The Darkest Torment. Gena Showalter

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СКАЧАТЬ “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 СКАЧАТЬ