Page 58 of Hellbound

Black Blazer had hoisted her off the ground and hurled her through the open rear passenger door of the Escalade. As soon as Marian’s butt hit the leather seat, she sprang up and charged at the barrel-chested man blocking her escape.

A dull thwack at the back of her head sent a ripple of wrong down her spine. Violet fireworks burst in front of her eyes before everything went black.

Fuck.

Everything hurt. Marian’s brain rattled around in her skull, a dull throb behind her eyes making her reticent to open them. From the top of her scalp to the tips of her toes in her duct-taped sneakers, which dangled below her while she failed to understand why she couldn’t feel her arms. By some miracle, she was still wearing her hat, though it’d been knocked askew so that the brim obscured her right eye. Polar air pierced the flimsy layer of her jacket.

When she finally found the strength to look around for answers, she had to tip her head back to see them with both eyes. Her stomach turned inside out at the sights and smells that greeted her.

A massive bovine carcass hung to her left, suspended from a hook in the ceiling. The one on her right looked the same—headless, its torso split cleanly up the middle. The coppery tang of blood filled the air, though the butchered animal appeared exsanguinated. It was hard to tell in the light. She looked up to find her hands bound above her head and dangling from a rope looped through a hook of her own.

A second, stronger smell slapped her in the face. Something so fetid and thick, she could taste it rotting in her mouth.

The sound of male voices muttering in front of her caught her attention. On the far side of the room lurked vague outlines of contraptions Marian had become familiar with while researching L.A.’s elite fetish clubs for a lifestyle piece at her first job.

Stocks. Crops hanging from a wall-mounted rack. Miscellaneous medical paraphernalia. A St. Andrew’s Cross. Nothing too shocking on its own, but none of them belonged in a meat locker.

Then there was the metal table laden with scalpels and pieces of human anatomy chilling on beds of ice. Horror flooded her veins. She knew who’d come for her, alright.

“The trash fairy awakens,” came a silvery smooth voice from behind her.

A chorus of laughter followed.

She swung in her bindings as she strained to find the source of the sound. Her shoes barely scraped the floor; she couldn’t get any purchase. The zip tie around her ankles prevented her from kicking out.

A tidal wave of revulsion slammed into her, bringing with it a surge of adrenaline.

She wanted to vomit and scream at the same time.

With a slow breath, she steadied her voice and dredged up what she hoped was convincing annoyance.

Show him your spine. What’s left of it, anyway.

“You are such a fucking cliché, Stellan. You could have at least sent men I recognized.”

The laughter dissipated as the sharp, precise click of expensive shoes on tile drew near.

Stellan Blacke, the Butcher of Bel-Air, emerged from the darkness to stand before her dressed like a high fashion Jack Frost. He wore a long, silver satin coat with a wide folded collar. Only the first button was closed, revealing a matching silver turtleneck with floral embroidery.

His snow-white hair was a stark contrast to his flawless olive skin and sea glass eyes. He wore his trademark haughty smirk and had tipped his head back so that he managed to look down his nose at her, though she hung eye level with him.

“And why would I do that?” Stellan drawled, each word dripping with disdain. “To make you more comfortable with the fact that you tried to renege on our deal? Would you have come to me willingly if I’d asked you nicely?”

Marian looked around the room. “Maybe if you’d invited me somewhere that wasn’t a meat-sex dungeon.”

Stellan put his hands behind his back as he stepped slowly around to her flank. “I’m sorry to hear your abduction wasn’t up to your standards, but you’re a slippery little whore, and I grew tired of waiting.”

Marian had an insult wrapped up in an excuse poised on the tip of her tongue, but abandoned it when the sound of soft, frantic whispering from somewhere to her rear made every fine hair on her body stand on end.

“Whatcha got back there, Stellan?” Marian asked, hating the faint quiver in her voice.

His smirk widened. The way his gaze glittered with sadistic glee, she knew he’d seen the fear she’d tried to hide. The demon relished her unease. Always had.

“I’m multitasking.” Stellan walked out of her line of sight, ratcheting up her anxiety.

“You see,” he continued, “you’re not the only one who’s fucked with me recently, but I’ve been swamped, so I had to double book.”

Marian didn’t want to know. But she had to. “Who—”