The Darkest Torment. Gena ShowalterЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
She inhaled the dessert first, shoveling in bite after bite. The pasta received the same treatment, and by the time she cleared the plate, she was moaning with discomfort, so full she might pop.
Battling a stomachache, she changed into the new clothes: a pair of shorts and a pink T-shirt that read “William Approved.” Both were a little too snug, but she’d have an easier time moving in them.
She’d make him regret the gift.
She padded to the door. She could pick the lock as she’d done at Alek’s home, but why? Baden would stop her. Maybe she could prevent him from getting in, at least for a little while, and figure out her next move without fear he’d harm her any second.
She struggled and strained to pull the dresser in front of the entrance, and finally succeeded. Not the best barricade, but adequate.
Her mind raced as she worked on liberating another nail. Considering Baden had accomplices, the more ammunition she acquired the better. But the stomachache only intensified, eventually welcoming bone-deep fatigue. Her adrenaline began to crash, her limbs growing heavier, until they weighed a thousand pounds each.
Don’t fall asleep. Don’t you dare fall asleep.
Sleep, even a light doze, would leave her vulnerable. The very reason she’d only catnapped since Alek entered her life.
Her best option for escape? The balcony. After stuffing the nails and the vial in her pocket, she dragged the comforter to the balcony doors. If she could get outside, she could flag help. She wrapped a pillow around her fist and punched, punched, punched. Finally a section of glass shattered. The tinkling sound was muffled, thanks to the comforter she’d draped, but it still made her cringe. She waited one minute, two, a seeming eternity, unable to breathe.
Baden never reentered the room. Was he even nearby? Or had he taken off, leaving her to rot?
She removed as much glass as possible and shimmied through the opening. Hot summer air had turned the entire area into an oven. She stood, expecting to see wrought iron, but the bright rays of sunshine highlighted six-foot-tall brick walls with ivy spilling over the sides. Tristo hrmenych! The balcony was completely surrounded by the brick, in fact. She could see no one, no other room and no other balcony.
She’d have to climb the wall to catch someone’s attention. Heart, don’t fail me now. She scaled up...up...using irregularities in the bricks as handholds and footrests. When finally she cleared the top, she straddled the ledge and held on for dear life.
Don’t you dare look down.
She looked down, and oh, wow, her heart failed her, shuttering in her chest. She was a million flights up. Cars looked like ants and people mere specks. If she fell, she would become the definition of splat.
Sweat beading over her skin, she scanned the C-shaped building. Most of the window drapes were drawn. The few balconies within range were guarded only by wrought iron, not brick. A point in her favor. But no one stood—wait! A woman stepped onto the balcony to Katarina’s right.
A striking twentysomething with shoulder-length black hair, the ends straight as a pin but uneven, as if she’d cut the strands with a kitchen knife—and no mirror. She had a strong, angular face and an equally strong body. The kind Baden preferred? Her black tank top put her toned biceps and the black bands wrapped around them on display. Bands just like Baden’s. An American fashion statement?
Both of her arms were tattooed, but from this distance, Katarina couldn’t catalog the designs.
A cigar rested between the woman’s lips, black smoke curling around her. In one hand, she clutched a glass of amber liquid. In the other, she clutched a bottle of amber liquid.
“Madam!” Katarina whisper-yelled, waving her arms. “Madam!”
Eyes of indeterminate color focused on her.
“Potrebujem pomoc. Zavolajte políciu!” The words left in a rush. Speak English! Right. “My name is Katarina Joelle, and I need help. I’m being held prisoner by a man named Baden. He’s a killer. Call the police—”
The woman stubbed out her cigar, turned around and entered her room, shutting the door behind her. Without ever speaking a word.
Katarina withered with disappointment. One of her dogs would have leaped across the building to reach her, but a fellow human being couldn’t be bothered to reply?
Damn it, what was she going to do now?
* * *
The time had come to earn his first point.
Baden flashed to—
The spirit realm. A cottage by the sea, judging by the sound of lapping waves, the scent of salt in the cool evening breeze. The furnishings were sparse, offering only the bare necessities. A couch, a coffee table and a chair. There were no pictures or decorations. No personal items of any kind, the kind of things that made a house a home.
A sweet melody drifted from the back of the house. A woman was humming. More specifically, a siren was humming. The lush, magical quality of her voice swept over Baden and even...soothed Destruction?
A trick of the beast to lull him into a false sense of calm? Always a possibility. Or a wile of the siren?
Baden couldn’t make himself care. He closed his eyes and enjoyed a rare and precious moment of peace.
Only when pots and pans clanged did he snap to attention. Anger burned through him, and Destruction growled. Not a trick, after all. The woman had managed to distract them both without trying. If she had the same power over Hades...
No wonder the male wanted her silenced.
Her, an innocent. Guilt razed Baden all over again.
Can’t afford to lose the game. He still wasn’t convinced Hades would keep his word and free the winner, but right now, he had no solution. He had to participate and buy time.
Determined, he stalked through the house. He stopped in the kitchen entrance, watching as the woman from his ash-vision dried and stored dishes. She moved slowly and always used both hands—one to hold the dish, the other to feel the cabinets as if...
She was blind?
He observed her for several more minutes, just to be sure, and decided, yes, she was blind. Twice, she’d turned in his direction but she’d never displayed a single hint of distress.
Horror joined his guilt. Hades expected him to mute a blind siren? No. Absolutely not. There were lines one simply didn’t cross. Once you did, there was no going back. No being the man you used to be.
What if, when Baden returned without the girl’s tongue, Hades sent Pandora to finish the job? Knowing her, she would act without question. She had centuries’ worth of rage trapped inside her.
Damn it! There was no good option here.
The siren stiffened, quieted. Her ears twitched. “Who’s there?”
Now or never. He flashed directly in front of her, wound his arm around her waist and, as she beat at his chest to no avail, flashed her to Hades.
“I will not hurt her,” Baden announced, and the girl stilled. “You wanted her tongue. Now you have it—attached to her body. If you want to keep it, you will vow not to harm her.”
The king sat upon the throne, the rest of the chamber empty. “You defy me right out of the gate. Shocking.” Such a dry tone.
“If you wanted a devoted acolyte, you should have given the bands to someone else.”
“What I wanted was a minion of darkness. What I got was a pussy! You need to get your