Page 25 of Secret (Chicago Underground 6)
“I heard some of the guys talking,” Rico said. “The meeting is happening in the middle hangar. We have to get over there before he does something crazy.”
We turned to go around the back. That was when I saw it. A faint red light glowing from the ground, the remains of a cigarette. Which meant the guards were nearby. I opened my mouth to warn them, but before a sound emerged, a shot rang out. Rico fell to the ground. Major jumped over Jenny to cover her. Heavy hands closed around my neck.
Gleaming white teeth shone in the dark, the Cheshire cat holding a machine gun. “You’re back.”
Chapter Eleven
The dark of a windowless room enveloped me, followed by a humid stench strong enough to gag me. Mold and copper—it smelled like pain. Henri’s shoes clipped the concrete softly from behind me, incongruously civilized compared to the almost dungeon-like atmosphere…but it was a lie. This place suited him more than the well-guarded penthouse where he conducted business. It was how he saw the world, darkness and death inescapable.
An elbow rammed into my back, and I fell to the floor, landing in a thin film of grimy water. From the floor, I heard the drip-drip from somewhere else in the room. Slowly my senses sharpened, revealing a counterpoint—low, harsh breathing. Labored breathing.
My voice wavered. “Luke?”
“Don’t worry.” Henri’s voice came from beside my ear as he bent to speak to me. “I punished him for taking you without payment. I know you were very concerned about that.”
“Luke.” I shuddered, feeling bone-deep revulsion for the breath on my ear, mourning whatever unseen pain had been inflicted. This was my fault, not his. My pain, and my body craved it with a kind of gnawing hunger—anything but have him suffer. I couldn’t stand it.
I had to.
Summoning my strength, I stood. In the center of the room, I could make out a shadow. A chair. A man, slumped over.
He didn’t register my approach. He was not conscious. At least, his eyes looked closed, but they might have been too puffy to see. He might have heard me call his name in horror and pain, but for the blackened blood dripping into his ears. He must have felt me when his head jerked away from my hand—though it might have been an unconscious move, like the leaves that fold at the touch of a finger.
“Oh God,” I whispered. “What did they do to you?”
Hurt him, beat him, tortured him. My mind didn’t want to accept it. Find another answer, one that wouldn’t leave Luke bleeding.
Blood leaked from the corner of his eye, dried into a crusted tear. His face, his head was a mass of blue and black and purple, swollen and misshapen and beautiful because I could still hear the rasping breath from his bloodied lips. I could still see the beat of a green vein at an undisturbed patch of skin at the hollow of his neck. I touched my fingertip to that spot. He was warm and smooth there, where life and hope still beat.
I heard the steady clop-clop of Henri’s shoes as he came near. I shut my eyes, willing myself to remain still, remain focused, but how could I focus in the face of my worst fears? Luke hurt and Henri with nothing to lose—I didn’t know which one was more terrifying. Where did I go when both dreams and waking held nightmares?
He touched a hand to the back of my neck, the soft pressure almost reassuring. “If you had only listened,” he said with what sounded like regret. “I had such hopes for you. After I’m gone, the two of you could have ruled.”
The force of my denial shook my body. I knew he could feel it, so I didn’t bother to hide the disgust in my voice. “Never. He never would have done what you do.”
After a pause, he laughed. “I didn’t mean Luke.” Before I could ask who he meant, he continued in a low taunt. “Though his hands are not as clean as you think.”
“Lies,” I spat.
“Come now. We may not always agree, but have you ever known me to lie outright?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” He chuckled. “But in this case, I wouldn’t. The truth is far too glorious on its own. Didn’t you ever wonder why Luke cared so much about the plight of the working girl?”
I had wondered, but it was only because Luke was so good—someone like Henri couldn’t possibly understand motives so pure. Someone like me.
“Didn’t ever wonder how he knew so much about the life? I know you did. It was part of what drew you to him.”
I hated that he knew that. I had sacrificed almost everything for the shields I wore. Only a handful of people could see through them. Luke was one of them, Henri another. They were opposite sides of the coin…weren’t they?
“I don’t believe anything you say,” I whispered, though it sounded like a weak defense even to my ears. I was so starved for anything about Luke, for something true and deep. His shields were as fortified as my own, but one thing could always pierce them. Our pasts, our history. The turning point at which we first realized we needed a shield at all, when the world had attacked.
“He was like you. A prostitute. Only worse, I think. You have to spread your legs. It is the way of a woman, for all of time, yes? A man can bear much more phy
sical pain than a woman, but far less humiliation. To suck another man’s dick for twenty dollars in an alley. To bend over. He ceases to be a man.”
No, it couldn’t be. He would have told me. He might have kept it from me, but I would have been able to tell. It explained so much. I could always feel that shame leaking from their heavily powdered pores, wafting on each nervous breath.
