Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 200

Or so he'd tried to convince himself.

But G.o.d knew. The almighty Father could so easily view the darkness that was Mathias's soul and recognize the deceit, the evil, that lingered deep inside.

How many times had he attempted to confess all his sins to Father Anthony? How often had he wanted to seek the counsel of a wiser and more devout man than himself? And yet he hadn't.

Coward, he mocked, knowing his weakness. he mocked, knowing his weakness.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hands clenched in heartfelt supplication. "Please, Father, hear my prayer," he whispered, hearing the sound of the rising wind, the approach of a heavy storm. Already rain was beating on the windowpanes and running through the gutters, gurgling noisily in the downspouts.

Somewhere above, a branch was pounding, banging against one of the attic windows.

Evidence of G.o.d's fury.

His all-powerful rage.

A reminder of how small and insignificant Mathias was.

He lost himself in his prayer and missed the soft tread of footsteps slipping along the hallway. He was unaware that he was no longer alone. Absorbed in absolving himself of his wrongdoings, offering up his repentance, he didn't realize an intruder had entered until it was far too late.

And then, the creak of one floorboard made him freeze, his intonation lost....

The hairs on the back of his scalp p.r.i.c.kled as he turned, looking upward into the face of evil. Dark, soulless eyes stared down at him. Liver-colored lips drew backward into a hideous grimace. White fangs, seeming to drip with blood, caught in the dim lamplight.

Mathias gasped, but it was too late.

Lucifer incarnate had descended upon him. The devil to whom he'd sold his soul so willingly had returned to collect his due.

Mathias started to rise, but the creature lunged, its fangs bared.

Mathias screamed to the heavens, throwing up his arms to ward off the evil. But he was no match for the devil, this maniac with a thirst for blood.

Vlad bit down. His teeth ripped into the soft flesh of Mathias's throat, biting off another scream. Blood sprayed.

Searing pain tore through Mathias's body. He scratched and clawed but Vlad, having satisfied his taste for the priest's unholy blood, unsheathed his knife.

He raised it high in a deadly arc.

Lamplight glinted against the blade.

Mathias wriggled in fear. He was sweating, nearly urinating on himself. This wasn't supposed to happen. No...he wanted G.o.d's forgiveness, expected to live long and repent his sins and- Slash!

The blade sliced downward in a silver arc.

Father Mathias was dead in an instant.

The feds, Jay thought, of course.

The FBI had been at work all along.

And still hadn't arrested Grotto.

Jay drove with Mai Kwan on the seat next to him, Bruno relegated to the backseat. She knew Grotto's address, and as Jay told her everything he and Kristi had discovered, she showed him where to park, a block away from the vine-covered Victorian where Grotto resided. The house was fitting with its sharp angles and pitched roof and gargoyles decorating the downspouts.

"I just don't think whoever pulled this off would point a big red arrow at their head by teaching vampirism," Mai said. "Our killer seems too smart for that."

"Ego," Jay said, taking out his pistol. "G.o.d complex. He thinks he's brilliant, more clever than everyone else. Now he wants to rub our noses in it."

"Or he's being set up."

"Either way, he knows something."

Mai snapped a clip into her weapon. "Agreed. Let's go."

They didn't wait for backup. She had already phoned a higher up, asked for a warrant, and when told to "stand down" had said that of course she would. Which was a bald-faced lie. Jay figured the guy on the other end of the phone had known it.

"Looks like he's not alone," Mai whispered, frowning when she spied a car parked in the driveway. "We'll have to wait."

"No way. Kristi could be inside."

"We can't risk it."

"You mean you you can't risk it. I'm going in." can't risk it. I'm going in."

Kristi woke up slowly.

Her entire body ached.

Groggy and disoriented, she opened one eye to darkness.

Pain slammed through her head and she wondered faintly where she was.

Shivering, she realized she was naked, lying on a cold stone floor, her hands and ankles bound, the dank smell of the earth deep in her nostrils.

The world spun a bit and she had to work to think clearly, if at all. As if through a long tunnel, she heard water dripping and muted voices rising in anger. An argument?

She started to cry out, then held her tongue as images-sharp, kaleidoscopic shards-cut through her brain so painfully she winced. She remembered being on the trail of a vampire.

Wait! What? A vampire? No, that wasn't right, or was it? Her skin pimpled at the thought.

Think, Kristi, pull yourself together.

She remembered a bright red drink, a dazzling concoction that someone called a blood red martini...and...and...there had been others with her. Her memories were coming back now, faster and faster. She'd been duped by two girls, Grace and Marnie...no three, that d.a.m.ned waitress, Bethany-she'd been in on it and then there was the surreal image...Dr. Grotto approaching her on the stage, bending over her in the mist, showing an unseen audience what he could do to her before he plunged his teeth into her neck.

She recoiled at that memory.

