Equal Parts (7 page)

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the back of my own head and smashed it into the desk, just as I envisaged doing to Molten.

There was only so much my head could take, and it was on the brink of shutting down altogether by the time I straightened in my seat. A palm smacked at my cheek, much harder than when Achilles had roused me from unconsciousness.

I blinked, and Molten’s face came into sharp clarity, even through the cracks in my glasses. His smile was now pure evil. “I don’t want you passing out on me just yet, Felicity. My instructions don’t work if you aren’t awake. Now, maybe we should aim for smaller targets and work our way up, yes?”

“Go to hell,” I slurred, clutching my forehead. God, my head hurt. I could hardly hear his words through the blood rushing in my ears, the stinging pain radiating through my nose.

“Wonderful. Now,” He clutched my hand harder, “
Take off your jacket and pants.”

No!
screamed my mind. I actually managed to hesitate for a full ten seconds before my shaking fingers reached up to my zipper. This was all so wrong. I’d never heard of this superpower before – it was unlike any other I’d come across.

My body moved of its own accord, with my brain left to watch it perform like a puppet on strings. The jacket slid onto the floor, and I kicked the pants off, leaving me in only my underwear. Every part of me flushed with anger and shame.

“Good girl,” purred Molten. His eyes were completely cold, like he was assessing me for some kind of sick medical exam. I could do nothing but stand there and wait for his next instruction. I felt as though I’d fallen under a spell, and my happiness was –

My happiness!

I didn’t have much left, thanks to days of mistreatment and solitude, but the trickle remaining would have to be enough. Maybe fighting fire with fire was the only way to avoid whatever it was this madman had in store for me.

“My power has its limitations, of course,” he said conversationally, circling me as a lion would stalk its prey. “I can’t touch your mind – decisions, opinions, feelings, speech. But sometimes, actions speak much louder than words, don’t you think?”

I didn’t respond – I concentrated on gathering all the sunshine I could muster from my last hit, at the party all those days ago.

“Now, if you tell me the key to your power, it will make this much easier for the both of us. But if you don’t … well, I’m sure I can think of some exciting methods of getting you to talk. I’m sure you’ve never broken your own arm, for instance. Or chewed off your own fingers. Or torn out your own hair, chunk by chunk. And that’s only the self-inflicted options – I would love the opportunity to instruct you on doing some things to me.” He ran a single finger across my
shoulder blades
, and every muscle in my body screamed at me to strike back, to do
something
!

“Let me give you a clue to my power, then,” I said through gritted teeth. “Violence won’t get you anywhere.”

But I knew – I knew from the way he was looking at me: this wasn’t about my power. He couldn’t care less about what made me tick. This was a man who found pleasure in doling out pain in its purest form, and needed no incentive to do it.

“You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.” The finger pushed into the middle of my back. “
Knock out one of your teeth on the corner of the table
.”

Immediately, I flooded my system with the remaining sunshine at my disposal. I hadn’t felt its effects in years, since I’d started at the Carova City Hospital, and it was a bigger hit than I remembered. The interrogation cell was suddenly a lot brighter, its shadows slinking back into the walls. My head no longer hurt; my shoulders relaxed and the threat of pain and suffering suddenly disappeared. It was as though the world had turned sunny, and there was no chance of the darkness returning.

Best of all, I remained standing. My knees didn’t even shake with the demand of dropping to table-height. Instead, I laughed, as though Molten had just told a fantastic joke. The relief of knowing I could repel his power was too great.

“Ah, so your ability is immune to mine,” he commented, though the sinister edge to his voice had faded. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to get my hands dirty, Miss Eastwood, but I see you leave me no choice.”

I sobered quickly enough to avoid his hand snatching out to grab my hair, and even managed to strike back with a slap of my own. I was fast, but he was faster. His anger drove him, whereas my happiness distracted me. Soon enough, he had me pinned to the wall, my back against his front.

“Achilles!” I screamed, voice muffled by the stone. I have no idea why his name was the one to fall from my lips – probably because he was the only person I thought could hear me in this dump.

“You’re his new toy, you know,” Molten hissed into my ear, yanking my head back with a fistful of hair. “And Achilles is very territorial about his toys. He’ll get tired of you, though. After a while, when he’s done playing with your sweet little body, he’ll move on to something better. And when that happens, I’ll be on you like a shot. Until then, I’ll have to bide my time.” He studied my side-profile for a long moment. The happiness in me waned, but didn’t vanish. It would take more than a few threats to break my power’s hold on me.

Just as he jerked my head backwards, no doubt aiming to break my nose against the wall, the door slammed open, and Molten jumped a good five feet away from me.

“What the
fuck
is going on here?” growled a familiar voice.

Chapter Five

Without a Fight

I never thought I would be relieved to hear Achilles’s dry tone, but I was. Anyone aside from this monster was a welcome change.

I sank against the wall, the sunshine threaded through my veins helping with the elation
of
being interrupted. His empty black eyes flicked over me for all of half a second before he turned to Molten, who looked like a little kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, despite the fact that he had to be a good five years older than Achilles. The look was enough to make my stomach roil, happiness be damned.

“I was testing the effects of my power on hers,” explained Molten, so smoothly I wouldn’t have guessed he was lying if I hadn’t known otherwise. “She’s good, but she’ll break under pressure.”

I went to argue, but Achilles silenced me with a single look before turning to his ‘second-in-command’, his expression utterly calm. “Funny, I could have sworn I expressly told you
not
to touch her, Patrick. She’s
my
prisoner,
my
property.”

