The blackened spot got blurry.
He scrubbed his face and then stared at his palm. There was wetness on it. Tears?
He searched his chest for what he was feeling, but all that came to him was information about his body. His torso was swaying because his muscles were weak. He was light-headed and vaguely nauseous. But that was it. There were no emotions for him.
He rubbed his sternum and was about to do another sweep with his hands when a pair of shitkickers came into his line of sight.
He looked up into Phury's face. The thing was a mask, all frozen and pasty.
"Was it her?" he croaked, kneeling down.
Z lurched backward, just barely managing to keep his gun out of the snow. He couldn't be anywhere near someone right now, especially Phury.
In a messy scramble, he got to his feet. "Vishous here yet?"
"Right behind you, my brother," V whispered.
"There's..." He cleared his throat. Rubbed his face on his forearm. "There's a security alarm. I think the place is clear, because two slayers just left, but I'm not sure."
"I'm on the alarm."
Z caught a number of scents all of a sudden and glanced behind him. The whole of the Brotherhood was there, even Wrath, who as king was not supposed to be in the field. They were all armed. They had all come to get her back.
The group lined up flat against the house as V used a pick on the door lock. His Glock went in first. When there was no reaction, he slipped inside and closed himself in. A moment later there was one long beep. He opened the door.
"Good to go."
Z rushed forward, practically mowing down the male.
His eyes penetrated the dim corners of the single room. The place was a mess, with shit scattered all over the floor. Clothes... knives and handcuffs and... shampoo bottles? And what the f**k was that? God, a disemboweled first-aid kit, its gauze and tape bleeding out of the ruined lid. The thing looked like it had been stomped on until it had opened.
Heart pounding in his chest, sweat blooming all over him, he looked for Bella and saw only inanimate objects: A wall of shelving that held nightmarish instruments. A cot. A fireproof metal closet the size of a car. An autopsy table with four sets of steel chains hanging off its corners... and blood smudged on its smooth surface.
Random thoughts fired through Z's brain. She was dead. That burned oval proved it. Except what if that had just been another captive? What if she'd been moved or something?
As his brothers hung back, like they knew better than to get in his way, Z went over to the fireproof closet, keeping his gun in hand. He wrenched the doors off, just grabbed onto the metal panels and bent them until the hinges broke. He tossed the heavy sections away, hearing them clatter and bang.
Guns. Ammunition. Plastic explosives.
The arsenal of their enemies.
He went into the bathroom. Nothing but a stall shower and a bucket with a toilet seat on it.
"She's not here, my brother," Phury said.
In a fit of rage Z launched himself at the autopsy table, picking it up with one hand and throwing it into a wall. In midflight, a length of chain came back at him, catching him in the shoulder, nailing him to the bone.
And then he heard it. A soft whimpering sound.
His head snapped around to the left.
In the corner, on the ground, there were three cylindrical metal lips protruding from the earth, and they were capped by mesh plates that were the dark brown color of the dirt floor. Which explained why he hadn't noticed them.
He went over and kicked off one of the covers. The whimpering got louder.
Suddenly light-headed, he fell to his knees. "Bella?"
Gibberish rose from the earth to answer him, and he dropped his gun. How was he going to... ? Ropes - there were ropes coming out of what looked like a sewer pipe. He grabbed onto them and pulled gently.
What emerged was a dirty, bloody male, about ten years out of his transition. The civilian was naked and shivering, his lips blue, his eyes rolling around.
Z dragged him free, and Rhage wrapped his leather trench coat around the male.
"Get him out of here," someone said as Hollywood sliced the ropes.
"Can you dematerialize?" another brother asked the male.
Z paid no attention to the conversation. He went for the next hole, but there were no ropes leading down into it, and his nose detected no scent. The thing was empty.
He was stepping over to the third when the captive yelled, "No! Th-that one's booby-trapped!"
Z froze. "How?"
Through chattering teeth, the civilian said, "I d-don't know. I just heard the l-lesser warn one of his m-men about it."
Before Z could ask, Rhage started walking the room. "Got a gun over here. Business end pointed in that direction." There were the sounds of metal clicks and shifting. "It's not armed. Anymore."
Z looked above the hole. Mounted on the exposed rafters of the roof, about fifteen feet from the floor, there was a small device. "V, what have we got up there?"
"Laser eye. You break it, it probably triggers the - "
"Hold up," Rhage said. "I got another gun to empty out here."
V stroked his goatee. "There must be a remote-control activator, although the guy probably took it with him. That's what I would do." He squinted up at the ceiling. "That particular model runs on lithium batteries. So it's not like we could kill the generator to turn it off. And they're tricky to disarm."
Z glanced around for something he could use to push the plate off and thought of the bathroom. He went inside, whipped the shower curtain down, and brought the pole it had hung from back.
"Everyone clear out."
Rhage spoke sharply. "Z, man, I don't know that I've found all the - "
"Take the civilian with you." When no one moved, he cursed. "We don't have time to f**k around, and if someone's getting shot it's going to be me. Jesus Christ, will you brothers leave?"
When the place was cleared out, Z approached the hole. Standing with his back to one of the guns that had been removed, so that he would have been in its line of fire, he nudged the cover off with the pole. A gunshot rang out with a popping sound.
Z caught the slug in his left calf. The searing impact brought him down on one knee, but he ignored it and dragged himself to the neck of the pipe. He took hold of the ropes that led down into the earth and began to pull.
The first thing he saw was her hair. Bella's long, beautiful mahogany hair was all around her, a veil over her face and shoulders.
He sagged and lost his vision, partly passing out, but even through the full-body wobble, he kept pulling. Abruptly the effort became easier... because there were hands helping him... other hands on the rope, other hands laying her gently on the floor.
Dressed in a sheer nightgown that was stained with her blood, she wasn't moving, but she was breathing. He carefully pushed her hair back from her face...
Zsadist's blood pressure took a nosedive. "Oh, sweet Jesus... oh, sweet Jesus... oh, sweet - "
"What did they do..." Whoever had spoken couldn't find the words to finish.
Throats cleared. A couple of coughs were smothered. Or maybe they were gags.
Z gathered her in his arms and just... hugged her. He had to get her out, but he couldn't move for what had been done to her. Blinking, dizzy, screaming inside, he rocked her gently back and forth. Words fell from his mouth, lamentations for her in the Old Language.
Phury sank down to his knees. "Zsadist? We have to take her away from here."
Focus came to Z in a rush, and suddenly all he could think about was moving her to the mansion. He sliced the harness off her torso, then struggled to his feet with her in his arms. When he tried to walk, his left leg gave out and he stumbled. For a split second he couldn't think of why.
"Let me take her," Phury said, putting out his hands. "You've been shot."
Zsadist shook his head and brushed by his twin, limping.
He took Bella out to the Taurus that was still parked in front of the building. Holding her against his chest, he broke the driver's-side window with his fist, then craned his arm inside and unlocked everything while the alarm went crazy. Opening the rear door, he leaned down and put her on the seat. When he bent her legs slightly to make them fit, the nightgown rode up and he winced. She had bruises. A lot of them.
As the alarm ran out of steam, he said, "Someone give me a jacket."
The second he held his hand out behind him, leather hit his palm. He draped her carefully in what he realized was Phury's coat, and then he shut her in and got behind the wheel.