Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Read online

  We waited. The guy didn't come back. The wound on my arm itched. I scratched at it. Jason scolded me about messing up my bandage. We waited some more.

  "I guess that didn't work," I said finally.

  "Maybe," said Jason, "we didn't do it right. Maybe we should try again."

  "You just want to kiss me again."

  "I'm that transparent, huh?" he grinned. "Wish again," he said and kissed me. We kissed for a long time. Jason couldn't really touch me because of the fact his hands were in shackles, but he kept whispering to me to get closer. Eventually, I ended up straddling him, our bodies pressed tight against each other. I was running my hands over the stubble on his head, which actually felt really cool. I was getting more and more used to it.

  Of course, that was when the door opened.

  And I wasn't nearly close enough to trip him. The sound startled me, and I remembered that was what I was supposed to do. So I leapt to my feet and lunged for the guy. Not only didn't he trip, he caught me and drove me up against the wall, kicking the door closed behind him. He pinned me, his hand around my neck.

  "Yes," he said. "You're definitely making things interesting."

  The man was strong. He lifted me off the ground, pushing me up the wall. My hands went to my throat instinctively, prying at his fingers, trying to keep him from choking me. The man just laughed.

  I couldn't breathe! I couldn't count the amount of times people had tried to strangle me in the past year. Really. Couldn't this guy come up with something original? And considering he was trying to strangle me, I was pretty sure that meant our little kissing-wishing maneuver hadn't worked.

  I tried kicking at the man. That only made him laugh more. I looked around the room frantically. Jason was making frantic gestures to look to my right. It was hard to move my head, considering I was being strangled, but I managed to twist it a little.

  The guns!

  The man had lifted me up higher. I should be able to reach the guns, which were hanging below the whips and chains to my right. I reached out, my hand scrabbling against the wall. I knocked one of the guns off the wall, and it clattered against the floor.

  Damn it!

  The world was going white around the edges, and the man was grabbing at me, trying to move my arm down. I groped for a hold on something—anything—over there.

  My fingers closed around a chain of some kind. I yanked at it with all my strength, and it came free. It was heavy, and I had very little control over it as I swung it back toward the man.

  As it swung around, I was able to see what it was I'd grabbed. It was a ball and chain, with a very heavy iron ball at its end. The ball swung wide and clobbered the man in the back. He buckled from the force of it, letting out a growl, and dropped me.

  I hit the ground hard, and the ball had bounced against the man and was swinging back around. I dropped it, rolling out of the way, and crawled to the dropped gun. The metal ball clattered against the floor. Gun in hands, I rolled over onto my back, aiming in the general direction of the man and flipping off the safety.

  My arms weren't steady as I pointed the gun at him. He was lumbering forward, the expression on his face one of pure rage. I was still trying to get oxygen back into my lungs, but I managed to say, "Keys," to him.

  He was coming for me.

  "Stop," I gasped.

  He grabbed at the gun, like he was going to wrench it out of my hand. So I pulled the trigger. He was already putting pressure on the barrel of the gun, so the shot went wide, but it caught him in the opposite shoulder. He let go of the gun and cried out.

  I got to my feet, still breathing hard. "Give me the keys, so I can get Jason out," I said.

  I was waving the gun in his face, and he was clutching his bleeding shoulder, but he still hesitated. Finally, he dug a set of old keys on an iron ring out of his pocket and flung them on the floor. I bent down to pick them up, keeping my eyes and the gun trained on him.

  Holding the keys, I stood up. "Stay where you are," I said to him, backing away. When I reached Jason, I handed him the keys. I didn't watch him, just listened to the sounds of metal scraping metal. Instead, I watched the man, who was staying put, still clutching his bleeding shoulder and looking royally pissed.

  "Azazel," said Jason. "I can't get the right one off my hand."

  I only looked down for a minute. Jason had freed his legs and his left hand, but his right hand was still shackled. I was about to hand Jason the gun, so that he could cover the man while I unlocked his shackle, but in that short period of time, the man had made his move.

  He tackled me, knocking the gun out of my hand. It skittered across the floor, far out of my reach. I was underneath him, the full weight of his body pressing down on me. He pinned my hands down above my head with one arm—the one with a bleeding shoulder, if you could believe it. He pulled back his other fist. He was going to hit me! I cringed.

  And Jason dove into the man, knocking him off me.

  I pulled myself out of the way. Jason and the man were wrestling on the ground. Jason was on top of the man, his hands around the man's neck, squeezing.

  The man entwined his legs with Jason's and forced them over so that he was pinning Jason. He punched Jason several times in the face.

  Wait. This looked familiar. I'd seen Jason make that move before. Back in Bramford. At the Nelson farm party.

  Jason reached up and pushed several fingers into the wound on the man's shoulder. The man cried out, thrusting Jason's hand out of the wound. Jason took the opportunity to punch the man squarely on the chin. The man's head flew to the side. Recovering, the man drove his fist into Jason's nose. Jason started bleeding.

