Above me, doors crashed open and moonlight filtered in. Someone jumped down into the hold, and the thick, musky scent of a human filled the air. I peered through the hole, and saw grimy jeans and grimier work boots. He was tall and thin, with hands that were so covered in dirt, grease, and God knows what else, they looked black. Because of the darkness, it was hard to get a definite image of his features, but he wasn't young. His hands were the hands of an older person.
Chains rattled around my prison, then straps were drawn up over the box and suddenly I was rising into the air. I gripped the floor of the box hard, not liking the way the thing swayed. It felt too much like falling.
Goose bumps trembled across my skin, and bile rose. I bit it back and closed my eyes, trying to remain calm. It was only old fears rushing in. It wasn't a premonition. I wasn't going to fall. Not here in this crate. Not anywhere.
The crate thumped down on something solid, making me jump. But it didn't ease the crazy fear running through my system, so I continued to breathe slow and deep, trying to keep calm as gears crunched and the truck began to trundle away from the dock.
The scent of eucalyptus gradually replaced the salty scent of the ocean. I shifted, peering out one of the holes, watching trees and thick ferns pass by. Oddly enough, this island looked almost tropical. The plant life was thick and lush, and many of the plants weren't the types to survive in the colder climes of Victoria.
The truck bumped along the track, occasionally bogging down and sending sand spurting into the air as the wheels spun then gripped. The incline got stronger, suggesting we were going up.
After about half an hour, the road flattened out and the crunch of stone under the tires replaced the squeak of sand. Light twinkled tantalizingly in the darkness, and the scent of barbecuing meat touched the air, making my taste buds water and my stomach rumble.
Unfortunately, I didn't think we were going to be the recipients of that barbecuing meat.
And indeed, the truck trundled past the lights and the smell, coming to a halt in an area of darkness. We weren't in the middle of nowhere, though. Through my peephole I could see the shadowy form of a building. It seemed more barnlike in structure than houselike—though if it was a barn, I couldn't smell any of the usual scents that went along with it. Definitely no horses or hay, that was for sure.
Then another engine kicked into gear and the box was on the move again. I gripped on tight as it swung into the air then around to the right, swaying crazily as it was lowered. I let out a relieved breath when the box hit something solid, then I was being wheeled toward the barn. My box was dumped, doors slammed shut, then footsteps retreated.
Alone again.
This was making no sense whatsoever.
"Rhoan?" I said into the silence. "You here?"
I didn't hold much hope that he was, simply because I couldn't smell him.
The continued silence was my only answer. I peered through my hole again, seeing concrete and heavy metal bars. The type even a werewolf would have trouble getting through.
It actually took me a moment to realize that my box was no longer covered by the silver mesh. I kicked out with a bare foot, smashing open the box in an instant.
Even though my cage hadn't been small, the feeling of freedom that hit when I was no longer confined was immense. I sucked in the cool night air, then stood up and looked around.
The barn was a large one, and had at least a dozen pens just like this one. Some had hay, some didn't. Some had the silver mesh nets covering the heavy metal bars, others had nothing but metal and concrete floors. Some, like mine, had bunk beds in them—though given the filthy state of the mattress, it'd be pretty much a given I'd be sharing the bed with more than a few bugs. I shivered. Give me cold concrete any day.
I turned and walked closer to the front bars, giving them a shake to test their strength. They didn't budge. They might not be meshed like some of the other cages, but there wasn't a hope in hell of me breaking out of here. Which made me wonder just what the meshed cages had been designed to hold.
I leaned my arms against the metal and studied what lay beyond the open doors of the barn. A wide road swung away down the hill, lined on either side by thick greenery. The house and lights I'd seen earlier weren't visible through that door, and the one to my left was shut.
I stepped back, my gaze rising to the ceiling. Even that was barred. Which meant a lot of thought had gone into construction of this cell, and that sent a chill skittering down my spine. This wasn't just a one-off, nothing-left-to-lose capture. This was something else entirely.
But until someone popped along with an explanation as to what the hell was going on, I wasn't about to guess. My imaginings would probably be far worse than the reality. After all, I'd been in some pretty shitty situations over the last year or so—and I seriously doubted whether fate could throw anything else at me worse than a god of pain set on world domination.
So I sat on the floor and waited yet again. I hated waiting, but there was nothing else to do but pace. And that would get old very quickly.
The moon had passed its zenith and had begun the long track toward dawn before someone finally got motivated enough to visit.
His scent touched the air long before I actually saw him—musky, spicy human. Jared. Or Jorn, as the case may be.
His footsteps were light, measured. A man who was sure of himself. A man who was used to power and getting his own way. I reached out telepathically but, like on the island, felt nothing except an odd sort of blankness. Only it didn't feel electronically induced, but rather natural. He had shields every bit as strong as mine. Meaning, I wasn't going to be able to read him or control him—not without a lot of time and effort.
And I had a bad feeling time was the one thing I didn't have much of.
Jorn strode through the door, dressed in jungle greens and thick boots, and stopped in front of my cell. His expression was an odd mix of arrogance and excitement. Not sexual excitement, but the sort of excitement that went with a chase.
I looked him up and down, noting the sheathed bowie knife strapped to his left leg, and a pistol holster attached to his hip.
"Shall I call you Jorn? Or do you prefer Jared?"
Amusement played about his lips. "You worked it out."
"Took me a while. I never realized there was a branch of humanity who could alter their features."
"It's a family gift."
"Just like the family trait of madness?" I said sweetly. "Tell me, was it you or Yohan in the truck and the car?"
"that was my brother. He never was a very good driver."
If he had been, I might have been squished meat under the truck's tires. "And the shooter?"
He grimaced. "A misjudgment on our part, because we were foolish enough to believe his assurance that he was good enough to take you out."
He almost had been, but I wasn't about to mention that.
"Why choose an exclusive island like Monitor to set your trap? Why not choose something more accessible to the masses?"
"Because there is something decidedly delicious in hunting the spoiled wealthy. It's the eyes," he added, expression almost dreamy. "The realization in those final moments that, despite all their wealth and power, there is nothing they can do to stop death. Plus, of course, it was bitches like them who killed our father. None of them deserved to live."
"So did you sleep with said bitches?"
He snorted. "I've seen what you lot can do to human flesh. No thanks. Besides, flirting got me all the information I needed." He hesitated, and grinned. "You women are so careless with your purses."
My missing driver's license, I thought suddenly. That's how the shooter had my address, and probably how he knew the addresses of the others. "How did you handle all the other staff at the island?"