Tormented (The Condemned Series Book 3)

by Alison Aimes

  With a roar, he blocked the female’s palm to his nose.

  She growled. He grunted.

  Torqueing, he drove his hips upward, knocking her off balance—and, pinwheeling, finished back on top.

  She shot a fist toward his ribs. A palm toward his jaw. He blocked both with his forearms. The shallow cut she’d given him stung like a bitch as his skin pulled tight. He ignored it. In favor of survival.

  Strike. Counter. Attack. Defend. Their punches blurred, neither quite able to best the other.

  Suddenly, she stiffened, her gaze shifting beyond his shoulder. “They’re coming.”

  No fool, he seized the moment—wrapping his hands around her throat, the delicacy of her neck surprising him again. A female. Nothing like Saralynee had been, but vulnerable all the same.

  Despite himself, his grip lessened. Just as he sensed the rush of movement at his back.

  He started to roll, but locked as he was to his prey, there was no way to move fast enough.

  Enraged emerald eyes fused with his. “I warned you,” she hissed, “and now we’re both—”

  A crack of blinding pain at the back of his head.

  Then…nothing.

  3

  Six planetary hours and one heartbeat later…

  The roar of the felon echoed off the metal walls of the pitch-black prison cell.

  Jade refused to react. Her fingers continued to bend and twist the chain link in her hand, even as the rush of air signaled her cellmate’s massive body was sailing forward, arms no doubt outstretched to wrap around her throat, his dead, amber eyes filled with that same grim, murderous resignation as before—

  Followed by a predictable—and quite satisfying—gagging sound as his forward momentum cut off in mid-strike. Along with his air supply.

  Choked off by the same metal collar fixed to her neck and attached by a sturdy link of chains to the wall. Trapping them both. Like animals.

  The man she’d nicknamed felon landed hard.

  Her ass vibrated as the floor shook.

  The male was all muscle.

  Her palms still stung from battering his steel-like frame. Her back still throbbed from when he’d taken her down, the heavy weight of him keeping her immobile. It had been a long time since she’d been so helpless… She shoved the ugly memories aside. Worked the chain links faster.

  “Janus hell.” Her cellmate’s fist slammed the ground. “I’m fucking leashed.” He sounded as happy about the discovery as she’d been. “Where’s my stuff? My ax? My clothes? And, most importantly, Grif?” He barked the questions at her, his voice low, as if he’d finally registered the need for quiet.

  “I don’t know what a Grif is, but your stuff is with mine.” Outside, the frenzied screams rose in pitch. A bead of sweat slid between her breasts. Of all the places to be stuck, small and dark was her least favorite. She’d spent far too much time in the punishment cells as a child. Clearing her throat, she purposely eradicated any indication of strain. “Everything was confiscated by 223’s men after you failed to register their arrival and they knocked us out.”

  Not one of her finer moments. She only hoped her employers never learned of the debacle.

  “I was a little busy trying to stop you from murdering me.” His voice was an ominous rumble.

  “I was similarly engaged and yet somehow heard them.”

  A long pause. Then, “Congratulations. I’ve exchanged about five full sentences with you and already want to kill you more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  Her interaction with the man only confirmed what she’d been told during the briefing: the planet was inhabited by dangerous, unstable criminals that needed to be taken out.

  The creak of metal indicated he’d picked himself up and begun to move.

  “You won’t be able to break the metal collar.” Under normal circumstances, she would have let her enemy expend as much energy as possible. But these were not normal circumstances.

  A heavy grunt. Several growls. More cursing. A clear indication he was trying to do exactly what she’d said could not be done: rip the manacle off his neck.

  She stifled a sigh, though she wasn’t surprised. She’d found most pleasing-looking, rugged men with thick necks and even thicker shoulders to be of diminished intelligence, their carnal appeal making it unnecessary for them to hone their intellect.

  And the felon, with his rugged features, wide chest, tapered waist, veiny forearms, mysterious scars and skin designs, and shaggy dark brown hair, was proving no exception.

  Still, since time was of the essence, she tried again. “Neither the cuff around our throats nor the wall anchors can be pulled apart through human strength alone.”

  “One, two, three, four…” Her cellmate was counting steps. Out loud. Could he not do it correctly in his head? “Janus, what the hell is this place?” His voice grew closer as he stretched the chain to its limit.

  Her body twitched, primed to attack, but she knew he’d be ready for it—and anyway, it wasn’t the smartest choice right now.

  In the end, he’d discover what she had.

  “We are in a Council shipping container previously used to transport prisoners.” Doling out information she’d rather have kept to herself didn’t come easy. “It’s twenty feet in length and height and eight feet wide. It has one exit point, a roll-up door that padlocks from the outside and cannot be manually unlocked from within. No windows. No internal struts. Nothing but corrugated walls and a smooth floor.”

  She knew because she’d traveled undercover in a similar model to get to Dragath25, posing as a recently sentenced convict. It hadn’t been an easy ride or arrival. Still, that time she’d had a key to free herself. She didn’t now.

  But it wasn’t the first time she’d been in dire circumstances and prevailed.

  “If we want to escape,” she went for it, “we’ll have to work together.”

