The Cross of Sins (24 page)

The storm came in the late afternoon, turning the sky black and sending twenty-foot waves crashing into the bow of the cruiser as it cut its way across the Tyrrhenian Sea, heading for the island of Vulcano.

The cruiser itself was a small ship, a 100 ft Azimut with three reconditioned suites. As lightning lashed at the savage peaks of the waves, the ship dipped and tilted wildly, smashing through the breaking crests. In silver writing on the stern of the boat, the name
Salvation
vanished beneath each wave, and then came up glistening in the reflection of the relentless electrical storm.

Inside the vessel, thunder drowned out the tortured cries that came from on board.

"'Uck you!"

The nine tails of the whip whistled through the air and cut into Luca's shoulders and back like knives. The sound that came from him was stifled by his clenched jaws, half the consonants lost, but the meaning still there, escaping in a gush of pain.

Dominic Dixon laughed as he pitched and lurched, trying to keep his balance in the storm. He may have only had one arm, but he knew how to use it; the whip in his hand was dripping with blood.

The two of them were the only ones in this particular suite, which had been transformed into something of an interrogation room. The lights had been dimmed almost to black. The bed had been removed, along with any fittings and luxuries. All that remained was a chair fastened to the floor in the middle of the room, on which Luca now sat, bleeding, his hands tied behind his back.

He had been conscious for an hour, but it was apparent Dominic Dixon had started the lashes long before that. Luca had woken to a body covered in cuts and lacerations. His shoulders, chest and stomach were shredded. He clenched his teeth and breathed in short tight bursts as if trying to keep the pain inside, trying to conquer it.

He was completely naked but for the ropes and the small silver crucifix around his neck.

"How dare you wear vat!" the one-armed man sneered, staring at Luca's cross. "You don't deserve to have Him hangin' 'round your neck. You ain't noffink but a dirty, little bugger."

"What do you want from us?" Luca snarled through gritted teeth. "We won't tell you anything. We've got nothing to say to you."

"I don't care," the one-armed man sneered. "I'm not doin' vis to get any information outta ya. I'm doin' it to get da Devil outta ya.
Da Cross of Sins
must be destroyed, along wif anyone who tries to stop us from destroyin' it." He cackled with wicked delight. "I'm just takin' my sweet time doin' it."

Thunder cracked outside, and the ship pitched wildly.

The one-armed man staggered backward a little, and then raised his whip and came down with another strike of the cat o' nine tails, straight across Luca's bare bleeding chest. There were small studs at the end of each strand, and every time the whip came down, the studs embedded themselves deep into Luca's skin before Dominic Dixon ripped them out again.

Tiny gems of blood filled the air and splashed across the floor.

Luca stifled another roar.

"Do you know what vat pain is?" Dominic Dixon taunted. "It's da demons inside ya, tryin' to get out. People like you—your filfy type—you're full of demons. Da more you bleed, da more pure you become. Like me."

"You call yourself pure?" Luca practically spat the words out. "What about those women you raped?"

Dominic shook his head. "You don't understand. God has forgiven me. I have atoned for my sins. It's time for you to do da same."

The one-armed man brought the whip down again, and Luca smothered yet another scream.

"Fink of it dis way. I'm doin' you a favor. I'm savin' your dirty soul before your wretched body goes to hell. That's where fire and brimstone await you, my litt'l darlin'!"

He brought the lash down again.

And again.

Across Luca's shoulders.

His chest.

His arms.

Until Luca's eyes eventually fluttered closed, his head came to rest on his bleeding chest, and consciousness mercifully slid away.

The boat angled up over a foaming crest, and then dropped dramatically, slapping against the trough of the next wave with a boom. In a suite almost identical to the one holding Luca, Eric Landon maintained his balance and rolled up one bloody sleeve, and then the other. In front of him sat Shane. Like Luca, he was naked and tied to a chair that was fastened to the middle of the floor. His nose was bleeding, his lips were cut and swollen, and there were several gashes around his eyes. It was evident that Eric didn't need a whip to torture his victim—his weapons of choice were his bare hands.

Shane's head suddenly twisted sharply with another crack to his cheekbone.

