Chapter Forty-Eight
Moments after hearing the footfalls, Syaoran watched Jet enter the basement. The skinny man glanced at him through a pair of round spectacles, then strolled over to the tool bench where Cassie had left her instruments of torture. "I heard my girlfriend did a number on you."
Syaoran said nothing, not sure he could manage a reply without having terror seep into his voice. Jet regarded him for a moment, then set aside whatever he'd been holding and strode over to him.
"Sorry about Cassie," he said, shrugging as if torturing someone was no worse than making a rude outburst at a party. "She likes to play with knives."
And you? he wanted to ask. Fear kept him silent, kept his eyes averted.
Jet smirked. "Y'know there's no point in holding back your screams, right? Your friends won't find you. You're not getting out of here. This room—" He gestured widely, indicating the whole basement. "—it's soundproofed. We're the only ones who can hear you scream, so why not let it out? Cassie might go easier on you then."
His lips pressed into a thin line, but still, he said nothing.
The man's smirk widened until he looked like a jack-o-lantern. "Well, since Cassie's napping, I decided to take a shift."
So he's just like her, Syaoran thought, unsurprised. His wounds started throbbing again, his body curling in on itself in anticipation of the next cut, the next burn. Jet pulled something from his pocket and examined it as if it was a fascinating artifact. To Syaoran, it looked like a nutcracker. "What's that for?" he asked warily, hoping this man would be more easily distracted by questions than Cassie had been.
Jet squeezed the metal handles. The nutcracker folded around the air, as if pinching a walnut. "Just a hobby of mine. Y'see, it's too easy to kill your victim when you make 'em bleed like Cassie does." Spindly fingers coiled around Syaoran's ankle, and he pulled back instinctively. Jet shifted, slamming his heel into Syaoran's knee.
The world went white with pain for a split second. Through the agony, Syaoran barely heard himself scream, barely felt the forceful tug as Jet laid his leg flat against the cement. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck and flowed between his shoulders.
"Much better," Jet said, still pinning his knee with his heel. Syaoran looked at his kneecap, trying to determine if it was broken or if the ligaments were merely torn. You may not even live long enough for it to matter, a part of his mind whispered.
A cold pressure around his big toe drew his attention, momentarily distracting him from the lightning bolts shooting through his knee. "What are you—"
Crack. His world lit up again, fire clawing its way up his legs as another scream ripped free of his throat. Time slowed, his mind processing the pain in excruciating detail as it snaked its way up his leg from his big toe. Broken, he knew at once, biting his lip to muffle the scream.
He tasted blood.
"Yes, much better. Screams make the whole process more entertaining. Now . . ." Jet looked up, eyes brimming with amusement. "Which toe shall we break next?"
Fai peered down the alleyway, chest tightening when he found nothing. Sighing, he glanced back at Kurogane and shook his head.
The ninja nodded, an odd expression crossing his face. It was a strange mix of concern and hopelessness. Which looked, in Fai's opinion, unnatural on a face like Kurogane's. "I don't think I've ever seen you this worried."
A pair of dark red eyes flickered to his face, then away, lacking the usual anger. "Yeah."
They kept walking. With his vampire attributes, the pace felt almost sluggish to him, easily maintainable over a long period. But as the sidewalks grew crowded with people hustling to their day jobs, the lines of fatigue on the ninja's face deepened, turning to shadowed crevices.
He's still human, Fai thought, fighting a twinge of guilt. And because he's human, he's scared. It was strange to think about. Kurogane had always seemed like an immovable object, a desert stone that remained hard and unchanging for millennia. Now, it was as if the man was cracking, being chipped away bit by bit.
"What are you staring at?" Kurogane asked. Fai blinked, then looked away, embarrassed.
"You just . . . surprise me."
The man rolled his eyes. "Idiot. I'd do the same thing if it was you or the princess missing."
Fai stared at him a moment longer, filing that information away for later. They kept walking, weaving through the thickening crowd. As they moved, a faint, high-pitched sound pierced his eardrum, a wavering screech, almost guttural in its tone. He paused, and felt Kurogane come to a halt just behind him, narrowly avoiding a collision. "What?" the ninja demanded.
