Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [797]
She’d stripped down to the waist, and that broad muscular back made everyone in this room look frail except for Mickey. It was only the length of her hair that made me guess her. She leaned forward, revealing more of Peter’s body. She’d pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees. She was playing with him.
I looked at the floor, then back up.
She tried to kiss him, and when he turned his head away, she slapped him twice hard, first one cheek then the other. There was already blood on his mouth as if it wasn’t the first time she’d hit him. She leaned back in for the kiss, revealing small tight breasts to the camera. She kissed him and this time he let her. Her hand never stopped working on his body.
I turned slowly to look at the other monitor. Please, God, please, don’t let Russell be doing the same thing to Becca. He wasn’t, and I was grateful. He’d turned with her on his lap, as if he knew he had an audience to play to now. He cradled her like you’d hold any small child, but he’d pinned one small arm, and two of the fingers on the tiny hand were at a bad angle. He broke a third finger while we watched, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream.
“Shall we have sound?” Riker asked.
Becca was screaming high and piteous. Russell cradled her and murmured soothing things. He stroked her hair and looked directly at the camera. His nose was still packed and bandaged. He knew we were there.
Peter’s voice came high. He’d never sounded more like a little boy. “Please, don’t. Please stop!” His arms were tied behind his back, but he was still struggling.
She slapped him. “It’ll feel good, I promise.”
I looked at Edward. Simon had the gun against his head. The hat was on the ground. The medium-looking man had conjured a knife from somewhere and had it pressed to Edward’s throat. A trickle of blood slid down his skin. I met his eyes, and I knew that everyone in this room, everyone in this house was dead. They just didn’t know it yet.
Edward started to say something, but Simon said, “No, no talking from you or Shooter will slit your throat.”
The medium guy must be Shooter. The name didn’t suit him. He looked more like a Tom, Dick, or Harry.
They wouldn’t let Edward talk, so it was my play, but we both knew where the game would end. Sudden death.
“Get them out of there, Riker.”
“The children?” He gave a questioning lilt to his voice.
“Order them to leave the kids alone, now.”
“And if I don’t?”
I smiled. “Then the monster is going to come in here and gut you.”
His eyes flinched. That bothered him. Good. “Knowing what is happening to them should speed up the spell of protection, I think.”
“If you don’t stop it, Riker, there won’t be anything left to salvage.”
“I don’t know. I think the boy is enjoying himself, from the sound of things.”
I’d been trying not to hear, but Peter’s breath was coming faster and faster, frantic, but it wasn’t the sound of pain. He screamed, “Don’t, please don’t.”
I looked and I wished I hadn’t. Some sights cut through your mind leaving a scar behind that never really heals. Watching Peter writhe caught between his first pleasure and the horror of it all, was one of those sights. I pride myself on never flinching. If someone is being tortured I don’t look away. To look away only saves me pain, not them. If I can’t save them the pain, then I watch as a kind of respect and as a punishment for myself, to remind me what happens to people when I fail them. But I failed Peter twice because I looked away just before a wordless scream tore from his mouth. It wasn’t the sound of pain.
I turned away, and maybe I moved too fast for the head injury, or maybe it was something else, because the room swam in streamers of color. I tried to go to my knees, and the knife man jerked my arm, kept me on my feet.