Angel jerked hearing Clyde's awful voice. Her face flamed red as she thought of what he'd seen and how she'd acted. He'd taken something good and pleasurable and made her embarrassed and ashamed of what she'd done. She didn't think she could hate him any more than she did now.
"Come on, Doc. I ain't got all day. Get your fine ass out of that bed and put on those pretty, little red panties I see sitting over there."
Hunter started to rise, but Angel pushed him back when she heard the distinctive ratcheting sound of a nine-millimeter pistol being cocked. "Don't. He has a gun."
"But..."
"I'll be fine," she assured him, rising from her side of the cot and stepping naked over to her panties. She picked them up, put her feet into the leg holes and quickly pulled them over her body.
"Now that's a pretty site. A redhead with red fur in red panties. Floyd, he's a sucker for red. I have a feeling you and my brother are going to be getting real close."
Clyde laughed, rubbing at the bulge in the front of his pants. "Now the jeans, Missy. Pull 'em on slow. I wanna watch your boobs shake and jiggle."
She grabbed her jeans, going to sit down on the edge of a chair, but stopped when he motioned with the gun. "Oh no, I wanna watch you jump around."
"Angel?" Hunter growled, his voice harsh.
Clyde glanced and saw him sitting up, the blanket wrapped around his waist, and his eyes fixed on Clyde. There was a look in those eyes, the look of a predator spotting his prey and waiting for the right moment to pounce. It shook Clyde a little, even though he'd never been afraid of the man before. "If you don't want to eat some lead, you'll sit there and be quiet. I can't kill you, boss's orders, but I sure as hell can make you more than miserable."
"I'm fine, Hunter. Please, don't do anything." She slipped one long leg, still clad in the white socks, into one leg of the jeans before gracefully doing the same with the other. Wriggling the semi-tight fabric up her body caused her breasts to sway and she heard Clyde's sadistic giggle. She didn't need to see him to know he watched her, his eyes avidly glued to her breasts.
It was a huge relief to pull her jeans up and button and zip them. Then she stood, waiting for his next order, trying to keep a look of boredom on her face, even though she knew her skin was flushed bright red.
"Well, lookee there, she's just standing there letting me admire them wonderful tits of hers. Makes a body think she might want me to do even more." He laughed as Angel rushed to grab her shirt, wrestling her bra out of the mass of tangled fabric and putting it on quickly. Then she slid her tee shirt on, smoothing her hair out from under the collar before finding her shoes.
She refused to look at either man while she sat and tied her shoes, instead concentrating on the task at hand and trying to keep her hands from shaking too badly. When she finished, she stood, staring at her hands, waiting for Clyde to move.
"Touch her, and I'll kill you," Hunter said, catching Clyde's gaze with his. "I mean it, you ignorant bastard. If you lay one of your mangy paws on her, I'll tear it off and kill you with it."
"Then maybe I should kill you now," Clyde said, leveling the gun towards Hunter.
"No!" Angel jumped in front of Clyde, holding her hands out. "You can't kill him. Remember? The boss wants him alive."
It was a tense moment, but Clyde lowered the gun, grabbing Angel by the arm and hauling her out of the room. He slammed the door behind them before half dragging her toward the elevator. The ride up the four floors was long and quiet, Angel terrified to move. She didn't want to bring notice to herself. When they left the elevator, Clyde's strides were long forcing Angel to almost run to keep up and not be dragged down the hallway.
He pounded on the pocket doors, not waiting for the call to enter, threw them open and threw her inside. She landed sprawled on the Oriental carpet, her hair covering her face.
"What's the meaning of this?" Sebastian jumped to his feet behind the desk.
"He's awake. Has been for a while. I caught them fucking, boss. The son of a bitch was slammin' it to her like there weren't no tomorrow." Clyde's voice was rough with frustrated rage. "Can I kill him now?"
"No." Sebastian marched from behind his desk to stand over her. He reached down and held out his hand to help her up.
Angel took it, knowing she had no choice. She'd rather spit in it, but then she was sure he'd have some other nefarious way of getting her off the floor. She would take dignity over pain any day.