Fai lifted a hand. "Quiet."
The ninja fell silent, drawing back, and Fai tapped into his vampire senses again, until his head started to pound from the assault of sensory information. He could hear every heartbeat, every footstep of the passersby, and the midmorning light blinded his remaining eye. The air currents raised the fine hairs on his arms, every breeze trailing across his skin like fingernails.
The faint screech quadrupled in volume, along with the squeak of rats in the alleyway. Fai's stomach dropped to his heels even as his heart jumped into his throat. Without a conscious command, his hand snaked out to grab Kurogane's wrist, and he started dragging the heavier man toward the source of the wail.
"What is it?"
Fai winced, Kurogane's question booming in his ears. He pulled the man deeper into the alleyway, heading toward the source of the sound. It seemed . . . muffled, somehow, the higher notes softened more than they ought to be. He pressed his ear to one of the unmarked doors, dismissed it, and moved on to the next. "I can hear him."
"Where?"
"Quiet," Fai hissed, pressing his ear against another door. The screech was louder now, unmistakable. He stepped away from the door. "He's in there. I'm sure of it."
"Move," Kurogane commanded. Fai obeyed, retreating until his back pressed against the brick wall. The red-eyed man strode over to the door, cracked his knuckles, and threw a punch. The doorframe buckled under the impact, crumpling like cheap wood despite being steel. Blood ran down Kurogane's knuckles, the scent making Fai's stomach twist with hunger despite the seriousness of the situation.
Inside, Syaoran's screams cut off.
Syaoran whimpered, his scabbed-over fingertips digging into the meat of his palms.
Jet lifted the nutcracker, examining it as if looking for flaws. The joint holding it together had shattered at the same moment his third toe had, and however brief the reprieve, at least it had given him a chance to breathe and collect himself.
"Piece of shit," Jet muttered, casting the nutcracker aside. It hit the cement with a metallic clang and skittered across the floor. "Whatever. There are better ways to torture someone."
The assurance sent a shiver through his broken body, and another whimper slipped through his control. Jet strolled over to the table where Cassie had left her tools and crouched down, pulling something from the box underneath. Syaoran watched, struggling to see around the redhead. As Jet turned, Syaoran slumped against the wall, fear making the air in his lungs turn to sand, choking him . . .
Jet jostled the jug of bleach. The liquid inside sloshed around.
Syaoran writhed, his restraints grinding against his skin, rubbing it raw. Pain lanced through his shoulder as he tried to yank himself free. It didn't matter if he broke his wrists or dislocated his shoulders—he had to get out of here.
"Don't be such a wuss." Jet unscrewed the lid. "You think you're the first person we've brought down here? It gets a lot worse than this."
"No!" He threw himself forward, hot needles piercing his numb arms. Some distant part of his mind wondered how much damage his arms had incurred, bound up like this. The rest of his mind was busy calculating his odds of escaping right now.
Fingers coiled around his throat, making him gag. With a strength that belied his scrawny exterior, Jet slammed him into the wall and tilted his head back, clamping his windpipe shut.
"Two options," Jet hissed, holding up the bottle of bleach. "I can start with your eyes, or I can pour some down your throat."
Syaoran tried to shake his head. The redhead's fingers dug deeper into his neck, hard enough to leave bruises. Not that it mattered. Not that anyone would ever see the bruises except for his captors.
"Hurry up and choose, or I'll take a hose and pump it up your—"
A crash resounded through the room, followed by a quieter impact. The hand around his throat loosened, and he jerked his head away, instinctively curling up to protect his face. His lungs seized up, dragging air through his lips, yet providing no relief. It felt like he was suffocating.
"Who the hell are you?" Jet demanded, dropping the open bottle of bleach at his feet so the clear liquid spilled across the concrete. Syaoran squirmed, trying to avoid the growing pool. The bleach poured out of the bottle, pushing the edge of the puddle further, until it soaked his pant legs. Agony shattered his injured knee as he tried to move away, and he gasped.
"Get. Away. From. Him."
Syaoran looked up, still choking, pain shredding through his body like razorblades, and saw a pair of blood-red eyes glaring at Jet.
Kurogane had come at last.