Gaby nodded to the naked body hanging over a stainless steel tub splashed with blood. “Who is she?”
Limp hands shackled together and attached to a chain bolted in the ceiling, the cadaver hung there, ghostly white and quite dead. Bite marks marred the body, and deep slashes had been cut into her inner forearms from her wrists almost to her elbows. There was no doubt she had been bled to death.
“Shari was once a devoted follower, but she erred by letting our last sacrifice escape.”
“I saw your sacrifice in the hospital, you sick fuck.” Luther stepped to the side of Gaby, deliberately widening the space between them—giving her room to perform when she needed to. “You tortured her.”
“She nourished us. There’s a difference. It was her great privilege, a noble sacrifice, not that I expect you to understand. I had planned to keep her alive awhile, but it’s just as well that she died.”
“Not before she told us about the house.”
Fabian smiled. “We burned it to the ground. You found no evidence there.”
“Wrong.”
As Luther spoke, Gaby noticed the newest members to the party looking very ill at ease. Between the drugs and the thick ambiance of danger, they were already edgy. Now Luther worried them with feigned details; a perfect ploy.
“Vials were recovered—with fingerprints,” Gaby lied. She really had no idea if there were clear fingerprints or not.
Unease shifted in the air.
“Nonsense.” Fabian dismissed their concerns with a laugh. “Now, Shari here loved to please men. She lived for it.” He stroked a hand along her side. “She offered her blood to me, and now she pleases me greatly by providing the blood you’ll drink and bathe in.”
Gaby eyed the small, squat tub, the awkward way Shari’s dead weight dragged on that ceiling bolt. It was a chilling setting, and she hated that the girls were witness to it.
“No thanks.”
“Difficult to the bitter end, huh?” Like a little boy on Christmas morning, Fabian shook with his excitement. “Let me see if I can change your mind.”
Gaby watched as he tugged on a tooth, removed a cap, and then another and another, until his smile showed a frighteningly sharpened, jagged bite.
He sighed, shook back his hair, and closed his eyes. As if in ecstasy, he ran his tongue along the edge of those serrated teeth.
When he recovered, he said to Mud, “Bring the little one to me.”
“I’ll kill you,” Gaby whispered.
Mud hesitated. Whit shot his beady gaze from Gaby to Fabian and back again.
“Do it,” Fabian roared.
Mobilized, Mud handed the gun to Whit and grabbed Mali’s squirming, sobbing body. He started forward with her, closer and closer to Gaby.
When he was within reach, Gaby moved with phenomenal speed, swinging her arm up, burying her knife blade deep in Mud’s face through his left eye. Without a single second of hesitation, she twisted, then pulled her knife free.
Blood, gore, and brain matter dripped from her lethal blade to the floor.
Mud collapsed without a struggle. Mali raced back to Bliss and Dacia, all three of them shrieking through their gags, hysterical as only females could be. Mort cowered over them, trying to shield them with his body.
Gaby tuned them out and looked at Whit with a smile.
Near to hyperventilating, he panted, raised the gun . . . and Fabian screamed, “No,” even as Whit fired.
The gun jammed.
Thank you, Gaby silently whispered.
She was on Whit before he could think to pull that trigger again. In three rapid punches, she stabbed him in the chest, yanked the knife free, and kicked him to the ground.
He collapsed in a useless heap.
Chaos ensued. Fabian shouted; Mort tried to corral the girls out of harm’s way; Luther kept the other two men from escaping out the back door. He held his own against them and even managed a quick punch to the woman’s jaw, knocking her out.
Fabian, having snatched up Whit’s gun, fired into the ceiling.
Ah, Gaby thought, just the summons Ann needed. She told the girls, “Stay still,” and slowly turned to face Fabian.
Gaze locked with his, she swiped her blade over her denim-covered thigh to clean it.
“Don’t.” He didn’t aim the gun at her; he aimed at Luther’s head. “I just proved the gun will not fail again, and as in most things, I’m a superior shot.”
“You’re a superior ass, I’ll give you that.”
“One more word,” Fabian growled low, “and I will shoot him in the leg. And then in the gut. And then—”
“Yeah, I got it. You’ll keep shooting him.” Gaby started toward Fabian.
“Ah, ah, ah. Not another step, daughter dear, or your boyfriend will be wearing some new holes.”
Gaby stopped.
“Get rid of the knife.”
Shrugging, Gaby slid it into the sheath at her back—not even close to gone, but out of sight at least.
Fabian let it go.
“Into the tub.” He gestured with the gun. “I want to see you drink. I want to witness your understanding when you feel all that beautiful, slippery blood on your skin, soaking in, redefining you, elevating your strengths.” He breathed hard, and then as if he’d just snapped, he yelled, “Do it!”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Gaby went over and looked into the tub. Blood still dripped from the woman’s body, sending ripples across the surface of the bath. She could smell the fresh blood, tangy, thick, and dark. And she smelled the woman’s death, her fear. The scents commingled in a nauseating emanation, a tumultuous assault on her senses.
“Don’t do it.”
Luther’s voice was raw, hurting.
Gaby looked over her shoulder at him. “You know, Luther, before you, I didn’t know anything but destruction and duty and pain. I didn’t know how to smile. I didn’t know how to . . . love.”
Luther’s back stiffened. His jaw locked, his eyes glistened. “You don’t have to do this for me. Not for anyone.”
She smiled, proving her words. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?” At peace, Gaby stepped into the tub. While she crafted her next move, blood soaked into her shoes, the bottom of her jeans.
It still held warmth from the woman’s body.
But the scabrous circumstances didn’t faze her—they inspired her. Luther thought she was without options? He had to know her better than that.
“I’m glad you’re so willing to accommodate me.” Keeping that gun on Luther, Fabian edged over to the side and grabbed Mali.
Her struggles only seemed to further excite him, but Gaby knew she couldn’t calm the girl right now.
“Drink it, daughter.” Fabian licked his lips while stroking up and down Mali’s side. “Drink your fill, and then we’ll feast on this one together.”
When Dacia would have raced across the room, Luther caught her and tucked her behind his back. “Shh,” he said to her, to all of them. “Trust Gaby. Always.”
Yeah, trust me—please. She made a sound of disgust. “Do you expect me to drink from that dirty tub?”
“It’s not dirty.” Fabian spoke around his accelerated breaths, so excited that he could barely talk. “It’s brand-new, I promise you.” A maniacal light shone from his eyes. His laugh sounded demented. “Drink.”
“Not from the tub. No, sir.” Knowing what she would do, Gaby lied, “I’ll take her down and find a fresh vein.” She reached up and gripped the chain above the cold, hard handcuffs.
“No.” Fabian lowered the gun, distraught at her actions.
“Hang on,” Gaby told him, pretending to misunderstand. She put a foot to the wall for leverage—and pulled.
Fabian went crazy. “What are you doing?”
Gaby pulled again, and felt the bolt loosening from the ceiling. “Actually, Fabian, at this moment”—she tugged again, straining, any second now—“I’m thinking of the many ways I’m going to kill you.”
“God damn you!” Screaming, hauling Mali up off her feet, he rushed toward Gaby.