Page 35 of Bond of Passion

“Wake up, asshole.”

Reality kicked in. Hard. Shit.

He was at a torture party, and he was the guest of honor.

As that realization fully computed, terror seized his insides, choking off his air.

Open your eyes. Open your fucking eyes! Don’t give them a fucking inch. Somehow, he dragged his eyelids up, hating this déjà vu crap. How many times had this been repeated? He’d stopped counting at six.

Wait, this wasn’t déjà vu. It was déjà ven. What was it the spicy nurse had said that meant? To take revenge over and over? He nearly laughed at that. A hysterical, deranged laugh, but that was all he could dredge up right now.

A big male stepped in front of him.

Gorm.

Tavin thought he’d seen him in the crowd of jackasses watching the entertainment, but now he knew for certain that the male standing in front of him was the Draegor demon he’d shoved in front of a long, black train seven years ago.

So far, most of his torturers had found creative ways to make his pain relate to the manner in which they’d died. Fire, evisceration, beheading. Obviously, Tavin hadn’t been beheaded, but Mako, the former assassin who had lost his head at the end of Tavin’s blade twelve years ago, had made a circular cut around Tavin’s neck. And then he’d kept going until he was able to peel his skin off as if he’d gone through a vegetable spiralizer.

“This is what you get for not dying in the hospital,” he’d said. “I wasted a bone bomb on you.”

Apparently, he’d been pissed that Tavin had avoided death, so he’d signed up for the Dar’grut.

Good times.

And then there was that fallen angel fucker who kept healing him, just so he could be tortured again. But each time Tavin woke up, he felt less healed. Everything hurt more. And he was tired. So fucking tired.

If he were lucky, they’d kill him soon. Unfortunately, Tavin was really short on luck lately.

Short on luck and options. He’d tried to escape, but he was shackled, and not with just any old shackles. Nope. They’d strung him up with the Bracken Cuffs, and all his abilities were useless. Everything from his Seminus gifts to heal or kill, to his innate magical abilities passed down from his Fury mother.

Not that the maternal abilities would help much. In the best of times, he was limited to low-level defensive spells and incantations, but they came in handy now and then.

The ability he most missed was the fun eye-popping thing he did, which left his opponents blind, disoriented, and writhing in agony.

It was messy, but it would be worth the hours of cleanup to turn every one of these fuckers into optic popcorn.

Gorm bent down so they were nose to nose. This guy’s black peepers would explode like plums under a boot.

“Remember me?”

Tavin pretended to study his face. Finally, he feigned recognition. “Oh, yeah. Hey, Amtrak. It’s been a while.”

The room exploded in laughter, and the guy’s face went crimson. “You think you’re funny. Let’s see you come up with a joke about this.”

Dude jerked his arm upward, and pain blasted through Tavin’s chest. He clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. It was way too early in Gorm’s session for that.

But then he looked down and saw a hook piercing his chest just below his rib cage, its point exiting between his second and third rib. As his brain caught up with the pain, he was yanked out of his chair by the hook and hung from the rafters in his own ceiling. The weight of his body was too much for his ribs, and he heard the crack and rip of bone and flesh as agony tore through him.

This time, he did scream. Over and over until his eyes went blurry and blood poured down his raw throat. Until every breath was like breathing underwater. As he hung there, wondering why he hadn’t passed out from shock, he saw the spectators—their smiles and satisfaction.

Except…there was a female in the back he hadn’t seen before. But somehow, she was familiar. He blinked through the pain, over and over until his vision cleared a little.

What the—?

Deja?

He blinked more. Yes, it was her. She was watching everything. Her expression wasn’t one of pleasure, though. It was…shock? Horror?

His sluggish brain searched for an explanation. She must have come this morning with his injection. Was she in danger? Maybe pretending to go along with this? Maybe she’d called for help.

Desperately, his heart drumming with anticipation, he scanned the room for others from the hospital. Shade, maybe. Or Wraith. Probably Luc and Con, too. Between the four of them, they could take out everyone here.

Except the fallen angel. But surely, they had a plan for that guy too.

More agony rained down on him, but for the first time since this had all started—what? A million years ago?—he had hope. Rescue was here, and all these fucks would pay with their lives.

Again.

Déjà. Fucking. Ven.