, his scent, somehow soothing her, forming an invincible shield. In the middle of what could only be described as madness, Kacy suddenly felt safe. As long as he was beside her, she could face anything.
Gently he pulled her to him, enclosing her in the warmth of his embrace. Their lips met and Kacy’s breath escaped on a sigh as she drank in his taste, his essence—trading her soul for his.
With a groan, he stepped back, a faint grin chasing across his face. “Hold that thought.”
She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “I will.”
He lifted her injured hand, bringing it gently to his lips, his reverence bringing tears to her eyes. Their gazes met and held. His full of promise. Hers full of love.
He pulled away. “Sweetheart, we’ve got to get out of here.”
The magic in the moment evaporated in an instant. Alex was still here, somewhere. And if he found them …
“Can you walk?” Braedon looked down at her bare feet.
She nodded, the ever present fear rising again. “I’ll be fine, let’s just get out of here.”
He reached down and picked something up. She squinted at it, recognizing its shape. Not exactly the Uzi she’d been hoping for, but it was a definite improvement over the rope.
He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her back into the shadows surrounding the doorway. With a faltering step, she let him propel her forward, toward the door.
“Leaving so soon? And here I was thinking we were going to have a party.” Alex’s voice floated out of the dark chasm marking the opening to the passageway, the disembodied sound sending shivers of fear racing down Kacy’s spine.
Braedon pushed her behind him and raised the poker menacingly.
Alex laughed, stepping into the room. “I win.” He tilted his head, a sinister smile lighting his face. “I think a revolver trumps a poker every time.” He waved the gun for effect. “Drop it.”
Braedon’s hand tightened on the iron rod and then with an exhale of breath, he let it go. It clattered against the rock floor.
“Now, kick it over here.” Braedon complied and the poker rolled into the darkness.
“Well, now, isn’t this cozy. The wife, the lover, and the husband.” Alex raised his brows, watching them, an almost bored look on his face. Kacy knew better. She knew what a mask he wore, how easily he hid his feelings. A master con artist. But underneath it all lurked a madman.
“You won’t get away with this, Madison.” Braedon’s voice was barely more than a growl.
“Oh, but I already have. All I need to do now is tie up the last few loose ends. And you, with your attempt at heroics, have just made that easier for me.” He leveled the gun, pointing it at Braedon’s chest.
With a stifled cry, Kacy dove in front of him. Braedon’s hands circled her shoulders, pushing her to the floor, his big body covering hers.
Alex’s laughter echoed off the walls. “Splendid display of loyalty. Wasted, of course. I do have more than one bullet. Stand up, both of you.”
Braedon moved off of her, carefully keeping himself between her body and the gun.
Kacy moved to his side, equally determined to protect him. “Let him go, Alex. You know it’s me you want.”
Alex shifted slightly, the gun leveled again on Braedon. “Oh, yes, darling, I want you, but I also want this bastard to pay for taking what belongs to me.”
Braedon took an angry step forward.
“Call him off, Kirstin, or I’ll shoot him right now.”
“Braedon.” Her whispered plea held her heart in it. He stopped.
“Now, where were we?” Alex stroked his chin. “Ah, yes, we were discussing Kirstin’s infidelity.”
“You son of a bitch.” Braedon’s eyes narrowed and his whole body tensed.
“Actually, you’re not far from the truth. But that’s neither here nor there. What does matter is that you’ve not only caused me a great deal of trouble, you screwed my wife. And where I come from—” He smiled as if they were discussing a day at the fair. “—that’s a punishable offense.” He aimed the gun.
A shadow detached itself from the wall, leaping at Alex. Kacy screamed and threw herself toward Braedon, the report of the gun ringing in her ears, a vision of Max dying filling her brain.
Not Braedon, her heart pleaded, never Braedon.
He moved under her, throwing her off, rising to his feet, crouched low. Kacy sat back against the bed, dazed, watching as two figures struggled in the half-light. A glint of red hair caught her eye.
Fin.
Braedon moved forward, obviously wanting to join the fight, but hesitant to endanger Fin. With a sickening thud of bone against rock, the two figures separated, one dropping to the floor in a shadowy heap.
Alex turned to survey them, a twisted smile on his face, blood dripping into his eye from a cut on his forehead. He looked like something dragged from the depths of hell, and the hatred in his eyes made Kacy gasp.
Braedon launched himself at Alex, his bulk hitting the other man with an audible crunch. Something clattered across the floor. The two men struggled, locked together in combat. Kacy’s beleaguered brain suddenly ran up a red flag.
