'And if he chooses me, visa-versa.'
'Correct.'
'I hardly think he'll choose me,' Dee said, wondering if this was part of the game. Another threat to frighten her and up the sexual ante. 'Xavion's been with him for years.'
'Then you'd better hope you can keep me amused, my little Scheherazade. Or like Lariat, your life will become less than easy.'
Dee tried not to be frightened — told herself it was all part of the game, that the adrenalin would arouse her more.
'Now tell me,' he said, and she heard the upholstery creak again as though he were leaning back, 'What exactly would you do if you were Lariat and had that lump of pretty pink flesh all to yourself.'
Dee took a deep breath and relaxed her body, her hand sliding down between her thighs, the fingers warming immediately as they started the slow circular stroking she liked best. 'Hmm. If I were Lariat? Let me see…'
Chapter Thirty-One
Pietre walked down the dark, stone passageway into the deepest section of his keep. At his side, the Indian maintained a respectful silence.
'Stay close to me,' Pietre reminded him. 'The woman is a viper. If you suspect that she's controlling me, kill her.'
Long Shadow acknowledged the command with a curt nod and Pietre went back to his contemplations, his eyes fixed on the ancient cobblestones beneath his boots.
He tried not to look at Long Shadow. Every time he did he imagined those hands caressing his Wendee as he'd not been able to — might never be able to now. And what if there was no other? If she'd been the only one?
Pietre's own hands rubbed against each other in their desperation to touch, but the one person he could touch had been taken beyond his control.
If Armande had damaged her…
The hands ceased their rubbing and clenched together in a battle fist as the black fury boiled up inside. Pietre struggled, but each time the emotion gripped him it was harder to control.
The night he'd returned to find Wendee gone, he'd wanted to punish everyone who'd touched her as he'd not been able to, even Long Shadow who'd rescued her from Belle's treachery. It had been a wild moment where he'd almost killed the messenger. Long Shadow must have seen his death in Pietre's eyes but the 'Brave' had been fearless in the face of it, and in that control, Pietre had found his own.
His enmity, then, had focused on its true target. Belle — killer of Xavion, accomplice in the abduction of Wendee. Traitor.
He should have left her in the backwater Louisiana whorehouse he'd bought her from — left her to a life of performing 'freak-shows'. But instead he'd trusted her and…
Pietre's teeth gritted together painfully.
The anger was strong, but with it came a poignant grief at Belle's loss. She'd been more than a business partner — she'd been his companion, and importantly, his only source of physical release.
So he hated her all over again for taking that comfort away from him.
She'd left him with nothing. No Xavion. No Belle. No Wendee. Nothing.
Long Shadow stopped outside the cell door and Pietre turned to him. 'Can you kill her? She's a witch. She broke Xavion.'
The Indian raised his security card to the lock, turned to face Pietre. 'She is the enemy. I will cut out her heart and put it in your hands if you ask it.'
Pietre nodded, seeing the fanaticism in his eyes. 'Only if you have to. She may yet be valuable to me.' Pietre trembled as he thought of what Belle could do for him. But he couldn't allow that now — couldn't trust her anymore.
'As you command.' Long Shadow inserted the card then lowered his hand to rest it over his gun. The door slid silently open.
Pietre composed his face, ignoring the stench that billowed out with the door's opening. The Indian entered the cell and Pietre stepped in behind him, brushing a hand over the light activator, flooding the small room with stark white light. The door slid shut behind them.
'Belle, my dear, you've looked better,' he remarked.
Her clothing, or what remained of it, was encrusted with food and excrement, her face filthy. Dark roots grew through hair as stiff and yellowed as the urine-soaked straw on which she sprawled.
'I hope the accommodation is to your liking,' he added. 'You always admired the medieval flavour of these cells,' and he let his gaze wander around the bare rock walls, then back to Belle who sat propped in the corner, wrists manacled.
Belle remained silent, prompting Pietre to turn to Long Shadow who was watching her intently, 'You've been observing Belle’s confinement, Long Shadow. Do you think she appreciates the tables being turned?'
The Indian shrugged.
'There you are, Belle. An unbiased opinion. Long Shadow couldn't care less. All he's interested in is finding the slowest method of killing you if you don't tell me where Armande has taken Wendee.' Pietre waited patiently but as the seconds ticked over his bland expression resettled into a frown.
Belle’s stared, her lips were slack and a vacant expression dulling her eyes. She was slipping out of his reach.
'Tell me where she is, Belle,' he said, his voice gentling as he watched the madness descend on her. 'Or would death be a kindness — '
She startled him with a short staccato burst of wheezing exhalations, then fell silent, huddled on her mound of straw like some demoniacal hen.
Pietre looked away. He'd put off his visit too long. In his fear of Belle's power over him, he'd lost any chance he might have had of extracting information from her. Still, he resisted the urge to end it.
Turning back, he asked again, 'Where is she, Belle? Tell me where Wendee is.'
They waited in silence. Then faintly he heard, 'Pietre? Is that you?' Her lips barely moved.
'Yes, Belle. It's me.'
'Is that really you?'
He watched as she straightened and pushed the matted hair out of her eyes — eyes that had suddenly grown cunning.
'My baby. My little boy,' she croaked in a hollow parody of the voice she used only with him. Her 'proof' voice. 'Has my little boy come to visit me?'
Caught off-guard, Pietre felt the instinctive tightening in his belly. He flicked a glance at Long Shadow. The Indian must not fail as Xavion had.
He addressed the creature on the straw. 'Tell me where Armande has Wendee and I might forgive you.' It was a bad lie and Pietre knew she would hear it in his voice, yet he continued with it. 'You want to come back to me, don't you, Belle?'
Her tiny fingers unbuttoned what was left of her shirt. 'I never left you, boy,' she drawled as her manacled hands parted the edges of her shirt. Pietre watched in dread fascination as she revealed a pair of surprisingly clean and perfectly shaped breasts. 'Remember these?' She cupped one, offering it to him, her filthy hand a sordid contrast to the creamy ripe flesh. 'Have a good look at them boy. I might let you touch them this time if you're bad.'
Pietre closed his eyes, swallowing down the sickness. 'Where is she, Belle? If you tell me where she — '
'I know what you need, you naughty boy.'
Pietre opened his eyes, saw Long Shadow crouched just out of Belle's reach, the barrel of his gun pointed unwaveringly at her head.
'I'll give you to Mr Black if you don't tell me, Belle,' Pietre said, his voice faint. The compulsion to close his
