Valentine Shepherd: Retribution Part 24

"And what did he give you in return?"

He certainly didn't need the money. Ginger hesitated, looked at her, then his sister, then his hand. Val brought her foot down on his fingers again, felt a couple of them snap. Abby and Ginger hollered at the same time.

"Stop it!" Abby said, "He didn't-"

"I have HIV!" Ginger cried at the same time his sister spoke.

Abby fell silent.

"Lucien said he'd cure me. He can! I've seen him do it before! If I helped him, he'd cure me."

Abby's mouth fell open. Her face-already turning paler by the second as the entirety of her ignorance became clear-contorted from despair to horror. She had no idea of the world she lived in, the dark reality under the gilded veneer of her privileged life.

Val checked her hands for blood and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw none. She might've felt sorry for Ginger, if he hadn't helped Lucien rape and murder people in a sick bid to save himself.

"I'll ask you one more time: where did Lucien take Max?"

Ginger shook his head. He still wanted his G.o.dd.a.m.n cure.

"Harbor Island." Abby spoke just above a whisper. Ginger's gaze cut to hers, his eyes wide. "Daddy put Eugene in charge of one of the Southwest shipping lines; a small one, as a test of responsibility. It docks at Harbor Island and accepts shipment in one of the warehouses. I don't know which one exactly. It's the only place Eugene has access to that Lucien could...could-"

"What the f.u.c.k, Abby?" Ginger glared at his sister. "After what that a.s.shole and his wh.o.r.e did to you?"

Abby looked down at him, a new steel to her voice despite the tears in her eyes. "He shouldn't die for that. n.o.body should've died."

His voice cracked. "I'll die. I don't want to be on antiviral drugs for the rest of my G.o.dd.a.m.n life if there's a cure..."

Abby shook her head and silently sobbed. She wasn't as dumb as her brother; she knew there'd be no cure. Even if one existed, Lucien wouldn't give it to Ginger, not with the police on his back.

Val lifted her foot off Ginger's hand. She dragged him to his feet as he clutched his mangled fingers to his chest. "You're going to drive me to this warehouse. If you don't p.i.s.s me off, I might let you go after we get there."

He cringed but didn't argue. It was the best deal he could hope for in his situation. Maybe he could clean out his accounts and flee to France before Daddy learned about his extracurricular activities; unlikely, but possible.

"Thank you," Val said to Abby on her way out the door, shoving Ginger along in front of her.

Abby replied with a cold glare. Val was still the woman who'd compelled her fiance to break her heart after all. But the last few crazy weeks were just a taste of what life with a future-seer would've been like. She'd move on, find a normal, boring guy to settle down with, and be happier for it.

Westford family gatherings from that point on would be a b.i.t.c.h, though.

Chapter Thirty.

Stacey poked her head in the front door of Val's house. She paused a moment to ensure she didn't hear any sounds that suggested they might be home, like animated conversation punctuated by excited giggling or f.u.c.k noises. Given Val's inability to experience normal o.r.g.a.s.ms, Stacey couldn't believe how often Val and her boyfriend had s.e.x. Maybe Max got off on her pa.s.sing out, like some kind of weird fetish. Each time Stacey ventured back to the house to retrieve fresh clothes or entertain the idea of reclaiming her s.p.a.ce, she'd been greeted by a symphony of moans and l.u.s.tful screams-Stacey's very own never-ending p.o.r.no. Max was giving it to his woman good. How nice for her. Stacey had turned and marched out.

Finally, it seemed the s.e.x-a-thon had ended. Stacey entered the house, keeping an ear out in case she was wrong. The little Jack Russell ran up as she walked into the living room, skidding to a halt five feet in front of her. He bounced on his front legs and barked.

"What is it, boy? Is Max stuck in the well?"

Stacey swore she heard him growl, "f.u.c.k you." She went into the kitchen and sighed at the junk food now packed in the fridge. She pulled out a hot dog and tossed it to the dog. To his credit he sniffed it first, then seemed to decide Max could keep awhile longer in the well and tore into the link. He finished it off, looked at her, and wagged his tail. Typical man-the way to his heart was through his stomach.

