by Amelia Jade
“How did I do it?” Mila asked.
Pierce recognized the signal.
“Yeah, this guy weighs a ton!”
“I know. That’s why I had help putting him there.”
“You had—”
Suddenly Pierce came alive, his feet planting on the ground as power surged through his legs. He stepped back slightly from the two guards holding him up, simultaneously placing his hands on the back of their heads. As he moved backward out of the way, he brought his hands together, cracking their heads with enough force to send them both falling limply to the floor.
“What the hell?”
Pierce whirled, already tracking on the third guard behind him.
“No!” Mila said, an instant before a dart appeared in that man’s chest.
Shit.
Pierce had gone after the wrong guard, distracted by his voice.
Spinning around, he lunged after the remaining guard.
“Control this is—”
He never got to finish the sentence as Pierce’s hand closed around the guard’s hand and the radio within it, crushing both of them into small pieces. The weight of his impact as the rest of his body caught up to his hand took the guard to the floor, where he landed with a rough crunch sound. Blood poured from his nose, spreading quickly across the white floor. For a moment Pierce thought he was dead.
Then the man groaned, and he sighed with relief. The last thing he needed was to kill a human. That would be very bad news for him, and would bring a whole pile of hurt down on Cadia. Pierce had caused enough trouble; he didn’t need to add that to the rest of his crimes.
He pulled back his leg, intending to give the man a kick to knock him out, but the body jerked as a steel dart erupted into his ribs.
“I guess that works too,” he said as Mila pulled a spare magazine of darts from somewhere and slammed it home into the gun.
“Come on,” she snapped. “We don’t know if he got that call off or not. Time to move.”
“Hold on,” he said, looking around.
“Pierce, there is no time,” Mila hissed.
He rolled his eyes, reached down, and grabbed the body of the nearest guard, hauling it behind the SUV. Then he did the same for the others.
“Okay, now let’s go,” he told her.
She gave him a questioning look, but headed for the set of double doors to the right of the parked vehicle, leading them into the building itself.
“That way it’ll at least take anyone coming from any other direction longer to find them,” he explained as he followed her lead, albeit unhappily.
They entered the doors, and once more Pierce was confronted with white. The ceiling, walls, and even the floor had all been painted the same shade of pristine white. There was next to no variance as they ran along the corridor.
What an ugly choice of décor.
Pierce knew he was the best suited to lead the charge into the Institute. As a shifter he had all sorts of advantages over humans. Mila was good, well trained, and apparently no slouch of a martial artist either. That last part surprised him, but she said it had been a hobby long before she’d ever actually needed it for work. But she wasn’t a shifter.
There was, however, one simple reason why she was leading and he wasn’t. Mila knew where they were going, and Pierce would have been lost in seconds. But true to the agreement she’d worked out earlier, Mila stayed to the right of the hallway, leaving a pathway for Pierce to storm by if they encountered guards.
“Where to now?” he hissed as they came to a cross-intersection.
“This way,” Mila said with a quick glance at their surroundings.
Pierce followed without hesitating, rounding the corner after her, only to come slamming to a halt.
The far end of the corridor was packed with guards. Six, to be precise, all of whom were aiming what appeared to be tranquilizer guns at them.
“What the fuck?” he asked, twisting sideways so as to present a slimmer profile.
It didn’t matter though, because behind him other men were emerging from a doorway to cut off their retreat.
Pierce snarled as they just stood there, aiming their guns at them.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Mila,” he said calmly. “What do we do now?”
Mila turned to look at him, and he felt himself grow apprehensive at the suddenly calm and easy manner with which she regarded him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pierce
“There weren’t supposed to be any guards here,” he said angrily. “Not in this number. It’s only been a few minutes at best since the guard tried to call for help. That’s not enough time to set all this up.”
Mila still didn’t respond.
“You knew the plan,” he said, comprehension slowly dawning. “You told me everything, where people would be, what we would do, the route we would take. You knew everything. Had it all planned out.”
Mila looked away.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he begged her, but she still didn’t speak. “Mila, tell me I’m wrong.”
“You aren’t wrong,” she whispered.
Pierce leaned back against the white metal wall behind him, his head thudding against it dully.
“Holy shit,” he said, looking around in disbelief. “You set a trap.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, Pierce, I set a trap,” she said, rolling her eyes as she stepped away from him.
The armed men moved closer, though they still stayed well out of his reach.
“You set a trap,” he repeated, stunned. “You betrayed me.” His head fell. “And I fell for your lies. Again.”
Pain flashed through Mila’s eyes, but she didn’t relent. “Yes, you did.”
“I trusted you. And you abused that trust. Twice.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t have any intentions of trying to convince me to ever trust you again in the future. Because let me tell you little lady, it ain’t gonna happen.”
“Move it,” one of the guards said, gesturing back down the hallway behind him.