  Shit.

  Maybe I should stop sitting here watching this like a damsel in distress and find the damned gun.

  I caught sight of it and ran to pick it up. The man was sitting up, punching Jason again and again. There wasn't any chance I'd hit Jason instead of the man. So I took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  No! Out of bullets? I stared at the gun. We'd stolen it from the Sons when they were shooting up the prom. Jason had told me the name of these kinds of guns once, but I couldn't remember. Still, it seemed to me that these were the kinds that held about thirty bullets. But who knew how many times the gun had been fired before I picked it up on the floor of the prom? Jason and I needed more ammunition.

  I looked from the gun to Jason and the man. The other gun was on the other side of the room, still hanging on the wall. I couldn't get to it, could I? Maybe I should try. Maybe I could grab the ball and chain and throw it up there. Maybe it could knock off the gun.

  Jason's head thudded against the floor. His face was broken and bleeding. He groaned.

  I ran for the gun. Halfway across the floor, I heard the man howl. I stopped and turned to look. He was lying on his back. Jason was standing over him, kicking him repeatedly in the groin.

  "Get the chains," Jason called to me.

  At first I thought he meant the ball and chain over by the door. But then I realized he meant the chains in the middle of the room. He wanted to chain up the man. I sprinted to Jason and the man, stopping to grab one of the shackles. I dragged it to the man, clamping one around his wrist. It locked when I snapped it closed.

  "Wait," yelled the man.

  Was he crazy? I ran to get another shackle.

  "I don't think you're who I thought you were," said the man.

  I yanked the shackle across the floor, reaching for his hand.

  "You're Jason, aren't you?" the man said to Jason.

  Jason held up his hand for me to stop. I paused, but I wasn't really sure why. So the guy had mistaken Jason's identity. Big freaking deal. Like that made any difference. He'd chained us up, nearly strangled me, and beaten Jason's face mangled and bloody. We should definitely restrain him, no matter what he was saying.

  Jason folded his arms over his chest. "Who'd you think I was?" he asked.

  "Michael Jude," said the man.
"He's your brother, right? I had a picture. You two look an awful lot alike."

  Okay. Intriguing and all. I gestured with the shackle at Jason. "Who cares?" I said.

  The man twisted to look at me. "I don't mean you any harm," he said. "I was expecting the other one. Not you." The man's face was pretty messed up too. Jason had held his own. He held out his hand to Jason, the one that wasn't shackled. "Cornelius Agricola," he said.

  Jason just stood there for a second. Then he moved forward and shook the man's hand.

  "You're amazing," said Agricola. "It's been over twenty years since a man's bested me in a fight." He grinned, and it looked horrible because there was blood in his mouth. "I am getting a little older," he said. "But you were well trained. And I consecrated you to both Mars and Mithras myself. I'm in awe."

  Jason shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't have beaten you if I hadn't gone for the groin. Fought dirty."

  "No such thing," said Agricola, grinning even wider. "How about letting me out of this shackle?"

  "No freaking way," I said.

  "Azazel," said Jason.

  "You two were just beating the living crap out of each other, and now you're shaking hands and complimenting each other?" I demanded. "This guy is dangerous. We leave him chained up."

  "Your young woman is smart," said Agricola. "Listen, I offer you my word. I swear to you on my faith in the great power of the bull and its purifying blood. I will not harm you."

  "Screw your word," I said.

  "Azazel, I believe him," said Jason. "Besides, we did come here to talk to him, didn't we?"

  I couldn't believe this. Maybe it was some kind of ridiculous male code or something. Guys could just punch each other and be friends right after. Who knew why? It was weird and disturbing and stupid. But we did want to talk to Cornelius Agricola. And I supposed what he said kind of made sense. Maybe.

  "Why'd you think Jude was coming?" I asked.

  "Jason's father told me he probably would. Edgar said Jude had taken off after stealing a journal that mentioned me and that the boy would be following the journal through Europe. Edgar wanted the boy contained and the journal returned to him."

  So that was what Jude had been doing at the SolSolisSchool. Retracing Michaela's steps. God. He hadn't been trying to kill us after all. Had he? We'd never know.

  "So you're in touch with Edgar Weem," said Jason. "And doing him favors?"

  "Ted and I are old friends," said Agricola. "I used to train his Brothers in hand-to-hand combat. I did that for years."

  "Well," said Jason. "Last I checked, Edgar Weem wanted me dead, so I don't think I’m actually going to let you go."

  Thank you, Jason. At least he was being slightly reasonable.

  "Dead?" Agricola laughed as if that were ridiculous. "Jason, you're his pride and joy. He doesn't want you dead."

  I stood by Jason. We both folded our arms over our chests.

  "All right," said Agricola. "Perhaps he wanted you to think that. Ted always had a tendency to make things more complicated than they needed to be. I told him if he really wanted to destroy the Sons to just set a bomb, but no, no, no. He was convinced about all of this Rising Sun business and wanted to make you to do it for him."

