Impact Zone

by Cara Carnes

  “Lots of rides around near the visitor’s area. Keys are in the ignition.”

  The visitor’s area was too far away. Riley shook her head. “Shit’s gone down, Dom. I don’t have time to fuck around. Give me a ride so I can get to Kamren and her boys, then get my ass to Nomad Memorial so I can pretend a birth is all we have to worry about.”

  Dom’s gaze narrowed when she snagged a set of keys from a bench nearby. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’ll bring it right back.” Problem two dissolved off her list thanks to the sinfully gorgeous man screaming her name as she raced to the sleek, black car parked right outside the mechanical bay.

  She offered a chin lift in Jud speak for thanks and got into the coolest car she’d ever seen. The black 1969 Chevy Nova growled to a start. She threw it into drive and tore off right as Dom grabbed for the handle.

  She’d make it up to Dom. Somehow.

  Please be okay, Dallas. Please.

  And Fallon. Rhea! Shit, Rhea was with them.

  The list of people to worry about rolled through her mind.

  Stay on task. Kamren. Jesse had given her an assignment. Kamren and the boys were her only worry.

  Rhea woke in a dark room. Warm, stagnant air enveloped her as she shook off the hazy fog and stood. Her head throbbed and her throat ached as she swallowed. Cotton.

  Drugged.

  Drones.

  Flashes of the attack pinged in her brain as she stumbled around the small space. Her hand landed on a surface. Wall?

  No. She scraped her palm across the scratchy surface.

  Metal links. Small ones, like used in chainmail.

  Confusion kept her silent as fear overrode common sense. Panic dragged air from her lungs in shallow, quick pants. Where was Fallon? Where was everyone?

  “Fallon?” She looked around, stumbled into the darkness to her left. Barefoot. Where was she? “Fallon!”

  A lightbulb flicked on overhead. She squeezed her eyes shut and looked down, letting her eyes adjust to the pale shafts of visibility. Knowledge was power.

  What would Fallon and Addy do?

  She bit her lip, forced the screams lodged in her throat back. Fear wouldn’t help.

  “He can’t save you.” The voice laughed. It took a moment to process.

  Stan.

  “No one can save you, Rhea.”

  Mary and Vi would find her. The Arsenal wouldn’t stop until she and Fallon and the others were found. All she had to do was stay smart. She ran her hands down the…

  Lead suit.

  Shit.

  Metal walls.

  A faraday cage.

  “You won’t get away with this. They’ll find you,” Rhea shouted, letting her anger explode as she studied the vacant room. She felt around. Her bra and panties were still on beneath the suit.

  Thank God.

  That meant at least one of the new trackers Bree gave her was there. In a freaking faraday style cage that wouldn’t let any transmission through.

  “I see you must’ve passed electrochemistry even though you didn’t take it when I did,” Rhea commented. “Did you find someone else to cheat off of, Stan?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this creation. This was all Bree.”

  “Ah. Mandrake.”

  “You’re going to give me everything, Rhea. Everything about HERA. Your drugs. Her energy source. Everything.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I see you need time to think. Don’t take too long. I’m not sure how much your boyfriend and his friends can take.” Stan laughed. The sound echoed through the room as the speaker crackled off.

  No.

  The wall to the left of her shifted, turning almost translucent. What the hell was the material she was in? Something conductive, yet translucent?

  Fallon!

  She surged forward and banged on the wall separating her from Fallon and his team. Tears streamed down her face when she realized they couldn’t see her. She banged harder, kicking until pain throbbed from her toes and up her foot.

  They were chained, stripped from the waist up. Arms stretched over their heads, their toes barely reached the ground, which stretched their muscular bodies taut. Blood oozed from untended wounds along Fallon’s chest.

  He, Dallas, and Spade faced her direction while the others faced the other direction. Wounds bled and oozed from each of them. How long had they been captive?

  Why hadn’t The Arsenal found them yet?

  Where the hell were they?

