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He jerked back, actually let go of my arm. I fell to my knees grateful to be low to the ground. Throwing up had brought a roaring headache. Riker’s voice came through the next wave of nausea.

“Amanda, Russell, be so good as to leave the children alone. Our Ms. Blake is too squeamish to do her work while she fears for their safety.”

I looked up at the monitors to make sure they actually left the rooms. Russell kissed Becca on the head, then left her huddled in the corner, crying for her mommy. Amanda blindfolded Peter while he begged her not to. She whispered something in his ear that caused him to curl into a ball. She left his pants down, picked up her shirt from the floor and walked out.

I huddled into my own version of a ball on the floor. I stayed on my knees while I tried to decide whether I was going to throw up again or not. Nausea like this is usually a sign of a concussion. The headache was another. But I think sheer nerves had pushed me over the edge. I used to throw up at crime scenes quite a bit. Apparently, there were still things I couldn’t handle, like child abuse. Dear God, please give us some help here. Help us get them out of here safe.

There was a beeping, and Riker hit another button on his desk. “What is it?”

“We’ve got two dead down here. They were fucking butchered.”

Riker went pale. “The monster.”

“Knives, some kind of fucking big knife.”

“You’re sure of that?” Riker asked. “You are positive?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It seems we have intruders.” He looked at Simon. “What are you going to do about our company, Simon?”

“Kill them, sir.”

“Then do it.”

“Shooter, Rooster, stay with him and kill him as soon as Riker gives the word. Mickey, you’re with me.” He looked across at the two men by me. “You stay with her. Make sure no one else hits her. Harold, Newt, come with me.”

Then they were gone, and we were down to two bad guys a piece, and Riker. It would never get better than this.

“Is there a bathroom?” I asked.

“Are you going to be ill again?”

“It’s a thought.”

“The two of you take her. And Deuce, if you can come up with something creative that won’t leave a mark or physically harm Ms. Blake in any way, but will convince her that the children and Mr. Forrester are not the only ones that can be hurt, do so. Perhaps you can show her your namesake. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

There aren’t a lot of things you can do to a person that fulfilled Riker’s requirements. The ones I could think of were mostly sexual. Usually, the talk of my impending rape upsets me, but all I could think of now was that I had thirty minutes with two men who might want to fuck me more than kill me. All I wanted to do was kill them. It made my options easier. But I said, “Is there a reason for torturing me, too, or is it just a hobby?”

He smiled, pleasant, confident. “I thought you would be worthy of my men, but I find you weak, Ms. Blake. Weakness should be punished. But it must be done carefully, so you can still do the spell, because I do want that.”

“Isn’t the line, these things must be done delicately or you injure the spell?”

Deuce laughed. Riker frowned at me. “It’s from The Wizard of Oz,” Deuce said. “The Wicked Witch of the West says it to Dorothy.”

“Take her away, Deuce,” he wrinkled his nose, “and clean yourself up, Blade. You’re welcome to help in the punishment, but Deuce is in charge. I don’t want her damaged.”

Deuce grabbed my arm almost gently and helped me to my feet. The guy I’d thrown up on, Blade, followed us by a few steps. Evidently, he was taking no chances. At the door a man appeared. He was darkly Hispanic with longish hair, a shoulder holster, complete with .9 millimeter automatic. He looked like local hired muscle, but he wasn’t. He vibrated with power. A shimmering energy flowed off of him. Psychic or maybe more.

“Ms. Blake, meet our resident expert on the supernatural, Alario. He was in charge of the protection spells on all my establishments. His art failed him recently at one of my shops, and my workers are dead. You will succeed where he has failed.”

Alario