Stacey hopped up the stairs, her eyes involuntarily cutting to Val's bedroom door at the top. They'd just left it open. After Val blew off taco night, Stacey had gone upstairs to change her clothes, hoping the noises she'd heard on her way up was actually the house settling. But there they were, f.u.c.king with the door wide open, his a.s.s in the air, her legs around his waist, moaning as they strained the mattress springs to their limits. She didn't even care if Stacey saw them-or maybe she'd already forgotten her supposed best friend existed.

Val's rich boy toy might not be too happy to learn she'd been s.e.xing up the man who'd almost killed him on two separate occasions. Stacey smiled at the fantasy of "accidentally" letting that nugget of information slip at a fancy dinner party in Max's Mercer Island mansion. Let's invite some common folk. How about my old friend Stacey? She'll provide some local color! Sten who? Let's not talk about Sten. Stacey...Stacey!

Stacey chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. She sat at the edge of her bed and felt tears coming on. They'd been friends forever. Stacey didn't want to lose Val, though it seemed to her like she'd already lost.

Her phone buzzed in her tote. She glanced at it; Val again. Stacey let it go to voice mail as she stripped off her clothes to take a shower. It was nice being able to bathe alone and not be pawed like a cat as she tried to wash her hair. Rotating between Mich.e.l.le, Cindi, and Lucinda's houses over the past few days had her all s.e.xed out. Some alone time would do her good. Then maybe...Francine.

Stacey checked her phone log while she brushed her teeth in front of the bathroom mirror. Wow, four calls from Val within the last two hours. Girlfriend really wanted to talk. Maybe she and Max were on the outs again. Perhaps all that s.e.x they were having didn't equal love after all. Stacey drummed her fingers on the bathroom countertop, then cued up Val's last voice mail, hoping for a heartfelt grovel.

"Stacey, it's me." Val's voice sounded hurried and breathless. "Lucien is on Harbor Island, in the Westford Warehouse Number Four. I've got Ginger with me and I'm heading there now. If you get this in time, meet me there, please. I don't know what to expect but I need someone to keep watch outside while I go in. Please, Stacey." She took in a ragged breath. "I need you."

Stacey stood motionless at the end of the message, staring at herself in the mirror. What the h.e.l.l had happened in the last few hours? She played the message before last.

"Stacey, please. Please return my call. I know you're mad at me and I'm sorry. I'm sorry again. I'm sorry forever and all eternity. Max is missing. He went to his place to get some things and he hasn't come back, and I'm really freaking out. I had a vision that Lucien kidnapped him, and I think that's what's happened. I think Lucien has him. If he's doing to Max what he did to Margaret, I-I need to find him. I can't do it alone. Please call me back."

Aw c.r.a.p. s.h.i.t was going down, and she'd been too wrapped up in her anger at Val to get the memo until now. Their friendship had been strained the last few months, especially these last few weeks, but they were still a team. Eventually time and chocolate would heal their wounds.

Stacey dropped her toothbrush in the sink, threw on some clothes, and ran down the stairs. Her hand on the front doork.n.o.b, she jumped when someone behind her spoke. "Stop."

She spun around and recognized the woman standing in the living room at the same time she recognized the voice. "Kat? What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

Dressed in a black pantsuit with a white corset top pushing up her ample cleavage, Kat cut a perfect mix of s.e.xy and cla.s.sy-a sort of Mata Hari of the boardroom. Stacey had never seen her like that before. "I'm here to stop you from going to Harbor Island."

"So you did know about Lucien Christophe. You b.i.t.c.h."

"I knew of him," Kat said, unfazed by Stacey's hostility. "I didn't know what he was up to. They give him a lot of leeway."

"Who're 'they'?"

"My employers."

"The people pulling the strings of fate?"

"Yes."

She folded her arms. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't want you to rush off to Harbor Island to help Val."

"Why not? It'll upset the order of the universe?"

"No, because you'll die."

Stacey's arms dropped. Kat couldn't be serious. She couldn't mean what Stacey thought she meant. "I can take care of myself," Stacey said, her voice less flippant than a moment ago.