"Is this true, my dear? Have you been harboring this fugitive, knowing he was awake and had the information I need, the information that would send both of you home?"
He led her to the two wing-back chairs seated on the other side of his desk, closer to the fire, letting her sit in one of the red leather seats. "I can't believe you would have so little loyalty as to make such a choice."
"Believe it," she said slowly. "You had an innocent man beaten half to death for some reason only you know, and I'm supposed to feel loyal to you? Did he kill someone?
Did he, I don't know, blow up some government building or take somebody hostage? Or is this just a simple matter of him having something and you wanting it? Which is it, Sebastian?"
"He told you my name, also. I should've known better than to let you stay quartered down there with him." He sighed and then clapped his hands together. "But no matter. Clyde, get Floyd and get our other guest some of the clothes we procured for him. Then bring him here. Do not hurt him. Do you understand? He's to remain unharmed for right now."
"Oh, so now comes the torture," Angel said. Her voice rose as she felt panic set in. "Are you planning on pulling out my nails or raking hot coals over the bottom of my feet? Maybe you're going to stick needles into me. Is that it?"
Sebastian looked up from his desk, pulling out the center drawer. Angel caught a glimpse inside as he pulled out his pistol, checked the load before he slammed the magazine into place. He smiled at Angel's words, enjoying the slight flavor of her hysteria. "Yes," he said simply.
Angel moaned silently. Why did she have to open her big mouth? She flexed her fingers feeling her fingernails already experiencing twinges of pain just at the thought. Damn, she wanted to upset him, but all she did was amuse him.
He slid the pistol into his jacket pocket, frowning at the way it pulled the material to one side and ruined the line of the coat. "Sacrifices must be made," he said quietly, even though Angel heard him. He walked toward her, smiling genially like any host for a guest.
"I'd offer you coffee or the like, but I dislike vomit. I have a feeling pain would cause you to...well, I'll assume you know what I mean. Shall I tell you a tale, while we wait for your lover?" He settled himself next to her, still pulling fussily at the line of his jacket.
"I'd rather you walk out into busy traffic, Sebastian, but I doubt you'll grant me that enjoyment," she muttered angrily.
"Oh, tisk tisk, dear girl. There's no reason to take that tone, honestly. This is in no way personal. I'm sorry if you feel it is. It's a means to an end, just as my father always told me. That's him," he said, nodding to the portrait of a tall, strong looking man above the fireplace.
Angel stared at the portrait, noting the broad shoulders and the way he held them back stiffly, the erect posture and military style haircut. "I bet you disappointed him immensely," she said, a touch of humor in her voice.
"Oh, yes, very good, dear girl. Very good indeed. I did disappoint him. I was born premature, you see. It caused breathing problems and other sorts of congenital things, very nasty, that I had to endure during childhood. But father, he wasn't one for excuses or complaints. If you were given an order, you were a good soldier and did as you were told, no matter what the order entailed."
"Sounds warm and cuddly," Angel hissed sarcastically. She jerked back, and her hand rose to her cheek, as Sebastian suddenly slapped her. It was more of a warning than a hit, but she back into the chair.
"There's no need for rudeness, girl. My father always said, never lose your cool or your control under attack, and you'll always win." He cocked his head to the side, as a funny smile slowly spreading across his face. "It's true. He didn't lose his control or his cool, not even when I killed him."
"You killed your own father?" she asked, horrified.
"Oh yes, it was one of my finest days. I turned on him when he was beating me. I took the whip right out of his hand," he said, smiling at the memory. "The first slash I gave him blinded him otherwise I might not have been able to manage it the way I did."
"You beat your father to death with a whip?" she whispered, suddenly more afraid than she'd ever been before in her life.
"It was poetic justice actually. The man had been slowly whipping me to death for years." He sat forward, listening. "I do believe your lover is almost here. Please, my dear, let's keep what I've told you between us. Others might not be as understanding," he said, patting her hand in her lap. Then he rose, facing the door as a light rap sounded.
"Do come in, Aaron. Please, I've so missed our chats."