Eric smiled and shook his limp hand, which was red raw and swelling fast. He stretched his fingers and blew on his inflamed knuckles, trying to cool them down.

"Well," he said. "I have some good news and some bad news for you, cowboy. The good news is I'm having so much fun beating the crap out of you that I've decided to kill you last. I'll let you watch your friends die first, so you know what to expect."

"That's the good news?" Shane breathed heavily through his cut lips and bleeding nose. "What the hell's the bad news?"

"The bad news is you and I don't have much time left together."

Eric moved in swiftly, and Shane braced himself for another blow to the head, but instead of hitting him, Eric straddled Shane and lowered himself onto Shane's naked lap, facing him. He smiled and leaned in close, and then slowly ran his tongue all the way up the side of Shane's face, licking his bleeding cheek and bruised eye.

Eric licked his lips then. "Your blood is so sweet. Tell me you're not enjoying this, even just a little." He ran a hand down Shane's chest and stomach and slid it between his naked legs before kneading and caressing Shane's balls and cock in his fingers. "You've been a bad cowboy, and bad cowboys deserve to be beaten within an inch of their life."

Eric looked down, and then raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Make that five inches. No, six. Eight! So you
are
enjoying it."

"Why don't you untie me, and I'll really show you a good time." Behind his back, Shane was pulling on the ropes, but they were too tight to wriggle loose.

"And let you try to take my power away? Let you escape unpunished? No, this is necessary. It's what He wants. Sooner or later, punishment always comes to your kind. The question is, do you resist the pain, or do you embrace your fate?"

"My kind?" Shane asked, incredulous. Suddenly, the Texan gentleman inside him left the building. "Are you delusional? You're the one with your hand on my cock. If you've got a problem with my kind, why don't you get the fuck off me, you fanatical religious head-case!"

Eric quickly stepped off Shane, suddenly furious, and threw a punch into the left side of Shane's face.

"Are you questioning my purity? I'm the Holy Son! The Holy Son of God! What I do, I do for Him! It's His will!"

Shane stared, stunned, because despite his pain, he couldn't contain his astonishment. A smirk slid across his battered lips. "Holy Son? Right now I'm thinkin' you're just full of holy shit. I hate to be the one to break the news, given the fact that I'm tied up and you don't look too happy right now, but dude—you're gay!"

Another fist cut the air, this time slamming into the right side of Shane's face.

"Satan's words!" Eric screamed. "God created me! He created me pure and perfect!"

"God doesn't make anyone perfect. And He doesn't care that you're not! He doesn't give a shit if you're gay or cross-eyed or blind or if you've got three fuckin' heads! You're the one making a big deal of it! Trust me; it's okay! Just let it be okay!"

But the rage in Eric was so fierce he began to tremble. Tiny blood vessels burst in the whites of his eyes, and veins stood out like thick cables on his neck. He raised his arms, channeling all his fury into his hands, and one fist at a time, he began to lay punches into Shane like hammer blows.

First right.

Then left.

Then right.

Then left again.

All the while, he panted beneath his fuming breath, "He takes revenge on all who oppose Him and furiously destroys His enemies! His power is great, and He never lets the guilty go unpunished. He displays His power in the whirlwind and the storm. The billowing clouds are the dust beneath His feet. He sweeps away His enemies in an overwhelming flood. He pursues his enemies into the darkness of night—"

Lightning flared in jagged horizontal bolts, illuminating the dark night sky. It was like someone with a giant camera flash was taking photos just outside the porthole, second by second. Thunder struck, close by, and Elsa jumped with a fright.

Still in their pajamas and dressing gowns, Elsa and the Professor were locked inside a suite in the ship's starboard side. Unlike the interrogation suites, this room had been left unaltered. Elsa sat on the bed, the lines on her worried face lit by the glow of a bedside lamp.

The Professor stood near the cabin door.

"It's stopped," he said in a soft voice, listening as intently as he could to try to hear anything other than thunder and crashing waves.

"What has?"

"The pain."

Suddenly, he heard two sets of heavy footsteps outside. He took one step back.

