Page 117 of The Satyr's Guilt
“Do you trust them?”
“I do. For now.”
“What do we get out of it?”
“We get to know if the bad guys have roundedup a few of us or if they’re safe on Scath.”
“It will take me time to contact alltrackers.”
“I expected it to.”
“Communication may take longer since I’ll becalling from unknown burners. It could be months before they cancheck on every one of their descendants.”
“I know. Be as fast as possible. Ourraison d-etrehas come into play.”
“Gotcha.”
“And Harry.”
“Yes?”
“Stay safe.” Miller disconnected and walkedinto a dark alley, removing the battery from the cell he had used.He tossed it into a dumpster. Once he smashed the phone under hisboot, he retrieved the sim card, giving it an extra foot-grind. Hepocketed the remnants, planning to toss them into two otherdumpsters far away.
Miller Nash, ex British Intelligence andleader ofCustodes Templii, felt destiny breathing down hisneck and she was a bitch. She had lain dormant for nearly fifteenhundred years. Today, she was eager to come out and play.
Ready or not. Here I come.
Why the hell did she have to come on hiswatch? He had the feeling everything was about to fall arse overtit. Right now, though, he was knackered and needed a bit of arest.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The outer door banged againstthe wall when Ram sauntered inside, Denim’s hand in his. “This isthe Cubes.” He tamped down his rage for her sake. If he had hisway, he’d kill Steven outright.
Denim glanced around. “Scary.”
Galena perched on a stool, bent forward withher elbows resting on her knees.
Cells lined the perimeter of the Cubes whilethe center was an industrial cavern with a concrete floor andseveral strategically-placed drains for blood and other fluids.Chains dangled from the ceiling. Various medieval torture devicessat around not collecting dust. Some with cranks. Aeternals oftenemployed mechanical encouragement to loosen their tongues. One wasa cringe-worthy chair with spikes on the back and arms. Saws andaxes littered nearby tables.
Ram led Denim to the Amazon.
“Scary? It’s cool. Look at that thing.”Galena pointed to a contraption against one wall. “The gaffersstrap a prisoner to it, tie his spread legs to one end and hands tothe other. After he’s trussed, they turn the handle. Snap, crackle,and pop. Bones and ligaments. ’Course, our jailers don’t have touse machines or tools. They can rip a body apart with their gifts.But where’s the fun?”
Denim tilted her head, staring for some timeat her friend. “You’ve got a sadistic streak I’ve never seenbefore.”
“You think? I dunno. Sometimes I have eroticdreams. You know, me strapped up there on the hooks with someberserker hunk going down on me. Anyway. Pull up a stool. Front rowseat.”
“I’m serious. You might be sick.” Denimskidded the stool along the floor until she was beside Galena. Ramstayed on two feet.
Rein slammed into the room, accompanying atall, skinny gaffer who dragged in the prisoner, the tops of hisfeet dusting the floor. His dark hair was matted, his body limp,his eyes rolling around unfocused. He was the poster boy for aRussian KGB interrogation.
Denim’s hand clasped over her mouth, but shedidn’t look away.
It had to be hard on her. This was the manshe’d once called husband. This was the man she had loved. This wasthe man who had beaten her, left her to die in a pool of her ownblood, and killed their unborn child. This was the man responsiblefor nearly killing Rein, him, and Denim. But still…
The tall gaffer pointed to a hook which hungfrom the ceiling while he talked to the older jailer. “Bring itdown. Use the big chains.”
The guy lowered the hook and dragged out afew chains. As they clanged along the concrete floor, they left apattern in the sprinkling of dust. Once the tall gaffer dropped theprisoner onto the ground, the older male bound his hands. The otherchain went around Steven’s feet and linked to the hook. The gafferhoisted him upside down.
