Wuthering Frights (8 page)

Baron didn't spare him a glance, but faced me, nodding as his eyes narrowed into another angry expression. "Well, we gonna have us a little hazing then. A welcome to our newest recruit."

I swallowed hard, not liking the sound of that at all. "What does that mean, Baron?" I demanded.

"Melchior won't approve," Quillan said from the corner of the room. It made me wonder if Baron was also aware that Melchior was my father.

"What he don't know won't hurt 'em," Baron answered, facing Quill with an expression that said Quillan better not say a word about it—to Melchior, or anyone else.

"No one touches her," Quill said, his voice razor sharp as he again attempted to
unwind
himself from the weres. But they had him and weren't letting go.

Baron faced me again, apparently uninterested in Quill’s protests. "So you got two choices."

I nodded, but I didn’t believe for a second that I was going to walk out of here untouched. Given the fact that
I'd been Baron's enemy,
I definitely had something coming to me. This wasn't a surprise. "And what are my options?" I asked, sounding unfazed.

Baron took the steps separating us and towered over me, grinning. I didn't step back, but held my ground, determined not to let him intimidate me. He leaned forward and gripped a handful of
my hair
, yanking my head back so I was forced to look up at him.

"I either beat the shit outta you or screw the shit outta you. Your choice." Then he sneered a wide and terrifying grin. "Screwin' you won't hurt so bad. You'll get to likin’ it."

"Dammit, Baron!" Quillan yelled from the opposite side of the room, but I knew Quill had no authority here. No, if I wanted to be accepted into this band of thieves, I had to undergo punishment. I had to let them haze me in return for my arresting and convicting them. It was now a matter of quid pro quo, this for that. I had to overcome my past as an ANC Regulator who busted their asses mercilessly. I had to become one of them. I had to earn their trust.

But that said, there was no way in hell this pig was getting inside of me. I held my jaw tight and glared at him. "I guess it's going to be a beating."

He pushed me away from him, obviously pissed off by my decision. I could see Quillan straining with his opponents again but I knew my bed was made. I just hoped there wouldn't be too much damage to show for it. Yes, as a fairy I could heal myself with my magic but that didn't take away from the fact that this was going to hurt like a bitch. But I was ready.

Without any warning, Baron pulled his arm back and cold-cocked me right across the face. My head flew back as I lost my footing and smashed against the floor, feeling the blow all the way to my toes. I took a deep breath and shook my head, trying to clear the stars before my eyes. I pushed up on my hands and leaned over, attempting to regain control of my body again. I could feel blood running from my nose and mouth. The viscous drops bled down my jacket front, pooling into a puddle of what looked like molten gold on the floor in front of me. I felt Baron's
hands on both of my upper arms as he pulled me upright. I wavered a bit, but then held my ground, not at all looking forward to what else he had up his sleeve.

"Dulce! Are you okay?" Quill called, out, but I couldn't spare him a glance. Instead, I watched as Baron swung his arm from behind his head into my other cheek. The blow seemed to have a domino effect through my body and I felt my head spin, the upper half of me falling forward as the lower half gave out. I lost my balance and crumpled into a heap on the ground. A dull ache started behind my eyes and I closed them to ward away the pain, forbidding myself from blacking out.

"Enough!" Quillan yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the pounding of my heartbeat thumping between my ears.

Don't black out, Dulcie O'Neil
, I told myself.
Keep it together!

"Baron, that's fair!" I heard Quillan yell again. "You've hazed her enough!"

I forced myself into a sitting position and opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut, only to find Baron kneeling down next to me. He smiled an ugly and wide grin. Apparently he wasn't finished with me.

"You picked the wrong choice," he said gruffly, his eyes settling on my bust. Wasting no more time, he gripped my shirt and yanked me toward him. Then he pushed me down, none too gently. I closed my eyes again, feeling like I was fighting a concussion or something. But the feel of Baron on top of me snapped my eyes wide open, well, at least one of them.

"Nah, I picked the right choice," I managed to spit out, the salty taste of my own blood souring my mouth.

"To hell with you," he exhaled into my face, his breath stale from cigarettes and alcohol. As I tried to clear the stars from my vision, I could feel his hands on the button of my pants. Then I felt him unzipping them and attempting to pull them off my hips.
My daggers!
He gave me the perfect opportunity to go for them when he started unzipping his fly.

"Get off her!" Quillan yelled as he overpowered one of his captives. He punched the other one and dove for me. But the weres were on him in a split second, dragging him back to the far side of the room. Yep, this was my fight.

I reached my hands beneath my leathers and started shimmying them lower as Baron laughed enthusiastically, probably thinking I wanted the disgusting Titan between my legs. When I had each dagger in hand, I waited for him to lower himself on me again. Then I acted, pulling the daggers up and out of my pants, until each was poised to impale both of Baron’s balls.

"Unless you want to become a eunuch, I suggest you get the fuck off me," I whispered with a groan, as if to say I wasn't kidding. There was shock on Baron's face, then anger in his eyes, but he saved his acorns and pulled away from me, retreating from whence he'd come.