  Determined to escape, she honed her fear, rage, and worry into a plan.

  Find a way out.

  But how?

  Faraday cages worked by having a continued, uninterrupted conductive surface which prevented frequencies from entering or exiting. If Bree designed it, it’d likely mask all HERA’s tech, including the trackers buried in their skin. And on their person.

  So now what?

  She studied the men once more and let her worry chew another piece of her heart.

  You’ve crawled into my heart, Doc. Not sure how the fuck it happened, but you’re there and I’m not letting you out.

  Fallon’s words from earlier kept her focused. If anyone could get out of a faraday cage, it’d be her. At least she wasn’t hanging by her arms.

  They still wore their original pants, which meant they likely had at least one of the extra trackers on them. But, again, none would do any good. Were they in a faraday cage as well?

  Likely.

  Stan wasn’t stupid. He was an evil asshole, but he wasn’t stupid—which was why he’d put her in a lead suit. The material would also prevent most frequencies from penetrating, which meant he’d double-layered her.

  Why?

  Why her and not them?

  Because he’s too busy beating them so you’ll break.

  A tear escaped her, but she wiped it away and began a thorough inspection of her “cage.” She studied every groove, analyzed every crevice where the walls met. Find a hole, find hope. The mantra kept her focused as she started along the wall to the right of the one she shared with Fallon and his team.

  Her pulse pounded wildly as her gaze moved from her work to the men. The sick son of a bitch had beaten them while they were knocked out. None of them moved. Blood oozed from wounds, which assured her they were alive.

  Stan didn’t expect her to escape the cage. He underestimated her.

  No, he needed her awake and scared so she’d talk.

  Mary hadn’t talked. She’d survived a week of brutal torture and rape and never shared a damn thing about HERA. No way in hell was Rhea breaking, not when so many relied on her staying strong. No, she wasn’t strong, not like the guys.

  But she was smart. Way smarter than Stan, which meant she’d find an out.

  Think like Bree.

  What would Bree do?

  Rhea walked the entire room, studied the ceiling—what she could see of it—and the walls. No cameras.

  He doesn’t want you using them.

  Yeah, a camera would’ve been helpful. She wasn’t Bree, but she could MacGyver something with electronic parts.

  Think, think, think.

  Small locks kept the ankles and wrists of her lead suit in place, but a zipper moved along the back. If she contorted enough—thank you, yoga—she could undo it and…

  And what?

  Rhea collapsed on the floor near Fallon. She ran her hand down the surface and wished she was in there with them. Their belts were gone, which meant any contents in their bajillion pockets were likely taken.

  She contorted and grunted and growled her frustration until she got the contrary zipper down enough to reach her bra. Bree’s dime-sized creation was there, tucked into the left boob of her bra.

  The wire!

  Rhea hated underwire bras, but she’d surrendered to Bree’s insistence that “the girls deserved support.” Thank goodness her friend was beyond paranoid lately. Still fearful cameras were mounted into the ceiling or elsewher
e, she kept her back to the wall and got to work removing her bra.

  Hang on, Fallon.

  I’ll figure this out. One way or another, we’re getting home.

  Laughter echoed around her. “While I enjoy the show, it won’t work. Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work.”

  Rhea forced calm like Addy would. For part of her crazy-ass plan to work, she needed the bastard inside the cage with her. She tugged the bra’s straps until they snapped off. “Just getting comfortable, Stan. Hell’s gonna freeze over before you get anything from us.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’ll be singing soon enough.”

  She dragged the bra off in a seemingly bored fashion. Her fingernails dug into the corner where the wire ended. She pulled the bra behind her back, as if hiding the fact she had the need to wear one from the cameras. “Give up while you’re still breathing, Stan. This isn’t going to end well for you. We know you aren’t the ringleader of this. Surrender and give us Mandrake, and I’ll work out a deal.”

  “All I want from you are the formulas, everything to do with HERA, and all of Bree’s work.”