She tried to croak out a sound but her throat still wasn't working. It was all so surreal. Maybe just a bad trip? Whatever Bethany had slipped into her drink had given her hallucinations...of course that was it.

Then why are you lying naked on a stone floor?

Her eyelids, at half mast, flew open and she tried to see, to gain some vision in the near-total darkness.... Where the h.e.l.l was she? Why had she been part of that horrible ritual?

Why are you still alive?

Panicked, she tried to stand, but she wasn't strong enough.

She couldn't get her stupid limbs to do what she wanted.

Grotto's image came to her again.

He'd called her by name, told the unseen audience of one person? Five? A hundred? Told them that she was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice.

And then he'd apologized to her. Whispered that he was sorry. For what? Sticking his G.o.dd.a.m.ned teeth into her? Abducting her? Holy G.o.d, what the h.e.l.l had she gotten herself into?

So dizzy she thought she might throw up, Kristi forced herself onto her hands and knees. If she couldn't walk, she could d.a.m.ned well crawl. Head pounding, holding one eye closed against the incredible pain, she started to move. Maybe this was only a dream. A really bad dream. She stopped for a moment, wobbling on her knees, and reached up with her tied hands to touch her neck.

She bit back a scream when her fingertips came into contact with the wound: two holes in her neck, not bandaged, just crusted over with her own blood.

Her stomach revolted and she had to swallow back the bile that burned up her throat.

It hadn't been a bad trip or a nightmare. Dr. Grotto had actually bit into her neck and sucked her blood. She touched the tracks of the blood that had dripped down her shoulder and over her breast. Sick, sick!

Fighting the blinding headache, she told herself she had to find a way out of this dark, stone hole.

A tomb, Kristi, you're in another tomb.

Her skin crawled at the thought, the memory of the last time she'd been sealed away, certain of her death.

Don't give up.

It hadn't happened before and it d.a.m.ned well wasn't going to happen now. At least not without a d.a.m.ned good fight.

She eased across the cold rocks, moving slowly, feeling with her bound hands. She listened for any noise over the drip of water, but heard only the scratch of tiny nails, as if rats or mice were scurrying out of her way.

Inching her way, she finally ran into a wall. It, too, felt made of stone. There had to be a way out, she reasoned, her mind clearing bit by bit. Somehow she'd been placed in here and unless she was in some huge reservoir with only an outlet in the ceiling, there had to be a door. She just had to find it.

Don't give up. You're not dead yet.

She was just getting her bearings when she heard the footsteps, coming closer.

She scooted back and lay down again. She wasn't strong enough to fight, not yet. She'd have to feign that she was still unconscious.

This was it.

Her chance.

A key rattled in the door.

Kristi closed her eyes. Give me strength, Give me strength, she silently prayed, she silently prayed, and help me kill this son of a b.i.t.c.h. and help me kill this son of a b.i.t.c.h.

CHAPTER 28.

So it had all come down to this, Dominic Grotto thought as he sat, cell phone in hand, the ice cubes in his untouched drink melting. Even the Vivaldi drifting from the hidden speakers mounted on the bookcase of his study could not soothe his soul. What had begun as a unique way to get kids interested in all kinds of literature had ended up in death.

Four girls dead so far.

Probably more. No doubt Ariel O'Toole and Kristi Bentz had died and would be found in the river as well.

He knew it now. The blind eye he'd so willingly turned could now see perfectly. No more did he delude himself into thinking that he was doing the right thing and helping girls whose lives were a shambles start over.

Since returning from his own personal performance, his last performance to his private audience, he'd switched on the television and caught news reports of bodies being pulled from the Mississippi. There had been few details, no names listed until next of kin were notified, but he knew. Deep in his heart he knew exactly what had happened to those girls.

And it was his fault.

Even now, he tasted the blood of Kristi Bentz upon his lips. All part of the show. All part of the plan. All for the greater good.

Like h.e.l.l.

All part of your own personal aggrandizement.

He'd gotten to know the girls personally and told himself that they were willing partic.i.p.ants, that the fear he'd seen in their eyes was all part of the show, that the reason they'd been paralyzed and weak was only their acting ability.

He'd convinced himself that nothing illegal had happened, that there were no victims, that no one had been hurt.

But deep down, he'd known.

But he might be able to save Ariel O'Toole and Kristi Bentz. There might still be time. He might be able to stop this horror from ever happening again. Even if he had to turn himself in for his part in the debacle-his very integral part.

Outside the storm was raging, rain lashing at his windows, and the flash of lightning lit up the sky in sizzling bursts, thunder rolling afterward.

He should have come clean when Kristi Bentz had visited his office, wanting answers. Oh, h.e.l.l, he should have come clean a year ago, when he'd first heard that Dionne had gone missing.

He'd suspected that things had gone wrong then.

Over the soft music and angry storm, he heard the front door creak open and his heart clutched. He'd locked it, hadn't he? Or had he forgotten?