"It doesn't matter. If you try to help her, you'll be caught in the crossfire and die."

Stacey swallowed hard. "How do you know that?"

"The Alpha told me."

"Who?"

"Ca.s.sandra, the Alpha. She sees all, every future. She's slowly going insane and talks in riddles a lot, as all Alphas eventually do, but she seemed pretty clear on this. If you go to Val, you will die."

Stacey stared at Kat, her mouth hung open. Was Kat lying? What an incredibly bizarre lie, if that's what it was. But everything Stacey knew about Kat was built upon lies layered like Russian nesting dolls.

"Why should I believe anything you say? All you've ever done is blow smoke up my a.s.s."

Kat took a step forward, the grace of her namesake in even that small motion. She held up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "What I did was for the greater good," Kat said. "Why has Val been lying to you?"

A trick question, and Stacey knew it. Still, she was curious. She rose to the bait. "What do you mean by that?"

"You died once before."

Stacey's breath left her lungs.

"You died in a boating accident almost ten years ago. The Alpha is absolutely sure about this. Val changed your future."

Stacey gawked. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Val would've told her...wouldn't she? According to Val, she'd changed people's futures before; it was rare, and hard, but she could do it. She'd failed with Margaret, but had she succeeded once before with Stacey? Had Stacey been dead for years, defying the universe and walking the world a metaphysical zombie?

"One possible future takes you to Val and your death, again. The other possible future takes you to me."

Stacey felt numb. How could Val keep this from her? She supposed she should be glad to be alive, but the fact that her "friend" made a literal life-or-death decision for Stacey without telling her felt like a betrayal at the deepest level. How was she supposed to come to terms with that decision if she hadn't even been allowed to make it? Was the world different now with her in it? Was she supposed to be dead?

Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she snapped, "Why do you care if I die again?"

Kat moved closer to Stacey until the two were a mere foot apart. Her ice blue eyes surveyed Stacey's dark brown ones, Sphinx-like composure tempered by an emotion Stacey swore looked a lot like affection.

"Because I care for you," she said. Kat ran a finger across Stacey's jawline. A thrill shot through Stacey like nothing she'd experienced since...well, since the last time she'd made love to Kat.

But Kat was a liar. So was Val. Everybody lied.

"What do you really want from me, Kat-or whatever your real name is?"

"It's Claire, but I always thought that was boring." Kat left her hand on Stacey's face, caressing Stacey's cheek in slow circles. Stacey didn't remove it. "What I really want is for you to come with me now."

"Where would we go?"

"The Cayman Islands first. After that I don't know. Depends where our orders take us."

"You want me to work with you. For those people who told you to blow up the car at the Pacific Science Center last year."

The corners of Kat's lips twitched. "Gotta pay the bills somehow."

So that was Kat's endgame-to recruit her. These G.o.dd.a.m.n people were obsessed with Max and Val-something about the Alpha, something about their future child. Made sense to poach someone close to them. That was the root of Kat's continued interest in Stacey, not love. But so what? Val had her man. She'd soon be jetting off with him to wonderful, exotic locations to have oodles of o.r.g.a.s.m-less s.e.x. Stacey would be left behind, squatting in Val's empty house, propping up Val's business, caretaking Val's old life until it eventually atrophied and died.

I'm already dead.

"And what do I get out of this?" Stacey asked, the hostility in her voice subdued by curiosity.

"Adventure. A reason to live. Me."

Kat kissed her then, soft lips against soft lips, tongue against tongue. It wasn't unlike the sensation of licking dark chocolate mousse off a spoon. To hear Kat explain it, she was Stacey's payment, a commodity to be traded for other useful things. A resource. And what was Stacey to Val anymore? She was tired of investing in a one-sided relationship. At least Kat was honest about what she could give Stacey-her playful fingers, skimming Stacey's breast, said it all. Stacey considered what she had to lose, and decided it was nothing.

I'm already dead.

Their lips parted and hovered an inch apart. Stacey ran a hand through Kat's l.u.s.trous blond hair and looked into her Arctic eyes, thawed just a little. Mine, all mine.

