“I’m losing you again.” Facing him once more, Marie stroked her fingers over his cheeks, careful, so careful of his bruises. “Blood loss affecting your concentration, sweet?”
“Sorry. What?”
She uttered a warm chuckle. “An apology, after everything that’s been done to you. How surprising.” Another chuckle. “You were about to give me a hint. About the Schön, their virus, and the women they’ve infected.”
When he pressed his lips together, her warmth vanished.
Tick. Christ! Not the clock. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“You look like you’re in a lot of pain, Jaxon.” Her voice was all business now. “Tell me what I desire, and the pain ends. The agony stops. You have my word.”
As they had every other time he’d been asked, fifteen years of fieldwork and a year of training kicked into gear. Always deny. A single detail can blow an entire case. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tock.
There was a heavy pause. “Would you know if I cut off one of your testicles and you had to watch Thomas eat it?” Violent as the question was, she asked it with the sweetness of an angel. One of her brows arched as she waited for his answer.
“Ouch.” How many times had she performed that little operation? “Nope. I’m afraid that wouldn’t jog my memory. How could it? I don’t know anything.” Tick.
“Is it bad that I was hoping you’d say that?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Thomas, be a dear and hand me Damocles.”
“Mmm, excellent choice,” the alien said happily. A few seconds later, metal whistled against syn-leather, and then Thomas was grinning and clomping to Marie’s side.
Now Jaxon arched a brow. Or rather, hoped he did. Most of his facial muscles were currently unworkable. He hoped he looked interested rather than terrified. “Damocles? You name your weapons?”
“You mean you don’t?” she asked in surprise. She gripped the hilt of a sword, and he could see sharp, curved steel glistening from the only bulb hanging from the ceiling.
At least it was clean, no rusty, metallic aroma wafting from it.
“No,” he said. “Never have.”
“A shame, since they can be a person’s best friend.”
“Or worst enemy.”
She tapped the end of his nose with her free hand, the one uncovered. Warm. “Had you been armed at your home, you might not have been taken. Best friend.”
At the patient censure in her tone, he barked out a laugh. “Lesson learned, believe me.”
“Sadly, it’s too late.”
Ticktock, ticktock. For some reason, all of his emotions drained from him. He should have been more afraid than ever. Should have been trembling, pissing his pants. Something. Instead, the only emotion that returned and stayed was a curious sense of relief.
Finally, the beatings would stop. The rape wouldn’t happen. And maybe the afterlife would pair him with an angel who looked just like Marie. Minus the penchant for killing, of course.
When did you become such a pu**y? Fight this! Fight her.
“Last chance to tell me what I want to know,” she said, pressing the cold steel to his neck.
One second passed. Another. When he continued to remain silent, she nicked the skin until a bead of blood trickled. Thankfully the ticking did not resume. Odd, though, since these were most likely his last moments on Earth.
She pressed harder.
He gave no reaction to the sting. Hell, a little prick was nothing compared to what he’d already endured. Slowly she lowered her hand, gliding the blade over his bare chest, cutting skin along the way. She reached his navel, twirled paper-thin slices all around, then stopped right between his denim-clad legs.
Thomas, who’d remained at her side, chortled with glee. Probably had a hard-on.
God, I hate making him happy. Jaxon swallowed a sudden rise of anger. Not so relieved anymore.
His fight reflex sparked to life, blending with the anger and warring with his need for closure. Sweat poured down his chest.
“Well,” Marie prompted. The tip nicked his pants and pressed between his balls. “Anything to say?”
Closure won. Without him, these people would never be able to find the Schön. And if they couldn’t find the Schön, they couldn’t use them as a weapon against humans, or whatever else they were planning.
Jaxon closed his eyes and said good-bye to one of his favorite body parts. I love you little guys. We had some good times together.
“Last chance, Jaxon.”
His gaze met Marie’s, locking, clashing. Unflinching. “I told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her lush lips rose in an exquisite smile, lighting her entire face. Just then she was the perfect blend of good and evil, innocence and absolute wickedness. His traitorous heart skipped a beat in total, masculine appreciation. Her teeth were straight and white, the pink tip of her tongue peeking out the center as if she were nibbling on it. “That answer just saved your life,” she said, and then her arm lashed to the side and she stabbed Thomas in the stomach.
Blood sprayed Jaxon’s face as Marie moved her blade in and out. The alien jerked and gasped in pained shock. Jaxon could only watch, morbidly awed, utterly confused. That death blow had been meant for him. Hadn’t it?
Smile becoming dark, lethal, Marie rose on her knees, twisting her wrist to drive the blade even deeper while hacking at every organ she could reach. “Enjoy hell, you sick f**k. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
Thomas collapsed in a motionless heap, convulsing to his death, and all Jaxon could do was stare over at him, wondering what the hell was going on.
CHAPTER 2
Mishka Le’Ace—aka Marie—stuffed her hands into the dead alien’s pants pocket, searching for the key to Jaxon’s chains. Thomas had a deathly fear of ID scans, which would have been needed to open and close a good pair of lasercuffs. A.I.R. could, theoretically, capture the signal and hunt him down. Not that she’d ever seen it done.
But fears were universal, unreasonable, and sometimes uncontrollable. Usually she whined about the lack of technology, practically begging Thomas to try it. Today she was thankful for his continued refusal, for it saved her a hell of a lot of time. Rather than disable wires, burning both her and Jaxon, all she had to do was insert a piece of metal and twist her wrist.
When her fingers curled around the key, she tugged it out and rushed to the agent she’d been sent to rescue. Or kill. Everything had hinged on his ability to keep a secret.