  “Oh, sure. That’s all.” Rhea shook her head. “You’re a fool, Stan. Even if I was willing to give you that information—which I do not have, by the way—it’d be useless by the time you use it.”

  “Two hours, Rhea. That’s how long you have to do the right thing. Then I’ll kill one of them.”

  Rhea froze.

  “Think I’ll start with your boyfriend.” Stan laughed. “On second thought, I want him around a little longer.”

  “I’m going to bury you.” Rhea held the tracker in her palm. It’d be useless in the faraday cage, but if she could get it outside… The thought formulated a crazy plan, one she hoped to hell would work. “You won’t break us, Stan. You don’t even have the balls to come in here and look me in the eyes.”

  “Your girl’s got balls,” Spade commented, his voice barely audible over the blaring music.

  Fallon growled. Pain throbbed his temples and his ears rang. They’d all woken a while ago but had opted to remain still, assess the situation, and figure out an escape strategy. Since an Arsenal team wasn’t breaking them out, they had to assume they were so far off grid it’d take a while for Edge and the others to find them.

  Or the signals to their transmitters were blocked.

  Likely both.

  “What the fuck is she doing?” Fallon wanted to beat on Stan until he was a bloody memory.

  Watching her perform a mini striptease with her back to them had been bad enough. Hearing her goad Stan? Fallon needed inside that room.

  “The tracker,” Dallas said. “Bree gave her one she’s kept in her bra. I heard them chatting about it before we left the compound.”

  “Tagging him with it would get it outside whatever the hell these rooms are,” Donovan commented. “It’s a smart play we should follow.”

  “Assuming they’ve got the balls to come in and beat us up while we’re awake,” Sanchez said. “Pretty sure I have a couple cracked ribs.”

  “Same here,” Walker commented. “Fuckers must’ve used a cattle prod. I’ve got burns.”

  Fallon assessed his injuries. Pain along his left side and bloody gashes and a few burns. Whip. Cattle prod. Fists. “We’ve gotta get out of here before that fucker takes her bait.”

  He wiggled his wrists enough to test the restraints. Pain radiated from his shoulder blades and up his arms. The idiots who’d restrained them did a decent job, but they’d put them too close together. With enough determination he could get the chain detached from the ceiling. All he needed was leverage.

  “I need to crawl up you, man,” Fallon warned Donovan.

  “Have at it.”

  He would, once he figured out how to get his feet loose from their shackles. Or his arms. Son of a bitch.

  “Gotta respectfully request you don’t, boss.” Spade’s voice was low, barely audible over the damn music.

  “There a reason you want to just hang out?” Sanchez asked.

  “I’m thinking we play Plan B first, then you all bust out.”

  “Plan B?” Dallas asked.

  Fuck. Fallon glanced around what little he saw of their holding area. They were likely being monitored, but he doubted they’d hear anything over the damn grunge metal grinding their brains into goo. Enacting Plan B meant leaving Rhea alone and at Stan’s mercy long enough to make them come across as desperate.

  “Not gonna leave her in danger,” Fallon growled.

  “He’s right, boss,” Walker said.

  “Yeah.” Sanchez sighed. “I didn’t get calls made. I’m out as an option.”

  “What about you, Spade?” Fallon hated where the guys were going, but it was a solid strategy. “Not sure this is a smart play for you.”

  “I’ve worked with Mandrake before. It’s been a while, but I’ve got history for doing whatever they needed. I’m solid, boss.”

  “Not sure I like the sound of this Plan B,” Dallas said. “The girls know?”

  “No.” Fallon rattled his chains and adjusted his toes, which barely touched the ground if he stretched his entire body. The burn along his muscles kept him focused on escape.

  At least Rhea wasn’t hurt, from what he could see.

  The music died. Light appeared from behind them. A door? Fallon wished he was facing the other way, but was thankful Rhea was his view.

  “I’m afraid things are about to get messy, gentlemen.” Stan Carlisle’s amused voice grated Fallon’s patience.

