Love in the Land of Fire Brochu, Rebecca (books to read for 13 year olds txt) 📖

Frisch is on the other side of the partition, scalpel in hand, wild-eyed and hair in disarray with blood streaking his face as he gazes at Josiah through the glass.

He rips his eyes away from the other dominant and it is Rafe who truly holds his gaze, Rafe who’s strapped to an inverted table, lines of blood running down his back. Josiah levels his pistol, takes aim and fires a round into the glass, cursing low in his throat when it doesn’t penetrate. Rafe jerks on the table and Josiah knows that the intercom works both ways, knows that Rafe will be able to hear him so he starts talking, tries to let him know that he’s there and that it’ll all be over soon.

“Let him go, Frisch. Just let him go now and you can walk away from this alive. Just give him up and no one else has to die.” He does his level best to keep his voice low and soothing, to keep the rage from spilling over. He wants Frisch’s throat between his hands but he knows better than to upset him when Rafe’s still trapped on the other side of that glass divider.

Frisch’s eyes flicker for a moment. His face crumples in confusion and his voice sounds surprisingly young when he speaks for the first time.

“My men? You’ve…killed them all?” He asks the question with what sounds like genuine puzzlement and Josiah hesitates for a moment before he answers him.

“Yes.”

“Why, why would you do that?”

“You orchestrated the abduction of a submissive under enforcer protection; under the law, their lives were forfeit.”

“Abduction? I didn’t abduct anyone!”

Josiah stares at the man, caught briefly off guard by the adamant denial. This isn’t the same man he’d dealt with in the hospital or the same sadistic dominant he’d watched ramble gleefully on about the various things he’d done to Rafe. This is a man broken, a mind cracked and damaged, and Josiah tenses further because those are always the most dangerous types of people.

“You abducted Rafe, Frisch; your men stole him out of an apartment and brought him here against his will.

You need to give him back now.”

“But Rafe is mine. She gave him to me! He’s mine!” Josiah can tell Frisch is getting more and more agitated and he knows that he has to tread carefully.

6“Not anymore, you need to give him back to me. Give him back to me and you can still walk away.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words escape him, can see the way they make Frisch’s head jerk up and his eyes narrow as he seems to truly look at Josiah for the first time.

“You. I remember you. You’re the one who wouldn’t let me have him back. You took him from me!”

There’s anger in his voice now, a biting sort of rage that makes his eyes flash even through the glass, the type that sets Josiah’s hair on end.

“Yes, it was me. I took him; Rafe didn’t go on his own. So don’t blame him, blame me. Let me in and we’ll deal with this between us. There’s no reason for you to hurt him anymore.”

“But he’s so pretty when he bleeds.”

Even as he watches Frisch grins at him, a baring of teeth more than anything else, and cuts into Rafe again.

Rafe screams, a high-pitched sound that shatters something in Josiah’s mind, sends him careening forward to slam himself against the glass door that’s keeping them apart. He slams himself against it again and again, ignoring the way his shoulders throb with the effort.

“Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it! I can’t think when you’re doing that!” Frisch sounds almost hysterical, and the way he raises blood-covered hands to grip at his hair only reinforces the idea.

Josiah forces himself to stop, to grab the anger and pain that’s fueling him and chain it tightly in the back of his mind, not gone but temporarily under control. There’s a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, the familiar shape of Gar slinking crouched across the floor, and Josiah’s careful not to let his expression give anything away. Gar slides up to the door, shielded by the solid metal lower half and reaches up to place a small metal disk on the side of the security lock. He’s typing away at his p.a.t.c.h one handed, Boo placed gently on the ground beside him, opposite hand raised with three fingers showing, a silent countdown to Josiah.

Knowing that he needs to stall for time, that he needs to do something, anything, to keep Frisch distracted, Josiah starts talking again.

“Rafe? Rafe, I’m here. Everything’s going to be alright.” He doesn’t let his voice crack, doesn’t let himself show the weakness that’s eating at him from seeing Rafe so hurt and not being able to get to him.

“Don’t talk to him! Don’t talk to him like you know him! He’s mine, damn you!” Frisch is yelling, hands waving and eyes wild, but he’s moving away from Rafe, moving closer to the door, and Gar’s only holding up two fingers now.

“He’s not yours anymore, Frisch. He’s mine now.” Josiah sneers the words at the distraught man, trying to distract him, trying to keep his attention off of Rafe for as long as possible and his rage focused on him.

“No, no, no! He’s mine! He bleeds for me!” There are tears in Frisch’s eyes alongside the madness and Josiah pushes further.

“No he’s not, Frisch. He gave himself to a real dominant, to someone on his level. He gave himself to a fourth tier that could handle him.” Josiah tosses his head slightly, lets the light glint off the rubies in his oricula so that the gems catch Frisch’s eye.

One minute.

“He wouldn’t do that!