Thierry rolled with her, off the bed, onto his feet, into the wall. He kept her on him and drew back only to drive into her again, hard and fast. A picture frame fell and landed on the bed. Jema's fingernails dug into his shoulders as she shuddered. Every time he shoved into her, her hips lifted and pushed back.
He sealed his mouth over hers and fucked her there against the wall, and then down to the floor, atop the pillows that had fallen there. He lifted her only to position one hand beneath her hips and then pressed her knees up and apart, opening her so he could use the deepest strokes, kissing her when she found her pleasure again.
His own would no longer be ignored, and Thierry groaned, afraid he would drive her through the floor. Jema brought one of her legs down and pushed, trying to flip over on top of him but unable to shift his weight. He remained buried deep inside her body as he let her turn him.
As soon as he was on his back she wrenched their bodies apart, sliding down him like a wraith, ignoring his hands as she caught him in her fingers and enveloped the head of his cock in her mouth. Thierry didn't dare move, and felt her hand tighten to a fist around him as she lifted her face.
"Let me," was all she said, but that was all it took. When her breath touched him he bowed, and when her mouth sucked at his cock again he became an arrow. Through slitted eyes he saw her head move, felt the scrape of her teeth, the velvet of her tongue.
She was going to kill him with her mouth. He would die a happy man.
The pleasure that had hovered, patient and then impatient, waiting for him to be satisfied with making her come, demanding its own moment, finally broke through the steel cage of his restraint. Thierry surged between her soft lips, shaking as his seed jetted into her mouth, destroyed by the low sounds she made as she sucked him dry.
He fell back, unsure he would ever move again. He could only lift one pathetic, weak arm to hold her as she slid up to lie against his chest. Her hand moved to his mouth, and he knew what she wanted. He opened his lips, and tasted the strangeness of himself on her fingertips.
"Real," she whispered, "is better."
Chapter 19
This ex-priest, Hurley, he will know where they are keeping Keller," Falco said. He was sharpening his dagger with a stone notched by decades of daily application. "You should let them have him."
"No." Jaus already felt guilty enough about persuading Cyprien to have Thierry killed. He would not deprive Alexandra of her brother, no matter how convenient it would be for the Kyn. "Go to Hurley; see what he knows. We must find Keller."
Falco looked exasperated. "As you say, master."
Jaus looked in on Alex, who was keeping watch over Jamys as he slept. He returned the smile she gave him. "Sacher said you were having a problem with the blood machine. Should I have it replaced?"
"I think I need to take some new samples before you do that. I may have accidentally contaminated one of them." She glanced at Jamys. "Do you think Jema's mother would let me see her if I go over to Shaw House? There's some questions I need to ask her about her condition."
He saw the fine tension in her body, and knew she was deeply concerned about her brother. How like Alexandra to hide it. "Jema will be coming here tonight, for the masque. It would be better to speak to her then, when I can distract her mother."
"Yeah, that lady is better than an attack dog," she said. "We didn't bring any costumes, though."
"I can arrange that with a phone call." He measured her with a glance. "You would be a petite size five."
"Size six," she said, and sighed. "I'd make a great jumbo shrimp."
He nodded at Jamys. "Would he be all right by himself for a moment? I have a catalog in my office, and you can pick out what you like."
"The sedative should have worn off by now, but I think he's just worn out, poor kid." Alex got up. "What kind of costumes are we wearing, anyway?"
As they left the room, Jamys opened his eyes, scanned the room, and then pulled the IV line out of his arm.
"Hey, you're waking up."
John opened his eyes to find himself in another unfamiliar place. He was sitting in a plaid armchair, to which he had been bound with yards of duct tape. Discarded drive-through bags and crushed beer cans littered the floor. Two open commercial paint containers overflowed with more cans. The smell of the place was Eau de Miller Time. From the look of the narrow, windowless concrete box and the roll-down door in front of him, he was in some sort of garage or warehouse.
Pure appeared in front of him. "I was so worried you'd be burned," she told him as she pulled down his gag and held a straw to his mouth. "It's okay. It's only water."
John took a cautious sip, and then another before he moved his head away. "Where is my sister?"
"She got away with the other guys," Pure told him. "I don't think Decree wanted them."
"Why kidnap me?"
She shrugged. "He didn't say. Decree pretty much does what he wants."
