Desired by Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Novel) (3 page)

One Year Later
Wednesday, November 1
^st

Edinburgh, Scotland

Rough hands yanked Maggie off the sagging cot, startling her from a restless nap. “Get up, you lazy bitches before I knock your teeth out.” Mr. Nasty yelled.

Yawning, she pulled her boots on, the rusty bedsprings squeaking when she leaned down. “All right, I’m up. No need to shout, sheesh.” Never knowing when they’d be summoned, she and Jean tried to catch a few winks whenever possible. Sleep helped the hours pass so you might forget at least for a few brief moments the hell you were living.

The leader—Bruce, stood blocking the doorway to their room. She and Jean were taken out to spy for their cruel captors, acting like bloodhounds after a fox, pointing out people others couldn’t see. When any of the prisoners identified a super ghost as she’d come to call them, they pointed the being out, and once back at the prison wrote up a description. Bruce and his men were afraid of one called Robert or usually they referred to him as “the Pirate.” He was rumored to be a ferocious fighter, and she’d heard him mentioned numerous times.

“It’s cold out. I’d rather stay in bed.” Gloria whispered, pulling on her coat.

“No kidding. Let the super ghosts and Bruce fight their petty little wars without us.” Maggie snorted. She didn’t know why they fought; didn’t care. All she wanted was to survive to live another day and pray that one day she’d be freed. “What time is it?”

“Bit after ten,” Jean whispered.

“Come on, ladies. Quit yer yapping and get a move on,” the ugly weasel hollered.

“What’s his name again?” Jean wrinkled her nose.

“Alvin, I think,” Maggie answered sounding distracted. If Solien and Rawlins were leery of this Robert guy, he must be seriously scary. She hadn’t seen him, but Jean had encountered him a couple of times and gushed over the guy’s good looks. Maggie sent up a prayer every time she went out to never run into the guy.

Bruce and his men didn’t have the ability to see the super ghosts so whenever the prisoners were sent out to a club or pub or shop, their job was to look around for these super ghosts or Shadow Walkers as Bruce called them. And Maggie and her fellow prisoners were to tell Bruce or his men when they spotted the enemy. Then the men called Bruce who called his boss. These guys were super ghosts too but called themselves Day Walkers. Enemies to the Shadow Walkers. Locked in some kind of crazy war most of the world couldn’t see and probably wouldn’t care about if they could. The sucky thing? If a prisoner didn’t tell Bruce or his men when they spotted one of these beings and somehow Bruce found out? The prisoner was beaten or killed on the spot. Of course, Bruce and company couldn’t see their bosses any more than they could the enemy unless one of these Walkers willed it.

Kept in the dark upstairs attic, there were ten men and only three women remaining, the rest never returned from their forays into Edinburgh and surrounding areas. The only time the men and women interacted was during meals. While they ate, they whispered amongst themselves when the guards changed or weren’t paying close attention. The group talked about themselves, figuring out what commonality tied them together. They came from different backgrounds, races, and circumstances. Some kidnapped, some lured to the house by a warm meal or drink, and kept against their will. But all were survivors.

It didn’t matter what they had survived only that each and every one of them had been declared clinically dead before being resuscitated. The types of accidents were varied: smoke inhalation, drowning, car crash, knife and gunshot wounds. All the prisoners could see people no one else could. None of it made sense to Maggie. Why didn’t they
recruit
the captives instead of holding them against their will? Maggie knew some of the prisoners would have gladly worked for Bruce simply for a roof over their head, food and water. Wouldn’t it be easier? What did she know? Deciding not to worry about something she couldn’t change, Maggie finished pulling on her gloves.

“Need your eyeballs tonight, ladies.” Bruce motioned to the three of them.

Maggie, Gloria, and Jean were shoved out the door into the hallway. Guess none of the men were joining them. The women wore their clothing to bed since the nightgowns provided were little more than flimsy threadbare hospital gowns, gaping open and leaving nothing to the imagination. It was humiliating. Maybe that’s why the prisoners were all given the robes, to keep them cowed. And they quickly learned the men would watch them dress if they slept in the gossamer wrappers. Disgusting cretins.

Two men led the way while the other three brought up the rear, ensuring the women couldn’t escape as they walked down the stairs to the back hallway and tunnel. The women were split up, Maggie going with three of the men, Jean and Gloria with the other two. Bruce stood with arms crossed, watching them go through the tunnel. It led to a garage behind the house. Too bad it was padlocked and guarded at all times. Otherwise, she might have made her getaway.

Climbing into the white Hummer, Maggie thought about last time someone tried to escape this circle of hell called home. A year she’d been held here, and during that period several men and three women ran away. To no avail. Always caught and brought back to the elegant townhouse overlooking the park.

From the outside, it looked like a normal business with a discreet black sign stating “Dante Import/Export.” The neighboring businesses didn’t have a clue what went on underneath their noses, or maybe they simply didn’t care.

The memory was clear as the mirror in the hallway. Two of the men had been executed. Bruce made each captive walk by and look at the dead men. Three gunshots to the head with the eyes cut out. It was a gruesome sight she’d never forget. The other men and women were brought back alive but soon would be praying for death to take them. Her stomach heaved thinking back on their fates.

The really scary guy in charge, Solien, came had come out of nowhere, gliding to a stop in front of them. Maggie heard Bruce talking about the man. Bruce was low man on the totem pole, reporting up all the way to something way more frightening than Solien who was terrifying in his own right. Heaven help them if they encountered whoever was Solien’s head honcho. Solien looked human except for the fact he was six foot eight with black eyes, and midnight blue hair. A few months back, she’d seen him get angry with one of Bruce’s men.
Minion
was the word Solien used. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes she’d never have believed it…big black leathery wings sprouted from his back and his skin turned green.