  “What the hell do you want, man?” Spade asked, tugging on his restraints.

  “You’re a casualty of war, the means to an end.” Stan appeared in front of Fallon and smiled. “A way to break her.”

  “She doesn’t give a shit about me. Let me go.” Spade twisted and tugged. Chains rattled.

  “Rhea, be a good girl and watch. Which should I start with first?” Stan looked at Rhea through the glass.

  She whirled. Her eyes widened when her gaze locked with Fallon’s. He whispered her name, but remained still.

  “Which will die first?” Stan nodded. A large brute with massive fists appeared in Fallon’s peripheral vision. One meaty hand was wrapped around a machete.

  Fuck.

  The man did a full circle, an evil sneer on his face as he scraped the sharp weapon across everyone’s skin. Fallon’s pulse quickened. Whatever was about to happen, Rhea didn’t need to see.

  “Don’t say a damn thing, Rhea! Turn around and close your eyes!” Fallon shouted the orders, praying to fuck his beautiful, stubborn woman would listen.

  She slammed up against the barrier of their two cages. Tears streamed down her face as her lips moved. No words came to him. The bastard was controlling speakers between the two rooms, deciding for himself what they heard from Rhea. What she heard from them.

  Sick bastard.

  “Close your eyes, Doc.”

  “How cute.” Stan stood in front of Fallon. “You think you’re still in control?”

  “I know you won’t get a damn thing from any of us,” Fallon commented.

  “Fuck this!” Spade said as the machete-toting psycho stopped in front of him. “I want a deal. I’ll give you everything.”

  “You don’t have what I want.” Stan crossed his arms behind his back. “Who are you, other than Rhea’s lover?”

  “Your worst nightmare,” Donovan said. “Let us go while you still can.”

  Stan laughed. “On second thought, I won’t kill one of you right now. It’ll be more fun breaking you first.” He glanced at the meathead. “Take your time, make them hurt. Save the blood show for the next round.”

  18

  Logan would have his hands full patching everyone up. The thought rolled through Fallon’s mind as he processed the new injuries he’d sustained. Armed operatives more trained in torture took over when Stan left. Beatings, waterboarding, electroshock.

  Fallon endured it all praying to any god t
hat would listen to make Rhea turn away and not watch. Blood seeped from a gash over his eye. He blinked, trying to force a smile as he caught her gaze. Tears trekked down her face. She never turned away, never broke.

  The assholes would beat Fallon and everyone else, then stop. Stan would return to Rhea.

  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

  The bastards had bolted them into place by wrists and ankles, bodies pulled taught with thick chains that barely budged. Locked into position with no conceivable way out. He spat the blood that’d filled his mouth thanks to a new split lip.

  “Any of you military escape and evade experts want to tag in on this, I’d appreciate it,” Fallon commented. Dallas and Donovan were the only two he knew for sure who’d been trained in this shit.

  The three Arsenal operatives from the boat remained quiet, offering no running commentary on the conditions. Either they’d never been captured, or were trying to stay strong, put on a good show for the Mason hanging alongside them.

  “All metal room. Not sure The Collective would’ve been this thorough on securing detainees,” Dallas commented. “Kind of makes me want to redecorate our accommodations.”

  “We’ll get on that just as soon as we’re out of here,” Spade said.

  Spade. Fallon wasn’t sure whether to pat the crazy bastard on the back or kick his ass. He’d endured every beating but had screamed to talk to someone from Mandrake every time. The assholes working them over had looked at one another, unsure what to think of the crazy operative who’d screamed his surrender from the start.

  “I’m not getting paid enough for this shit,” Spade said. His voice boomed within the room. “Fuck this. The second they let me go, I’m singing. I’ll give them everything I know.”

  Fallon tightened. Spade was a fifty-fifty bet on if he was serious.

  The doorway opened again. Walker cursed beneath his breath. Time between the sessions was getting shorter and shorter. Either that or Fallon was starting to crack beneath the pressure of watching Rhea watching them.