  Jason and I exchanged a look. "Destroy the Sons?" said Jason. "I thought I was supposed to unite the world under a global government."

  "Let me out of my shackle, and I'll tell you all about it," said Agricola. "And we can all get cleaned up. Maybe have some food?"

  Jason looked at me questioningly.

  "I promise I won't call Ted," said Agricola. "I swear."

  I was hungry.

  * * *

  About an hour later, we were sitting at the table in Agricola's dining room. The old woman from the door was bustling about in the kitchen. She was Agricola's mother apparently. She'd already set out several plates of food. First course stuff. Antipasti. There were slices of gorgonzola and mozzarella, a plate of prosciutto and salami, a bowl of olives, some roasted red peppers, and a basket of bread. I could probably make a meal out of this, but Agricola assured us there was more coming. Much more.

  They really did know how to feed you in Italy. Agricola's mother came into the dining room, carrying a wine decanter. She sat it down on the table and sat down with us. "Mangi. Mangi," she said.

  "Eat," translated Agricola. He reached for a plate and dipped himself some roasted red peppers.

  While we filled our plates with appetizers, Agricola and his mother chatted in Italian. Jason and I ate quietly. Thus far, everything seemed okay. Agricola was being very hospitable. He'd allowed Jason and I to shower and had his mother prepare this massive feast for us. I wasn't sure if I trusted him or not, but the food was really, really good. Still, I was curious. What did Agricola know about Weem? Why had he said that Weem wanted to destroy the Sons? It didn't make sense. Up until a few months ago, Weem had been very high up in the Council, practically the head of the Sons. If he wanted to destroy them, why had he worked for them for so long? I wanted to ask Agricola about it, but I wasn't sure how. Besides, he and his mother were still talking.

  Eventually, his mother went out of the room to bring out the first course. Agricola told us that he'd been explaining to her who we were and that she would be dining in the kitchen so that we could talk.

  "She doesn't have to do that," I said. This woman was preparing our food. It didn't seem right that she also had to eat in the kitchen.

  "It's not a problem for her," said Agricola.

  She brought in a several bowls and a large dish of pasta. Linguine with onions and tomato sauce. We served our-selves portions of pasta and Agricola's mother left the room.

  "So," said Agricola, "I must admit, I'm curious. How did you happen to get this instead of your brother?" He held up the diary.

  "Can we have that back?" I said.

  Agricola hesitated, then slid it across the table to me. "I was to give it to Ted," he said, "but I'll give it back to you as a gesture of good faith."

  "Jude's dead," Jason said shortly, digging into his pasta.

  Agricola raised his eyebrows. "Ted will be saddened," he said. "He said that the younger boy was unruly, however."

  "I don't think Edgar Weem is going to care," I said.

  "You don't know him," said Agricola. "I'm sure he's appeared cold and aloof to you, but he's not a bad man. He has his weaknesses, but so do we all. I know that he is quite proud of you, Jason."

  "Yeah," said Jason. "Well, see that's what I don't get. Because he had one of the Brothers watching me this winter, waiting to see if I got too violent. According to that guy, Edgar Weem said that when he made me he 'created a monster.' And that if I screwed up too much, he'd have me killed."

  Agricola shrugged. "Ted always wanted you to be violent," he said. "Not in an undisciplined manner, of course, but he created you to be a deadly warrior. And it seems he succeeded." Agricola smiled. "I can't say enough how impressed I am by your abilities. Perhaps he only wanted you watched because he wanted to keep tabs on your progress. I'm certain he never intended to have you killed. He's your father, after all."

  "I don't have a father," Jason muttered.

  "I'm sure he'd approve of that sentiment, as well," said Agricola. "But I'm afraid I still don't understand. You took this journal from your brother. Killed him—"

  "We didn't kill him," I interrupted. "Someone else did."

  "I see," said Agricola. "But I don't know what this journal is. Ted wouldn't explain. He said that if I found it, I'd probably read it, and that he couldn't stop me. But he wouldn't go any further."

  "It's Michaela Weem's diary," said Jason.

  It was occurring to me that Agricola was asking the questions and not the other way around. Was he pumping us for information? When he had what he wanted, would he just lock us back up again? Maybe that was why he'd had no problem giving back the diary.

  "Who?" said Agricola.

  Jason looked surprised. "She was here with Edgar Weem. Eighteen years ago
."

  Agricola still looked blank.

  "My mother," Jason said finally, but he didn't sound like he liked saying the words.

  "Ah! Yes. She was a pretty girl. You do take after her quite a bit. I don't know if I ever knew her name."

  Really? "In the diary, she says that you watched her and Edgar have sex. And you didn't bother to find out her name?" I asked.

  Agricola turned to me. "You are quite a girl, aren't you?" he said. "You handle a gun well. And Jason, you do rely on her quite a bit, don't you?"