The soft chiming of Eddie’s phone was good news: There was only one person who could be calling and that was Jim.

Adrian glanced over when Eddie didn’t accept the call. “You’re not answering?”

Eddie shook his head. “He sent us a picture. Network’s slow tonight—it’s still coming up.”

You’d think with all the shit they could do, they’d be able to communicate telepathically—and to some degree, they were able to. But long distances were kind of like shouting across to the other side of a football stadium. Also, if someone was injured or dying, the ability to pull off stuff like spells and incantations and mind thoughts—

“Oh . . . God . . .”

As Eddie’s voice broke, Adrian felt a premonition pour over his head like cold blood. “What.”

Eddie started to scramble with the phone’s buttons.

Ad grabbed for the cell. “Don’t you erase it—don’t you fucking—”

A couple of quick lunges and they were in a full-out fight for the phone—and Adrian won only because desperation made him lightning fast.

“Don’t look at it,” Eddie barked. “Don’t look—”

Too. Late.

The little image on the glossy screen was of Jim naked and splayed out on a huge wooden table, arms wide, legs wide. Metal wire was wound around his wrists and ankles to pin him down, and his skin was lit by candlelight. His erect cock had a leather strap wrapped around the base to keep it hard—but although he was technically aroused, he wasn’t juiced for the sex; that was for sure. . . . and Adrian knew exactly what Devina did to get the initial blood flow where she wanted it.

That tourniquet was going to give her something to play with for hours and hours.

Adrian swallowed, his throat tightening up sure as if he were on those hard, oily boards himself. He knew all too well what was coming next.

And he knew what those shadowy figures lurking in the background were.

The texted caption under the photo: My New Toy.

“We’ve got to get him out of there.” Adrian nearly crushed the phone from the way his hand tightened around it. “That fucking bitch.”

Lying on Devina’s “worktable,” as she called it, Jim didn’t bother looking at her—not even when she got his phone out and a flash went off. What he was primarily concerned with were the dark figures that circled the periphery like they were dogs about to get set loose: He had a feeling they were the same things he and the boys had fought outside of that lawyer’s house, because they moved with that shifty, snakelike undulation.

Whatever. Chances were good he was going to know one way or the other in not long at all.