As she reached to pull the gag back over his mouth, John said quickly, "I won't shout or make any noise."
"Promise?" She looked over her shoulder. "Decree went to get us something to eat. Nobody can hear you out here, but if he finds out I let you yell, he'll be mad."
"I won't yell," John promised. "I only want to talk to you."
John couldn't quite believe Pure was involved in this. To know that she would participate in a kidnapping made him wonder if he could ever trust his judgment again.
"Why did Decree kidnap me?" he asked her.
"Raze told him to; that's all I know. He wanted you here while the Bones crash this big party at midnight." Pure sat cross-legged at his feet. "You don't understand, John. Raze has been so decent to Decree. He got jobs for all the guys, and now no one has to worry about money. Me and Decree, we're gonna have enough for our place soon." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'll be able to keep my baby, see?"
"I told you to keep him gagged." Decree ducked under the roll-down door and pulled it shut behind him. He handed Pure the bags of fast food he was carrying before he came over to look at John. "I guess this ruins me being your next altar boy, huh, Father?"
He'd obviously rehearsed that, to shock John. "I'm not a priest anymore," John reminded him, trying to keep the tired defeat out of his tone. "I don't know why you did this, Brian, but if you turn me loose, I won't press charges."
"Are you kidding, man? You are my cash cow. Raze is gonna pay five grand for you." Decree smiled as Pure handed him a burrito. "You like Mexican food?"
"Who is Raze, and why would he pay five thousand dollars for me?" John asked. "I don't even have five hundred dollars to my name."
"Don't know why." Decree took a bite of the burrito and chewed. "Raze is number one. Leader of the Bones. Don't you know anything?"
"Evidently not." John tried to shift, but the duct tape was wrapped too tightly around his chest and legs. "Listen to me, Brian. What you're doing is going to get you sent to prison. If you stop now, I promise I'll do everything I can to help you."
"Good old Father John." Decree tossed the rest of the burrito into a bag and crumpled it. "You always wanted to help Chris. Talking to him and shit like you do around the Haven. Only you're a big fucking fraud. Did you talk to my old man? Ever ask him to stop kicking the shit out of me and my brother?"
"I didn't know you were being abused."
"How many bloody noses and black eyes does it take?" Decree stalked away and took a beer from a paper sack on the floor. "You keep him gagged," he told Pure. "Cops drive by to check the place at midnight; I don't want them finding him. Raze won't come for him until after we do the French dude."
"What is Raze paying you to do, Brian?" John called to him. "Why are you risking prison to do what he wants? You never seemed that stupid to me."
Decree turned around and threw the can of beer at John. It hit the side of his head, a glancing blow, splattering him with the warm liquid inside.
"You don't say shit about Raze," the boy shouted. "You don't know nothing about Raze and what he's done for us."
"Tell me," John said.
"The Bones were small-time before he came," Decree said. "Little petty shit jobs, barely enough to keep us in beer. Then Raze took over. He got rid of everybody who hassled us. He even took out some cops that were gunning for us, you know? Then he hooks us up with the mad monks. Guys thinking the world's full of vampires." Decree shook his hands beside his head, making a ghostly sound, and then he laughed.
Mad monks. The Brethren. Now things made more sense. "What do they pay you to do? Kidnap people? Beat them up? Or are you just the delivery service?"
"We do all that, but we're moving up the fee scale. We got ten thousand for dusting a gink." Decree ignored Pure's shocked cry. "Man's gotta make a living. You know what the best part is? I used to paint swastikas on people's front doors and run away. Now, thanks to Raze, I get to carve them into some gink fuck's face, and people run away from me."
A drop of beer trickled into John's eye, making it burn. "You could still pull out of this, Brian. You're better than this."
"No, man. That's what's so sad about you. You don't get that this is exactly what I am." He smiled. "And I like it."
After repeating his instructions to Pure, who was pale and silent, Decree yanked the gag back over John's mouth and left. Pure started to cry a few seconds after the roll-down door slammed shut. She dropped into a miserable huddle on the floor and sobbed into her hands.
John closed his eyes. He didn't know how much time he had left before Decree's leader—probably one of the Brethren—came for him.
"How could he?" Pure wailed. She was clutching her stomach with both hands. "What am I gonna do if they bust him for murder? I can't have this baby by myself."