Somebody unlocked the door and threw it wide open, and the bleeding body of Shane Houston, now dressed in the same tuxedo pants he'd worn to Perron's ball, was dumped on the floor inside the room.

Elsa and the Professor dropped to his side before the door slammed shut again.

"Oh,
mein Gott
! Shane!" Elsa fussed, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

The Professor quickly found a pulse. "He's alive. Help me get him on the bed."

With great effort, the pair managed to lift him up and lay him on the bed.

Immediately, Shane began to stir.

Elsa wrapped the sheets and blankets around him to keep him warm.

"Shane?" the Professor said, leaning in close. "Can you hear me? Can you see me?"

Shane tried to open his eyes. The left opened fully, but his bruised and battered right eye could only open part of the way.

"Professor?" he croaked. "Elsa?" He saw her sitting on the bed beside him, too. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"We had a visit from the Crimson Crown in Vienna. We're fine, but Elliott Ebus wasn't so lucky."

"Pssh-pssh, don't worry about us! Look at yourself!
Mein
dear poor boy!"

She couldn't help but swoop down and take his beaten face in her hands and plant motherly kisses all over him.

Shane winced in pain.

"Elsa," the Professor said, "He can probably do without that."

"It's okay," Shane tried to smile. "I prefer the company in this room to the other one."

"Can you sit up? I'm not sure how long they intend to keep us here."

"I think so."

With all his strength and help from Elsa and the Professor, Shane achingly managed to sit up on the bed.

"I'll get a cool towel," Elsa said, rushing to the
en suite
.

"Was it Eric Landon?"

Shane nodded as Elsa returned and gently dabbed his swollen right eye. "I think he fancies me."

"I have a feeling all three of them are here."

"You mean the Father, Son and Holy Ghost," Shane said.

The Professor nodded. "As well as a small entourage of the Crimson Crown's disciples. I've counted nine sets of different footsteps so far. I think Luca may be on board somewhere as well."

"How do you know?" Shane asked, concerned.

The Professor knew Luca's voice. It was the cries of pain, other than Shane's, echoing through the hull of the ship that made him certain the young Italian was somewhere in their midst. But he didn't tell Shane this. "Don't worry; I know everything will be all right. I have a feeling the others are already on our trail."

"How do you know?"

The Professor patted his stomach. "Let's just say it was something I ate. And let me tell you, I've swallowed more pleasant things in my time."

At that moment, there was a soft shudder as the ship's engines stopped.

Elsa raced to the porthole.

Outside, beyond the rolling white-peaked waves, three forks of lightning illuminated a mountainous island looming a short distance away.

"Professor, it's an island. There's no lights that I can see from here. No villages. Just a huge mountain rising up out of the ocean."

Something suddenly dawned on the Professor as he whispered under his breath, "Fire."

Shane asked, "Professor, what is it?"

"That's not a mountain. It's a volcano. They're about to uncover
The Cross of Sins
."

Thunder rolled, the ship shuddered to a halt and Luca's eyes opened slowly. His head was groggy, his vision blurred, but despite this, the first thing he realized was that he was now in a different room.

He was still on board the ship.

He was still naked and bound to a chair.

But it was a different chair in a different suite.

It was bigger and brighter, and as his eyes continued to gradually pull focus, he saw something else.

Someone was in a chair opposite him, facing him.

It was a man.

Slowly he made out the man's features one by one—the deep brown eyes, the gentle lines that creased his forehead and the skin around his eyes, the mouth he knew so well—until Luca's eyes snapped wide open in fear and sheer panic.

"Marco! No!"

Luca saw that Marco's hands were behind his back, but at least he was conscious.

"Marco! Are you all right? Have they hurt you?"

Luca spun his head to see Dominic Dixon standing to Marco's left.

"You bastards! Don't you hurt him! Don't you lay a fucking finger on him or I swear to God—"

"God doesn't want to hear you swear," Dominic Dixon spat at Luca's feet.

"Let him go!" Luca roared. "He doesn't have anything to do with this. He doesn't know anything!"

"Actually," Marco said, speaking in a soft, calm voice. "I have everything to do with this. And I know—everything. I knew exactly where the book could be found—"