She’d known she was losing it when a part of her brain thought the varying shades of green sliding across his body were beautiful, like the ocean or a spring meadow. Solien disappeared and appeared at will; it was freaky and disturbing on so many levels.

Maggie had watched as he took her four friends down to the basement. No one knew what was down there. Bruce said goblins, but she assumed he meant some kind of animal or said it to keep them all in line. Come on. There was no such thing as goblins. Some conspiracy nut would have uncovered it by now if it were true, right? In keeping she and her comrades cowed, no one tried to escape. The screams from the basement carried throughout the townhome. She never saw the four of them again.

When Solien came up from the basement he had blood on his shirt and pants. He’d told all of them that defying the men was defying him. After that awful night, resigned to his or her fate, no one ever attempted to slip away again.

After all she’d seen, Maggie wasn’t sure anything could faze her anymore. She was numb, detached. Focused only on living another day. No longer fantasizing of escape or freedom. Accepted her fate and made the best of it. The ability to adapt was how she’d survived on the streets all those years.

The Hummer hit a pothole pulling her away from the morbid thoughts. Almost there.
Please let me make it through tonight and live to see another day
, she prayed to whomever might be listening.

Maggie wished she didn’t know the truth…things that go bump in the night actually existed, and they sure as hell weren’t kind fairy godmothers.

A knock on the door woke Robert. Stretching, his foot encountered a warm thigh accompanied by a giggle from the blanket. Opening his eyes, he smiled at the three women in his bed. They’d had quite a day of down and dirty sex, just like he liked it.

Getting up, he glanced out the window to see the stars winking across a clear midnight blue sky. Pulling on jeans, he admired the view. Women. He adored each and every one. All shapes and sizes, and colors of the rainbow. Delightful with their quirks that made each of them unique. They were all glorious to him. Running a finger along an olive-skinned foot, he let his eye roam over the beauties. A café au lait goddess, a porcelain redhead and a saucy Mediterranean brunette lay sleeping in a pile, like puppies after an afternoon of play.

Gods he loved his life. With a last longing look at the bed, he turned from the vision of loveliness and opened the door.

“Sorry to disturb you Captain but ‘tis nightfall. I brought tea and whisky for you and the ladies.” Ian stood at attention awaiting Robert’s orders. He resisted the urge to laugh. The boy was desperately trying not to goggle at all the flesh on display. On the ship, he was sovereign over all. They were all fiercely loyal to him. A sense of pride ran through him.

“Pour me a whisky, lad, and when the ladies wake, make sure they’ve had a bite to eat before sending them on their way.”

Ian was fourteen. He’d been with Robert since he was seven. Same age as Robert when he worked his first ship. The boy had run away from abusive foster parents. Robert found him trying to steal food as it was being loaded for the next journey. Rather than sending him to the authorities, he hired him as a cabin boy. Tossing back the remains of his drink, he sauntered out the door naked and down the hallway to shower. He’d never admit it, but he took in spurned kids, pulled strings behind the scenes and provided gainful employment, either at one of his many houses, on his ship, or in another of his many ventures.

Fresh from a long, hot shower, Robert felt the pull as he stepped into the cabin. The ladies were still sleeping.

Damn, not yet. He materialized clothing, draining another glass of whisky before he was taken. He’d tried to describe it once, the sensation of someone pulling on your arm, electricity dancing through every vein before your whole being was forcibly ripped apart. Your entire essence scrambled. Sent through a meat grinder and poured out to ooze back together.

When you dematerialized by choice, it was a buzz of energy, a tingling sensation but not unpleasant. He’d guessed it was another way for the gods to make sure he knew who was in control. He wouldn’t give up the Shadow Walker life for anything on this earth, but this relive your death anniversary bullshit Thorne made them go through each year reeked worse than week old fish.

The Hummer came to a stop in Old Town outside of Velvet. Maggie had never been inside the infamous establishment. The three men who worked for Bruce were dressed to impress, at least in their minds. Maggie wrinkled her nose; they looked like aging, smarmy guys out on the hunt for a quick lay. Garbed in shiny suits, white silk shirts, gold chains, and pointed shoes, she imagined this was what it was liked to be trapped inside of a disco ball. Not to mention the cologne. She’d breathed into her sweatshirt on the ride over, trying to keep from retching at the stench. She guessed their mantra must be—bathe in and own it, baby.

The bouncer frowned as he looked over her attire. Scowling he lifted the velvet rope and motioned them to enter the exclusive club. The guys must spend stacks of cash here for the bouncer to allow her in dressed like a street urchin. The interior was dimly lit by sconces along the walls. Adequate light to find your way but not nearly enough to notice everything that was going on in the shadowy corners and at the high-backed booths. The only other light came from the backlit bottles behind the bar and the flashing lights on the dance floor.

Leaning against the dark wood, the men motioned to the bartender and ordered vodka on the rocks and a glass of white wine for her. They always let her have a drink though she was never left alone. Even a simple trip to the bathroom had one of the guys standing guard outside the door to make sure she didn’t try to run. As if. After Mr. Scary had shown them what would happen. She’d rather be breathing and miserable than dead.

Monsters. Anyone she tried to enlighten, the cops, for instance, would lock her up for a psych eval quicker than you could say goblins three times fast.

Thinking back on her old life, the events leading to her kidnapping, and her present circumstances, Maggie sighed. Since she’d been abducted she kept her head down, keeping to the shadows, not drawing any unwanted awareness her way. She did her job and existed. Survival was all that mattered.

An elbow to the side brought her back to the present.

“Oy, pay attention bitch. Drink your vino and get to work, you know the drill. Jones will be right behind ye.”