“I am not your –” I really should have expected the hand that reached out and wrapped itself around the column of my neck. Achilles’s favorite
pastime
, aside from killing people, seemed to be choking me, after all. His grip was nowhere near tight enough to cut my air supply, though, so I had to assume he was just telling me to shut up in his own special language.

“Did she use her power on you?” he asked, as if he wasn’t standing there, holding an innocent girl by the throat.

Molten shook his head. “She did use it on herself, though.”

Achilles’s eyes flashed to mine once more. He looked so deadly that the sunshine in me momentarily took over – I made a funny face at him, and I could have sworn his lips twitched.

“Take her upstairs, and make sure she stays there. Keep your hands to yourself, unless you want to lose them,” he instructed to someone behind me. Rough, gloved hands closed around my arm and led me outside. Achilles’s black eyes blazed with something unidentifiable as the door closed on him and Molten.

“Here,” my guard said gruffly, thrusting a towel at me.

“Thanks,” I gushed, truly grateful for any good deed after what had gone down with Molten. I looked up at the guard from under my lashes as I wrapped the towel around myself. Just as Molten struck me as a politician type, this man looked more like someone’s father than the thug of a criminal mastermind. He even had a handkerchief neatly folded in his jacket pocket.

“So I’m not going back to my cell?” I asked. He led me back past the cell I’d called home for five days, and through to a fire escape stairwell.

“Guess not,” he replied shortly. Silence, and then he added, “You okay?”

I supposed, to an outsider, I must have looked like I’d just battled my way through the Amazon. My hair was tangled, I stank to high heaven, my clothes were missing, and I had a distinct feeling my scalp was bleeding. But it could have been much,
much
worse.

“That Molten guy is a dick,” I grumbled. “Does Achilles go out of his way to employ creepers? Don’t answer that,” I said quickly, when he went to respond, “I don’t want to be responsible for you choking on your own hands.”

I’m not quite sure why I was opening up to this complete stranger. The fatherly vibe just got to me, I guess. Plus, he was the first person to show genuine concern for my welfare here. I would latch onto that compassion any way I could.

“I wouldn’t worry about Molten,” he said as we climbed the stairs. “If the boss wants you kept upstairs, there’s little chance he’ll get to you.”

“Why? What’s upstairs?”

I shouldn’t have asked – a moment later, he opened another fire exit door, and I found myself standing in some kind of office, complete with cubicles and desks. Thugs of all shapes and sizes sat around the room, some in groups, others rifling through papers, others talking furiously into cell phones. Everything was all wrong in the office, though – there were no computers, or phones, or printers. Papers were scattered across the floor, files strewn everywhere, knives embedded in walls and bullet holes riddling the cubicle barriers.

Some odd looks were thrown my way, but no one stopped us or seemed to question my presence.

“Come on,” my guard said, leading me away from the cubicles, into what I assumed was once a CEO’s office. It had two rooms of its own, probably a bathroom and … a bedroom? Judging by the way the office had been converted into a living area, I would think the rest of it had to have been renovated as well.

Unlike the rest of the office, this room was immaculate. Not one piece of furniture was out of place, no litter in sight, not a speck of dust or trace of bad hygiene. A smoky, citrusy smell clung to the room, such a welcome change from the stench of fear and blood downstairs.

“Is this where I’m staying?” I asked, rather breathlessly. The sofa looked big enough for five people, with suede cushions and an ottoman at its front. The TV mounted on the wall encompassed most of its background, and the cabinet below it was stocked to the brim with movies.

“I suppose so. You should stay in there until the boss comes up,” he replied, pointing to the closed door at the end of the living room. “Try not to touch anything – he’s a bit particular about his stuff.”

I wasn’t really listening – I’d taken to examining the countless rows of DVDs stacked on the wall. “No problem.” As my guard turned to leave, I straightened. “I’m Felicity, by the way. I know you probably aren’t supposed to talk to me, but…”

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Hugo,” he mumbled, and then he was gone.

It wasn’t until I reached the bedroom Hugo had indicated that I realized what ‘
he’s particular about his stuff
’ meant, exactly: this was
Achilles’s
apartment. He had put me in his own apartment.

What was worse, the bedroom was clearly not just for me. A double bed, complete with intricate wrought-iron headboard and black sheets, lay as the room’s centerpiece. A black chaise, a dresser, full-length mirror, and a
nightstand
lay around the room, perfectly arranged according to shape and size.

Clearly, someone had a bit of OCD.

And clearly, I wasn’t going to be sleeping alone.

No
, I told myself.
You’ll sleep on the sofa. On the floor. In the bathroom. Anywhere but in the same room as him
.

The ulterior motive here was obvious: put me out of reach entirely. Molten was now a threat, as were his own men, and he must have known keeping me close was the only way to keep me safe. Not for my personal sake, obviously, but because my power was worth enough to warrant the effort.

Well aware I only had a short time before Achilles appeared in the doorway, ready to interrogate me some more, I hastily rifled through the dresser, searching for any kind of clothing. I didn’t care if it belonged to my captor – any barrier between my skin and his was fine by me.

Eventually I pulled on an old t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts – I had to fold the waist down a few times to stop them from falling down. Happy with the flimsy sense of security the clothes gave me, I sat on the edge of the chaise and waited for my captor to show up.

I could have fetched something to attack him with, I supposed. There was a large window in the living room – I could easily overpower him somehow and make a jump for the outside world. But we were only on the second floor; the fall would, at best, incapacitate me long enough for Achilles to track me down and drag me back.