"All right, baby, let's go," Stacey said.

Kat smiled. "Do you need to pack a bag?"

"No. No baggage. Pun intended."

Chapter Thirty-one.

Fallout shelters are really not necessary for short nuclear wars if you survived the initial blast you'd be at higher risk of cancer and birthing children with defects but you could immediately resettle as long as you avoided ground zero and don't drink the water and mind the cannibals and prime numbers-"

Max's eyes popped open. Pockmarked ceiling tiles filled his vision. Who was talking? He'd been talking. Babbling. What about? He had no idea. His eyes darted back and forth, taking in his surroundings. A dark s.p.a.ce, not very big, silhouettes of metal shelving against the walls. A storage room. He still lay on the metal table, still in a hospital gown, after-what? What had happened to him? What did Lucien do? He remembered fire, then pain. Then drugs, so many drugs, an endless stream of rainbow serums pin-p.r.i.c.king his arms and neck. He'd been on the moon, then under the sea, then flying in the clouds, then the size of the Chrysler Building to the size of an ant, down and up the rabbit hole over and over again.

All those memories were indistinct smears against the walls of his skull. But one he remembered vividly. At some point he'd felt intense pleasure like he'd never known before. It'd seized him head to toe, as if his body were a giant bra.s.s bell given a single strong rap, waves of ecstasy flowing through him until they dissipated with a quiet moan. What had that been? It was almost like...almost like what he guessed a normal o.r.g.a.s.m would feel like. What regular people experienced at the climax of lovemaking. No, he'd imagined it. But had he? Had Lucien found a way to turn his ability off. How? How? He had to know.

Max tried to sit up. Though his muscles were weak, it was the leather straps still around his wrists that kept him down. Technically, I can live without knowing, he admonished himself. I won't live if I don't escape.

He pulled on the restraints and felt the left one give more than the right. Focusing on the left arm, Max twisted his wrist and pulled as hard as he could. The leather strap dug into his flesh, ripping his skin in its fight to hold on to him. Still weak from the drugs, he paused to gulp down air, then pulled with all his might again, and again, and again. Teeth clenched and a growl rising in his throat, he yanked viciously a final time and his hand popped free.

Panting, he clutched his mangled hand to his chest. After gathering his meager strength, he reached to his right side and fumbled with the strap. Half a minute later, his numb, trembling fingers worked the leather out of the buckle and both hands were free.

Max rolled off the metal table and fell on his hands and knees onto a linoleum floor. He wasn't nauseous anymore, but his muscles were still jelly. His whole body begged for him to lie down and sleep again; his desperation forced him to stay awake and fight. Across the room he recognized a pile of rumpled clothes. Naked except for his flimsy hospital gown, he crawled over the cold ground toward it. He reached the pile and teased out a shirt and jeans. In the dim light he couldn't tell if the clothes were his or not, but when he pulled them on, they fit enough to be serviceable. No shoes in the pile, though.

He walked his hands up the wall and pushed with his legs until he stood. Slouched against the wall, he put one foot in front of the other until the smooth surface yielded to a flush door. He grasped the handle and pushed down- Flames engulfed the door. The inferno burned so hot that chunks of wood sloughed to the ground and dissolved into ashes upon impact. Max jerked backward, stumbled, and fell. Throwing his hands up to protect himself from the flames, he blinked-and the flames were gone. The door stood before him unblemished, the room dark and silent.

He was seeing glimpses of the future again; in this instance, probably the destruction wrought by the nuclear blast Val had witnessed repeatedly in her visions. Max was lucid enough to realize that much. Lucien had been tinkering with Max's ability. Whatever the Frenchman had pumped into Max not only made him so weak he could barely stand, but it still had a hold on his cognitive brain. He couldn't wait for it to wear off. If he didn't escape now, Lucien would kill him-eventually kill him, after more torture.

"Nothing strange I see is actually happening now," he whispered to himself. He repeated the words in his head as he heaved himself to his feet, shuffled to the door, and turned the handle.