The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,100
his head.
“Nooo!” I screamed, backing up, “Let him go! I’ll go with you if you leave him alone!”
I threw the lamp at the man advancing on me and he laughed as it bounced off him, crashed to the floor and shattered. My arm was grabbed, and the last thing I saw was Cruz being forced to his knees while his hands were being cuffed together behind his back.
When the hood covered my head everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE
CONSPIRACY
I struggled to breathe, and to beat back the panic. I was half dragged, half carried, down the stairs and thrown into the back seat of a car, forced to kneel with my head pushed down.
“Cruz! Cruz?” I screamed, with no response.
“Shut up,” a man’s menacing voice growled in my ear, “Or we’ll hurt the boy.”
Something in his tone made me believe him, and I went silent, swaying back and forth as the car sped away. I could feel every bump in the road through my knees on the floor, my mind racing as I tried to calm my ragged breath. I was going to need my wits about me this time. If Olivia was really behind this, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes that Peter had.
Why were they doing this? They had managed to trick me into doing something for them once. Olivia would know better than anyone that they couldn’t force me to use my muse powers again. Fool me once, shame on you, I thought; their tricks would never work on me a second time.
I should have thought to call Boris sooner, or stayed away from the studio. They must have been watching me for a while. And Cruz… poor Cruz! I had to find a way to make them let him go. If they wanted something from me I could at least negotiate for his freedom.
My hands were cuffed behind my back, and I felt for my ring, relieved to find that it was still on. It was a symbol of Ethan’s love; I twirled the stone around to cup it in my hand protectively. Thinking about him brought tears to my eyes, and I blinked them back with gritted teeth. This was no time for fear, sorrow or self-pity. Now was the time for cold blooded, clear headed thinking.
When the car came to a stop I could hear muffled voices, and I strained to listen. I was pulled to my feet and made to walk a short distance, my arms taken on either side. When we came to a sudden stop I felt an elevator’s lurch, and I was pretty sure I knew where I was. The hood was pulled from my head, and I stood blinking, taking a deep breath of cool air with relief.
There was a squat man with beady eyes on my left side, his fingers digging into my upper arm. A tall, lean man had control of my right side. His eyes glinted cold and cruel from a pockmarked face, and narrowed when they met mine. Both men were very different from the two guards I’d dealt with before.
They did not fear me in the slightest.
“Where’s Cruz?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Shut up,” the shorter one said.
The elevator door opened to reveal a familiar wood paneled foyer. We entered into the enormous great room, splendidly decorated with large, modern paintings and opulent furniture. The last time I’d been in this room it had been fully dark outside, and I hadn’t been able to see out the large bank of windows on the ocean side of the house. I paused for a moment to look out at the spectacular view that stretched from the wooded cliffs below, down the coastline and out across the water. The ocean looked like freedom itself, and I recognized the point break that I’d surfed with Brad just a few hours ago.
I was jerked away from the window and forced through an arched entrance into the library, where I was led to a chair and pushed to sit down. My wrists were taken, and I could hear a ratcheting sound as the handcuffs were removed from my left hand, my right wrist yanked away and attached to the arm of the chair. The first thing I noticed was the shining suit of medieval armor, and I looked on the other side of the mahogany mantel to see its mate. I sprang to my feet to face the door.
“Sit down,” the stocky man commanded, “Or I’ll sit you down.”