Her Assassin's Heart - Book 2

Chapter 33

*Ferace's name has been changed to 'Ferris' as I liked that better, and at the time of my last writing, I couldn't actually remember how to spell 'Ferris' correctly. . .yeah, maybe I shouldn't've admitted that. . .but hey, in my defense, I was incredibly tired. . .if that's really a defense. I'm gonna stop talking now and let y'all try to enjoy this chapter. . .*

    The wind was sharp and cold against his face. From the rank smell infesting his nostrils, Nickolas could tell they were in a city of some sort. Cassandra's slight stirring in the cart beside him was the only way he knew she was still a live. He'd been blindfolded and jostled about in hopes that he'd have no idea where he was.

    The boys had been all too eager to show him who was boss. Every bump reminded him of another bruise or cracked rib. Still, he'd seen worse, and when he got free—for he had no intention of letting them take him back to Granger—he'd remind them what had earned him his. . .colorful reputation.

    His heated anger from before had settled into a cool, calm wrath. He'd passed the time—they'd been traveling for several hours—thinking of ways he'd kill Ferris and his men. Slowly.

    He intended to leave a message for Granger: no matter how much the man wanted his 'Night Fury' back, Nickolas wasn't going to come. Not easily. The curtain on that part of his life had closed for good, and he would rather die than go back to being Granger's lackey.

    The cart suddenly jerked to a stop, and he cracked his head on the sideboard. Drawing a deep breath, Nickolas shut out the sounds of movement as their captors argued over something nonsensical. They had entered a city of some sort, but nothing beyond that was clear.

    Fingers closed around his wrist and pulled him to the edge of the cart. He moved willingly. He needed to reserve his strength for the escape he was already calculating, and struggling would only cause them to inflict more injury upon him. He needed to be strong for Cassandra.

    "Move." A hand shoved him from behind, and he almost stumbled before a second set of hands grabbed hold of him.

    He could hear Cassandra being given similar treatment. The sound of a door opening met his ears, and then the free sounds of the city died as they moved into an inclosed space. They moved several steps forward and passed over the threshold into a room of some sort.

    The blindfold was torn from his eyes to reveal not a room but a dinghy, crammed hallway. He was pushed forward again, and he found himself ducking from the low ceiling. Once, claustrophobia would have taken rough hold of him at the feeling of the tight space, but he had overcome that vice a long time ago. He shuddered at the memory.

    The hall opened into a large, dimly lit room. Above them, the roof showed signs of wear, and he could clearly see the dusk sky beyond. Bits of old machinery and broken planks were strewn about on the floor, and Nickolas realized they must be in some abandoned factory.

    Disheveled and confused, Cassandra was shoved into the room beside him. She blinked fiercely in the dim light, looking up at him for guidance. The fear in her eyes was evident, and Nickolas realized he had no solid assurance to offer her.

    When it came right down to it, he had no idea how they were going to get out of this. In the little time they had, he couldn't come up with a plan strong enough to get them out before Granger arrived, and once Granger was here, the game would be all up. He looked away from her searching gaze, anger building within him.

    His fury wasn't directed at their captors this time, however. No, this was the level of wrath he reserved only for himself. It clawed about inside him like a caged monster, and he wished he had something upon which to expend it.