Pierce growled, but did as he was told. His bear wanted to fight, to destroy them all, but Pierce knew the reality of the situation. He’d get three steps before his body was festooned with darts. That much tranquilizer at once would likely kill him, shifter or no shifter.
Plus he couldn’t guarantee that he’d get to them in time. They were far enough away that he’d likely fall to the ground before he got that close.
His gaze swung around to his left as he regarded the person that was still in range of him. Mila had backed off to where she believed she was safe, and was now pacing ahead of him, keeping that distance. She clearly didn’t know as much about his kind as she thought, though. Pierce could reach her, get his hand around her neck and snap it before the men took him down.
At least he’d have the satisfaction of knowing that the traitorous bitch would die with him.
It pained him deeply to think of Mila that way.
“I trusted you,” he said, voicing his hurt. “And you lied to me, all this time. About who you were, then about your feelings for me.” He shook his head dejectedly. “All lies? How could you?” he snarled. “How could you do that to someone?’
Pierce had seen all the holes in her story earlier. Had seen them, and had thrown them aside. He’d wanted so badly to trust Mila, to believe that perhaps they could, in fact, work things out between them.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Mila said, the first time she’d responded to him.
Pierce followed the instructions from the guard behind him and turned right at the intersection, heading down the hallway as if they had never turned off of it, moving deeper into the Institute building.
Eventually they came to another room, marked Studies Chamber. A door slid open. Four guards moved inside, taking up positions in the room, and then he was ushered inside, followed by a silent Mila.
The room had a door to
his left, and a desk parallel to him at the far end. Behind the desk were two open hallways, forming a sort of Y-shape to the room.
Guards preceded him to the right, and Pierce just followed this time, figuring they’d yell at him if he was going the wrong way. They went down a corridor to the end. A thick door opened slowly to the guards’ command. Pierce eyed the heavily reinforced steel. It was clearly made for shifters, not humans.
Past that was a semicircular room, with six different doors arrayed in an arch around him. The guards took him to number five.
“Is that where my brothers are?” he asked, looking at the other doors.”
“Yes,” Mila said without hesitation.
Inside door number five was a short hallway, with a cell on the right. He knew it was a cell, because it had thick bars as a door, and was nearly the same size as the one he’d vacated back in Cadia.
“Let me guess, I go in here?” he said as one guard opened the bars.
There was no response, but he moved inside anyway, and the guard closed the bars behind him.
Pierce glared at Mila as she stayed in front of the cell, looking at him, her eyes blank, completely devoid of emotion.
“Was anything you told me true?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, her voice thick with pain. “Yes, some of it was.”
He laughed. “Is this place even called the Institute? Who are these people?”
“That part is all true,” she told him. “I had no need to lie about any of that. Your brothers are here too. In fact, you’ll be seeing them soon.” She paused. “Maybe, that is. Not yet though. Not until…”
Mila trailed off, looking to her right as the guards shuffled aside.
“What Mila meant to say was, you won’t see them until you and I have had a chance to have an interesting chat, one that might just benefit the both of us.”
Pierce regarded the person who had just spoken.
“Who the fuck are you?” Pierce all but snarled as an elderly but not frail man walked briskly into view.
He smelled like scientist.
“I’m Director Burnatawiz,” the man said in response to the interrogating look.
“Uh-huh,” Pierce said uncaringly as he studied the “director.”
Tall. That was the first thing he realized about him. Here was a human male, in his perhaps late sixties, early seventies, and he still rivaled Pierce in height, without any noticeable stoop about him. Considering Pierce was nearly six and a half feet tall that was no minor miracle for a man of such advanced age.
He had long, thinning gray hair that he had pulled back into a ponytail, of all things. The front of his head was covered by only a few wispy strands, but it was still fairly thick toward the back and on the sides. He wore glasses—of course he wore glasses, what self-respecting scientist didn’t?—and yet still managed to squint at Pierce.
Thank goodness there was no white lab jacket. Pierce might have died of stereotyping if that had been the case. No, the man wore a rather expensive-looking satiny-black dress shirt tucked into a pair of darker-shaded khakis. Black pointed dress shoes finished off the ensemble.
A closer look at the way he wore the clothes told Pierce that this was an everyday outfit for the man, not something he’d put on as an attempt to impress him or anyone else. That was interesting, he thought. What sort of scientist has a fashion sense?
And what person with a fashion sense works in this ugly-ass building?
“I’m also a professor, with multiple PhDs in cultural anthropology, history, and—”
“I get it. You read a lot,” Pierce interrupted.
Scholar then. Close enough, they both start with the same two letters. Damn I’m good.
“Well, I mean, there’s more to it than that,” the man said, obviously flustered by Pierce’s disdain.
So you’re not the head evil villain. No villain behind this sort of scheme gets pushed around this easily. Who’s really running things here?
Pierce wasn’t sure there was an evil villain of course, but somebody had ordered him kidnapped him from his cozy cell back in his homeland.
“What are you a director of?” he asked, directing his query to try and get the man talking, to tell him more about what sort of predicament he was in.