I pushed away from him and stood up with some difficulty, sliding the daggers back into their straps as I pulled my pants up, pleased with the fact that only the very top of my black lace panties had been visible. I cleared my throat. "Do we or do we not have work that needs to get done?" I demanded, first facing Baron and then Quillan, as I wished the headache pounding between my temples would fade away.

Quillan smiled at me with an expression of relief. "We have much to discuss," he concurred.

I faced Baron and shrugged, still trying to catch my breath. "Well, what
the hell
are we waiting for?"

He took a deep breath and motioned to the doorway, which I'd originally thought led to the restroom. "Ladies first," he grumbled.

I said nothing as I walked past him, shaking my palm until a mound of fairy dust emerged. Then I threw it over my head, the particles falling around me like a shower of glitter. I imagined my pain as well as the wounds themselves vanishing into nothing. After another se
cond or so, during which time the
dust settled onto my skin, I felt completely healed and back to being Dulcie. 

"Dulce?" Quillan said from behind me. He placed a concerned hand on my shoulder as I turned to face him and smiled encouragingly. We walked over the threshold of the next room and I noticed it was much smaller than the first one. It had nothing but a table and four club chairs that looked older than I did, complete with cigarette burns in the brown Naugahyde. I took a seat and swiveled to face Quillan. "I'm okay, Quill."

He shook his head and seemed to be studying my face, as if making sure my magic had healed the swelling and bruises. Eventually he smiled at me, taking the seat beside mine. When he did so, he put his hand on mine and squeezed it.

Five

Even though I was in the lion's den, I had to admit I was more than grateful to have Quillan right there with me. Despite whatever had happened in our past, he was now the only person I could trust—well, with regards to this mess, anyway. As far as working for my father went, Quillan was my only friend and I needed him now more than ever before.

I glanced around the table with a big gulp. Baron was sitting across from me, two of his men on either side of him and a burly-looking goblin who, I imagined, was probably his bodyguard, standing behind him.

"The shipment of
Yalkemouth
is comin' through tonight," Baron said with no emotion in his voice as he faced Quillan. He narrowed his eyes once he glanced at me, probably reminded of how close he'd come to losing his gibblies. I glared right back at him.

Yalkemouth
was an illegal narcotic which had started picking up speed in the streets of Splendor earlier this year. It was concocted from the tiniest drop of dragon's blood mixed with sugar water to help the taste. In larger quantities, dragon's blood was liquid death to any Netherworld creature unfortunate enough to come across it. All the bullets provided to the ANC were made of dragon's blood. Not surprisingly, there had already been fifteen deaths reported from
Yalkemouth
overdoses.

Apparently the high from
Yalkemouth
was exactly that—high. The most common side effects were hallucinations of out-of-body experiences, whereby the victims would see themselves separated from their corporeal bodies and their "essences" (as they termed it) would simply float away. The victims, in an act of desperation, since their souls were about to have lots in common with errant kites, would try their best to hang onto their essence. However, once they realized they couldn't reach their souls on flat land, they would climb whatever they could find. This wasn't such a big deal if said victims were inside a house, for example, where most just toppled off their couches or kitchen tables. But if the victims happened to be outside ... Well, there had already been reports of deaths from creatures falling off bridges, buildings and rolling down the sides of mountains.

"Where is the shipment arriving?" Quill asked as he exhaled a pent-up breath that spoke of his anxiety. I looked at him and was suddenly struck by how much older Quillan looked than he should have. As an elf who could live well beyond two hundred years, at thirty-two, Quill shouldn't have had a single line on his face. But I could already see the frown lines in his forehead and the beginnings of crows’ feet in the corners of each of his eyes. His previously shiny gold hair seemed lackluster now, with threads of grey weaving around his ears.

This obviously wasn't an easy life, which was all the more incentive to get out of it. And although I didn't have an escape route planned yet, I wasn’t giving up. There was something inside me that refused to yield, something that was rallying, something increasingly pissed off as the days went by. I just refused to do this forever—and to carry on with the likes of Baron and his entourage. But mostly I refused to give my father the satisfaction of knowing that I would bend to his will. As to figuring a way out, I just needed a little more time—I needed to clear my head and come up with a plan. But for now, that plan would have to wait.

"Loading docks," Baron answered as he started tapping his thick fingers against the surface of the table, which was worn in some places, stained in others.

"What time's it comin' through, boss?" the were at the right of Baron asked, chewing on one of his long, dirty fingernails. He had the general look of a were—big and burly with shaggy, disheveled hair that looked as if it hadn't seen a shampoo bottle in decades. He had a longish beard and his teeth were yellowed from too much smoking, I guessed. All in all, he was totally gross.

"Tonight," Baron answered as his eyes fell on me, a trace of mirth visible in their dark black depths. It was almost like an untold challenge—he was testing me to see what my reaction would be—to see if I was nervous or anxious about my newfound role. Well, even though I was more than anxious, I wasn't about to let him know that.