Free Last Kiss Goodnight by Gena Showalter Page B

fifth people who would fall under his coming attack. Both had yellow teeth, and the man on the right was even missing a few. Tobacco filled their mouths.
    “It’s hideous, ain’t it?” one said, and Solo realized his skin had once again taken on a crimson cast.
    At any other time, in any other situation, he would have erupted. Here, right now, he had to control his temper.
    The other spit a stream of black. “We should take pictures, you know. Prove we tangoed with a beast. Women’ll be so excited by our bravery, they’ll drop their panties and beg us to show our beasts.”
    “You ain’t never gonna tango with a creature like that.”
    “Oh, yeah? Watch me.” The speaker grabbed a few of the rocks that had been tossed at Vika and launched them at Solo.
    Some slapped against his chest, some against his legs, but each one provided a slight sting, reminding him of all the times he’d walked outside for recess, the humiliation, the anger. Humiliation and anger even now rising to the surface. And if he experienced all of this, what had the much smaller Vika experienced?
    His narrowed gaze strayed to the sleeping Mec and Cortaz. They had hurt her. They would pay.
    “I think you’re ticking it off,” the other said with a laugh.
    The word it echoed in Solo’s mind, and his nails elongated into sharp-tipped claws.
    “Calm down,” X commanded.
    “Get madder,” Dr. E retorted.
    The two men clomped off, murmuring about finding a camera. Every word was quieter than the last, until Solo could no longer discern their voices. He wanted to shake the cage until the bars popped loose. He wanted to try something, anything, but he still wasn’t at full strength, and until he was, he was too vulnerable and couldn’t afford to put his plan on the fast track.
    Shouldn’t have to wait too much longer, though. He would be stronger and ready to go by sunset, at the very least, but he would wait until everyone else was in bed. Then . . .
    Yeah. Then.
    •   •   •
    A few hours later, the captives awoke. Most sat up with a jolt. Some eased up and stretched. All muttered and complained about Vika.
    As though summoned by the complaints, she reappeared, wearing a new T-shirt and jeans. The top was pink, lacy, and the pants sparkly. She looked as though she’d just come from a nightclub after dancing for hours with the man of her dreams.
    Solo’s hands fisted, a hot surge of irritation blasting through him.
    She’d touched him, kissed him. He didn’t want her dancing with another man.
    Stupid of him, yes. Did he care? No.
    The tobacco-spitting men—who had never returned with a camera—trailed behind her, both carrying buckets and leering at her. When she stopped andfaced them, their expressions cleared. She pointed to the ground, a queen with her subjects, expecting absolute and immediate obedience.
    She got it. They placed the new buckets where she wanted and picked up the old ones. She busied herself with what was inside, but the pair remained where they were for several long moments, watching her, leering all over again now that her back was to them, elbowing each other with masculine intent.
    “I think I’ll sneak into her trailer tonight and have me some fun with her.”
    “You do, and you won’t have to worry about Matas’s magic act. He’ll straight-up murder you.”
    A shrug. “Might be worth it.”
    “ ’Course, he’ll only murder you if Jecis don’t get to you first.”
    “I could take ’em both at the same time,” the guy grumbled under his breath.
    “Fine. Go ahead, and do it. Shank the meanest thugs ever to walk the face of the earth, and I’ll sneak into her trailer while all three of you are too dead to stop me.”
    They snickered.
    Matas had been mentioned on several occasions. Who was he? And why was Vika showing no reaction to the conversation? A conversation about her possible rape? Instead, she concentrated on her task, lifting bowls from one bucket and filling them with bread and