Not that the guards in front and behind him weren’t indicator enough.
“Why, the Bothwell-Ingrim Institute of Theoretical Anthropological Studies of course!” Burnatawiz said, beaming at Pierce, confusing his interrogation for genuine interest.
“The Both…the what?” Pierce asked, stumbling once more over what was absolutely an unnecessarily long, inane, uninformative and probably repetitive name. He’d had trouble with it the first time Mila had told him about it. That, apparently, hadn’t changed.
“We’re a think tank,” the director said, exasperated that he wasn’t able to keep up. “We perform theoretical research on long-term studies of human culture.”
“Right.” He still had no idea what the fuck they did there. “What’s with the rage-inducing décor around here?” he asked.
“What?” The professor was thoroughly lost now.
“All the white,” he said, mimicking the professor’s earlier exasperation. “What’s with all the white?”
“Oh, why, it’s nice and sterile. Easy to clean.”
Pierce’s mouth was open with a retort, but the glint in the director’s eye at the final three words snapped it shut.
A smile played across the other man’s face. “Yes, I’m aware of what you were doing.”
Okay, Pierce thought, quickly re-evaluating things and his initial impression of the old man. Maybe this is the evil villain after all.
“But it’s okay!” Burnatawiz continued.
“It is?” Now Pierce was the confused one.
“Of course. We’re on the same side.”
“We’re on the same side,” Pierce echoed, then looked at the cell behind him, and tapped one of the metal bars. “Doesn’t seem like we’re on the same side.”
Director Burnatawiz rolled his eyes. “Use your mind. Human,” he said slowly, pointing at himself. “Shifter.” This time he pointed at Pierce. “Safety reasons of course. Would you trust me if you were in my shoes?”
Absolutely not, because I’d know how much I’d want to reach out and throttle you right now.
“Maybe, if I hadn’t been kidnapped, lied to, and thrown in here.” He frowned. “”Why do all of that anyway?”
“Everything will be explained in time,” the director said. “But first we need to see if we can work together.”
Pierce glared. “And if we can’t? Because I don’t know if we can.”
Burnatawiz gave him a taut, wintry smile. “Then other arrangements can be made.”
His blood grew cold with ice at the easy way the director had just uttered a death threat. It was covered in nice words and deflecting statements, but they both knew what was truly being said. Pierce wasn’t sure if it was his vision playing tricks on him, but it looked like the director’s pupils gleamed maniacally as he exerted his power.
Note to self: Be careful around this one.
Although Pierce wished to sit back and consider things, that seemed rather pointless with the way things stood. He was trapped in a cell with no way out. He knew now he’d been taken against his will. As far as bargaining positions went, Pierce had figuratively nothing to stand on.
“I’m going to need some time to think about it,” he said, stalling.
“Of course. Completely understandable,” the director said, giving him another once over and then turning to leave, shooing the guards out before him. “Come on Mila, let’s discuss your excellent work.”
Pierce watched the woman he’d thought he loved prepare to leave with his captor.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mila
She hesitated.
“Mila?” Director Burnatawiz called, turning to look bac
k at where she was still in front of the cell. “You are coming, aren’t you?”
The guards came to a halt as he did, some of them on the inside of the heavy reinforced steel door, some on the outside. As they all paused, the door began to slide shut again.
“You’re dismissed,” the director said, ensuring that all the guards finally left.
Then he came back over to Mila, laying his hands on her shoulders. “Come, dear.”
She did her best not to shudder. Long ago he’d made it very clear to her that the highest levels of command were open to her. All she had to do was open her legs. Mila hated him for that. She had, of course, refused his offer rather vehemently. It amazed her that she’d survived his temper tantrum still in charge of her team. But even as he’d calmed down, it had become clear that the director hadn’t lost hope in his chances with her.
“I’ll be right along,” she told him. “I just need to take care of some business here. Y’know what I mean?” she said, chuckling evilly as her chin jerked in the direction of Pierce, who was glaring angrily at the hands on her shoulders.
When the director hesitated, Mila reached up and gently patted one of those wrinkly hands, almost making it into a caress. “Just let me do this, okay?”
She injected just the right amount of pleading into her voice, as if it would be a big favor to her if he agreed. It would be all in his mind that she might feel indebted to him because of it, but if it got her what she needed, then Mila didn’t care.
“You’re going to be nice, right? We need him on our side. Just like the others.”
“Of course, Director,” she said, practically purring as he gave her shoulder a squeeze and removed his hands slowly, letting one of them fall down her back.
Mila managed not to retch.
“I’m just going to apologize to him, tell him why it was necessary, and that he should really consider your offer. That sort of thing,” she said with a shrug. “I’m going to be nice, I promise.”
“The Institute thanks you, Mila.”
She smiled. “Maybe this way, he’ll only hate me, and not the Institute.”
“I’m right here,” Pierce said sarcastically. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”