Free Provoked by Rebecca Zanetti

now, he was late for a golf game with his brother Kane. He and Kane played golf once a week, well, approximately. Time had ceased to be linear during Jase’s captivity, but he was fairly sure today was golf day. So he shut his eyes, resting his head against a smooth area and sending healing cells to the kidneys his captors had beaten with metal poles earlier.
    The image took longer than usual to fill his brain. Evening out his breathing, he dug deeper.
    Sun shone down through pretty pine trees to glint off the grass, which was a lovely turquoise. Or should the fairways be green? His memory failed him. The scent of freshly cut grass infused his senses, and he inhaled deeply.
    Kane strode out of the trees, two golf bags over his shoulders. He dropped one in front of Jase. “You’re still visualizing. Nice job.”
    Yeah. Their oldest brother had taught them necessary skills for dealing with captivity and torture. Every time Jase played an imaginary game of golf, he won a small victory over the demons. Those victories kept him from going completely mad. At least, they had for some time. “I’m trying. I kicked Dage’s ass in a boxing match yesterday.” Or had it been last week?
    “Now I know you’re imagining things,” Kane said with a smile on his angular face. “We’re getting closer to finding you.”
    “No, you’re not.” It seemed shitty his imagination was fucking with him. “The real Kane wouldn’t lie to me. I need the real Kane to show up.” Of course, Jase was arguing with his own brain.
    A tapping against metal jerked Jase from the daydream. Fury filled him. They’d interrupted his golf game. He shoved to his feet. “Bastards,” he muttered to the morphing face in the rock.
    Needles instantly ripped into his brain. The pain shot neurons into life and he gasped, dropping to one knee. The sharp stabs of pain cascaded down his spine to his tailbone. “Now that’s new,” he hissed.
    The rock face nodded.
    The door slid open.
    He lifted his head, and his breath caught in his throat. “Female.”
    “Yes.” The demon wrapped a chilled hand around his chin, turning his face. Her mental attack faded.
    Jase shrugged away, stumbling to stand tall, at least a foot taller than the woman. Female demons were notoriously tiny. Blanking his expression, he stared down.
    Black eyes, white hair, smoother than possible pale skin marked her as a demon. “I’m Willa.”
    “I don’t need your name.”
    Her smile revealed even white teeth. “Oh, you might change your mind about that.” She retreated, and two demon guards moved to grab his arms and haul him from the cell.
    He rolled his eyes. At least, he thought he rolled his eyes. Months ago he’d lost some muscle function in his face. “Field trip?”
    Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as she threw back her head and laughed. Throaty, hoarse, the chuckle confirmed her lineage as a purebred. Only pure demons had the odd configuration of vocal cords that created such hoarseness. Unfortunately, on the female, the tenor was almost sexy. She led the way through the underground labyrinth dressed in a tight blue sheath that showed off a toned butt.
    “I bet I could bounce a shilling off your ass,” Jase muttered.
    The guards tightened their hold on his arms. The woman laughed again.
    Shit. He’d said that out loud.
    They reached a fork in the tunnel, and Jase braced himself for the right turn toward the room he’d dubbed “the torture cell.” The demons had used both physical and mental torture in the rock-covered room, usually at the same time. In fact, the red stains on the walls were from his blood.
    Sometimes he spent hours counting the different colors of red in the old blood versus the new, just to keep his mind on anything but the pain. Oddly enough, the rock faces never ventured into the torture cell with him.
    They probably figured they’d never make it out.
    The woman turned the opposite direction.
    Eying the two huge guards dragging him along,