The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,159

an option.

“You’re going to have to—here, will you allow me to touch you?”

The male nodded mutely, and braced himself for the contact. With quick work, Assail lifted him up—

Fates, he weighed not a thing.

The chains rattled as they moved over the floor—likewise, the male’s teeth chattered as he moaned, there being some obvious soreness.

When they were as far away as possible, Assail put the slave down and stepped in front, shielding the male with his body. Then he took aim and—

The bullet didn’t make a sound as it was discharged, but it pinged around the cell, hitting rock faces until it buried itself somewhere far from its intended target. Assail took a moment to see if he’d been hit. Then he checked on the slave.

“You all right?” When he got a nod, he went over to inspect the ring. “Close, but not quite there, damn it.”

His aim had been good, but the metal was stout. He daren’t take another shot, however.

Grasping onto the thing, he moved the injury he’d imparted upon the metal to the bolt and put all his weight and strength into the pull. Grunting, straining, he was curiously desperate as he sought to break the hold.

After much struggle, there was a high-pitched whine, as if the metal were cursing him, and then he stumbled back, the ring in his hands, his loafers slipping out from under him.

The landing hurt like a bitch, but he did not care. He was on his feet and back at the male a split second later.

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he wished he’d thought to take a proper coat with him, but as he’d just been dematerializing over, he’d assumed there would be no need for more appropriate cold-weather wear.

“Let us put this upon you.”

That proved better in theory than reality, the chains not lending themselves to sleeves or lapels. In the end, he put the thing back on just so he did not leave it behind.

Wrapping the chains around his own neck—twice on account of their length—he picked up the male and managed to hold him up with only one arm. Then he proceeded forward to the door.

The slave was the one who opened the way out for them both.

Which enabled Assail to keep his gun up.

He left the light on. Soon enough the household would realize the slave was gone, and he didn’t want to waste time futzing around with shutting things back up.

The far worse outcome would be to find that the meeting with Saxton was over, and Throe and the mistress of the house were looking for him.

Past the sex dungeon. Up the stairs.

The slave reached for the door handle again.

“Slowly,” Assail said between breaths. “Let me listen.”

No sounds. At the nod, the male opened the way fully and Assail broke through at a fast walk, his heart thundering, his legs curiously numb even as they functioned appropriately.

Quickly, quickly, fleet of foot and keen of ear, he raced through the various pantries and ante-rooms until he came up to the foyer. Pausing before he stepped out into the space, he prayed to the Virgin Scribe, the Fates, destiny, fucking anything, that the vast open area would not just be empty, but remain so as he made a mad dash to the front door.

After that? He would have to run far enough to find some safety and call his cousins. Then the Brotherhood.

Blood slavery had been outlawed by the King—so there might well be a legal way of seizing this living, breathing chattel who should never have been property. But Assail wasn’t leaving the male behind just so that he could show up with a bunch of Brothers, head down to the basement, and find out that Naasha had disappeared the slave into a grave because something had tipped her off.

Just let there be a way out of this house, he thought. Please …

“Through the front door,” he whispered. “We’re going right out the front door. You ready? Try to hang on to me.”

The male nodded over and over again and tightened his hold a fraction.

“Here we go.”

Assail broke out into the space, moving fast, the chains clanking, his cargo slipping, all that dirty, damp hair slapping—

He had to stop dead not even halfway to their goal.

FIFTY-FOUR

“Please,” Bitty said. “Please tell me how you met?”

Mary glanced at Rhage and wondered which one of them was going to take a stab at it. When he nodded at her with a smile, she shrugged and rubbed his hand.

“Okay, so,” she