The noise.
Metal on stone.
The gun.
Scrambling around the edge of the room, away from the fighting men, she fumbled in the dark, trying to find the weapon. It had to be there. It had to.
Nothing.
Braedon groaned and she turned in time to see Alex slam a fist into the side of his head. She waited until she saw that he was still upright and then turned back to her search. The only way she could help him was to find the damn gun.
Her fingers hit something cold and pliable. She jerked back.
A hand. A human hand.
She bit back her fear, her brain back in charge. Fin. She’d found Fin. With a trembling hand, she felt for a pulse.
It was there, faint but steady. She sucked in a breath and sent a prayer heavenward. For now, she’d have to let someone else worry about Fin. Right now, she had to concentrate on helping Braedon.
Moving past him, she resumed her search, trying to shut out the sounds of the battle behind her. Her hand hit the wall and something shifted. Reaching out into the darkness, her fingers closed around cylindrical metal.
The gun. She had the gun.
Pulling herself to her feet, she held up the gun, bracing her right hand with her maimed left, determination filling her mind. “Braedon, move.” The words were amazingly steady and some other part of herself watched with amazement as she waited for the moment.
The two men froze for an instant, and then each reacted to her command. Braedon dropped to the floor, and Alex turned to meet her gaze, his eyes narrowed, his face bloody.
Ice-cold fury washed through her, flushing away all other emotion. This man had used her, abused her, and tried to take away the things that meant the most to her.
He took a step backward, his look changing, fear rising in his eyes.
She hesitated, unsure for an instant. And then she saw Alex smile slowly, his fear dissipating, replaced by the certain knowledge that he had won.
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
One minute he was smiling, and the next, his eyes widened in surprise. He clutched at his chest, careening backward against the outer wall. With a deafening thunder, the stones collapsed under his weight, dropping away, falling to the rocks below.
Alex teetered for a moment, his eyes locked with hers, and then, arms pinwheeling, he fought for balance and lost, falling back into the blue of the sky, his scream echoing through the suddenly still air.
* * *
Braedon staggered to his feet, his eyes locked on Kacy. She closed her eyes, the gun slipping out of her hand. In one stride, he was across the space that separated them, pulling her close, holding her warm and alive against his chest, her heart beating in tandem with his.
“It’s over, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, his hands stroking her hair, her back, reveling in the feel of her safe against him. Her body shook as great choking sobs racked her, all the torment of the last few days—hell, the last two years—finally finding release.
He rocked her in his arms, whispering words of comfort, words of love. If necessary, he vowed, he’d stay with her here, like this, until hell froze over. Whatever she needed, he’d find a way to give it to her. She held his heart. She was his life.
“Is he dead?” The words were soft, hesitant, murmured against his chest.
“No one could survive that fall, Kacy.”
“I need to know for sure.” She pulled back, meeting his gaze.
“I’ll look.” He started to move away.
“No. I have to do it.” The resolve in her voice made him proud. His Kacy was a survivor.
He gently reached for her hand. “Okay. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
They walked to the edge of the crumbled wall, and with a little hiss of breath she looked down. Braedon tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes searching for and finding the battered remains of Alex Madison on the rocks below.
“He’s dead,” she whispered, the words holding the trace of a question.
Braedon winced. The bastard still had a hold on her even in death. He pulled her away from the grotesque display, wrapping his arms around her. “He’s gone, Kacy. Forever. He can never torment you again.”
She nodded against his shirt and nestled closer. He felt tears sting his eyes. It was finally over.
“So what in sweet hell happened here?” Fin was sitting up in the corner, rubbing his head, a confused look on his face.
Kacy tipped back her head, a smile lighting her eyes, laughter filling her voice. “You saved me.”
She was answering Fin, but her words were meant for Braedon alone.
Epilogue
KACY STOOD IN the front room of the cottage, looking down at the huge diamond sparkling on her finger, the light catching its facets, turning it into a rainbow of color. As of this morning, she was officially Mrs. Braedon Roche.
And this evening their friends were here to honor them, to share in their joy. It was an eclectic mix. Saville Row suits blended with coveralls and corduroys. Fisherman’s sweaters stood arm in arm with Armani. New York chic and Irish charm.
Kacy had never been so happy.
All traces of the nightmare were gone. Her little cottage was painted and polished, cleaned and renewed. Just like her life.
She sipped from her champagne flute, her eyes automatically searching for Braedon. He was in a corner, deep in conversation with Paddy Fitzgerald. She drank in the sight of him, wondering if she would ever grow tired of simply staring at him.
