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Thena
The blood drained from my face and I couldn’t feel my limbs. We were trapped. I was afraid, but I was angry, too, furious at the massive hit Dash had taken from Drew, enraged at the sons of bitches using me as bait, at the traitors among us.
But it was the sight of Drew’s gun pushed up against Dash’s head that kept my pulse racing. It pummeled my temples as fast and loud as the blood swishing in my ears. I was having trouble thinking. Now more than ever I had to rely on my wits to make sure we survived my evil uncle.
I took a deep breath and kept my eyes on Dash. He was on his knees, facing us. His expression had set into a hard blankness. His jaw had turned to stone. A sliver of blood dripped from his ear. His eyes burned with explosive fury, but when they settled on me, they softened, broadcasting calm, caution, and waves of soothing affection.
He might look defeated, but I knew the man’s mettle better than anyone else. He was planning, calculating, recalibrating.
“Do I have your attention now?” Uncle Arthur asked Dash in his grating tone.
“You’ve got my attention all right,” Dash grumbled.
“Good.” He flashed his malicious grin. “The cameo my dear niece is wearing works like a suicide vest. This is the trigger for the explosive device attached to her.”
The Asshole leaned forward and displayed the Astor ring he wore so that Dash could see it. Uncle Shit lifted the flat black stone with his initials and pointed. “If I press this,” he said, flirting with the tiny button inside. “Thena goes…boom!”
I jumped in my chair. My heart almost leaped out of my chest. The fear, God, it threatened to kill me before the bomb. I glared at my piece of shit uncle, hating him for terrorizing our lives, loathing myself for allowing him to do so.
“Poor Thena.” The beast mocked me with a sneer, as if I was dumb, stupid, and helpless, which I was, the latter, not the formers. “You wouldn’t want her to end up splattered all over her father’s posh dining room, would you?”
“She won’t.” Dash met my stare. “I swear it.”
Bless this man, even trapped as we were, he was pledged to me and my safety. But was he also pledged to his?
“Don’t let the fucker upset you.” Dash glowered at my putrid uncle before he met my eyes. “Your cameo didn’t set off the alarm when it went through the scanners, and I’ve dealt with enough IEDs to know that it’s too small to carry enough explosives to do damage.”
I knew what Dash was doing. Probing, assessing, pumping Mr. Evil for intel.
“The explosive device in the cameo is the most recent work of one of al-Qaeda’s best minds,” the brute said. “It’s loaded with PETN. Are you familiar with it?”
“I’m familiar.” Dash’s tone remained firm. “It’s the same agent the Shoe and Underwear Bombers tried to use eons ago. They failed.”
“Itisthe same agent,” the bastard admitted. “Except it has been vastly improved. It also has an updated laser trigger, so I just have to point and push the button. Your scans didn’t detect it because it’s concealed within a titanium case. It may not be enough to blow up the entire room, but it will rip Thena tobloody pieces. These are small but significant changes.”
Dash didn’t answer, but the subtle way he narrowed his eyes told me the mechanism was more advanced and deadly than its predecessors.
“As to the house.” Uncle Shit smiled. “Show him you mean business, Shaw.”
Shaw pointed to the detonator hooked to his tactical vest, a red box dangling opposite to yet another little rectangular box, this one white.
“That’s quite an impressive collection of remotes you’ve got,” Dash taunted him, sticking to his threat assessment mode. “If you push the wrong one, everyone goes boom, including you.”
“I know which one is which.” Without warning, Drew pushed the white box’s button.
Buzzzz.
The collar around Dash’s neck lit up. His body spasmed, an awful, reflexive reaction. The sudden burst of electricity hummed in the room and vibrated through my own body. The jolt lasted three seconds, no more, before Drew stopped, and yet pain stiffened Dash’s back and fleeted across his eyes.
“My God!” I croaked through my tight throat. “What is that?
“That, my dear, is called a shock collar,” Arthur said. “It’s a training device originally designed for unruly canines. This one I got from my friends in Iran, where it’s often used on political prisoners and hostages. It’s capable of inflicting agonizing pain and it’s designed to deliver enough electricity to fry Loverboy’s nervous system if I so desire.”
Terror returned to course through my body and settled into my bones. I fisted my bound hands. “You can’t do this. It’s cruel. Barbaric. Inhuman!”
“That’s the point.” The man’s chuckles reeked of malice. “From now on, Dashiell is my dog and he’ll do as I say.”