  “Not happening.” The low, strained grunt indicated he’d gone back to tugging at either the collar or the link to the wall. “I don’t make agreements with Council scum. I kill them.”

  “Hotheaded, illogical responses will help neither of us, felon.”

  “Neither will telling you to fuck off, robot female, but I’ll enjoy it anyway.”

  Her fingers curled into her palms despite herself. People didn’t mock her. Or laugh in her face. They paled. Trembled. Begged. And then they died.

  But not this fool. She’d been instructed from childhood to root out all emotion, but as this man’s presence made clear, her detachment was far from perfect. Some things—or people—still brought on a sharp stab to her chest, prompting an impulse to react without forethought.

  No amount of beatings had been able to exorcise that flaw.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she uncurled her fists and got back to work, bending and twisting the link in her hand. “The restraints are coded to read height and weight and restrict movement to each prisoner’s approximate arm span. The chain provides enough slack to move around, even touch if stretched to the limit, but not enough to venture into each other’s space or get anywhere near the door.”

  When he said nothing, insulting or otherwise, she relaxed a bit and continued. “The anchor cannot be pulled from the wall, even by someone of your freakish brute strength. The manacle collar has some weaknesses that might be exploited over time, but as you can tell from the screams outside, time is not on our side. By running my thumb across the length of the chain, I’ve found a link with a minor crack. My brawn alone is not enough to break it. But, if we work together, our combined power might be enough to snap it in half. Once broken, we can gain egress to the rest of the container. I am certain I can then formulate an escape.”

  Another long pause. “And once you’re free, you’ll get me out as well? Good plan, ice queen. I’ll be right over.”

  He didn’t move.

  “No wonder the Resistance is faring so poorly.” Her frosty tone revealed none of th
e fury seething beneath. “You have no idea when something is in your best interest. You simply come out swinging and end up worse than before.”

  “Better than rolling over to become the pathetic tool of a corrupt body of greedy, murderous Council psychopaths.”

  “The Council is trying to save all the people of New Earth.”

  “Except for the ones you kill, right?”

  Her certainty faltered. She didn’t usually engage in such discourse. Political debate was forbidden at headquarters, as was any kind of discussion for that matter. Interactions between enforcers, heavily discouraged. Budding friendships, quickly eradicated. Sex for anything other than the mission, banned. When off duty, she was expected to train or attend specified Council lectures. Meals were taken with supervisors. Reading limited to sanctioned materials. Lights out immediately after the final meal.

  But she wasn’t a fool. Nor was she the unfeeling robot her cellmate kept suggesting she was. Her unsupervised intervals out on a job gave her enough time to see that all was not right on New Earth.

  Which was exactly why she believed in what she did.

  “The people I take out need to be eradicated.” Her most recent mission was a perfect example. Yes, the Councilor had been a competitor of her employers, but he’d also been a monster who’d abducted non-Council children from their barracks. Or the two targets before him: two non-Council criminals who’d stolen food from elders too weak to defend themselves.

  “Doubtful,” scoffed the felon.

  “Accurate,” she insisted.

  Otherwise, she would have long ago let the nano-bomb imbedded beneath her skin detonate.

  Her employers used such technology to properly motivate their operatives, but she’d become inured to the threat of the countdown and what would happen if she failed to complete an operation within the prescribed time. Death did not scare her. The thought of leaving this world with no legacy, did.

  “Do not doubt I will prevail in my objective to acquire the weapon,” she continued, wisely keeping the second part of her job to herself. Her cellmate would not be pleased to learn she had also been tasked with eliminating him and the rest of the dangerous Dragath25 population before she returned the weapon to the Council for safekeeping. “My employers have sent me here to protect the innocents of New Earth and I will not fail them.”

  “Either you’ve been freakishly brainwashed or you’re the best liar I’ve met to date,” he growled. “The Council doesn’t care about safeguarding anything but its own power.”

  The wild shrieks outside coalesced into a comprehensible chant: fresh meat, fresh meat. The words vibrating right through the hold, a cacophony of feral voices that thundered from every direction.

  They were surrounded.

  She worked the link in her hand faster.

  “GREETINGS!” A distinct voice echoed outside, cutting through the shrieking. Deep and confident, it was filled with the same oratory power as the false prophets in sector five back on New Earth.

  The hair on Ryker’s arms prickled. He yanked at the anchor with everything he had, sweat pouring down his jaw and chest. No luck. The Dragath chain wouldn’t give.

  He really hadn’t wanted his cellmate to be right.

  “You rats like your dark hole?” The mocking taunt issued from a different voice.

  “They’ve got some holes I can’t wait to fill.” Laughter. Howls.

  “Forgive my associates.” Footsteps echoed as the first voice came closer, until it was so clear Ryker could imagine the guy’s mouth pressed right against the walls of the hold. “They can get a little overenthusiastic at times.”

  “223,” whispered the assassin.

  Ryker had never had the displeasure of a run-in with the gang leader before today, but he’d seen his handiwork. Rotting corpses left on cliffsides, crash sites picked clean.

  “If you want to live,” declared the murderer, “you’ll tell me where the fuse connector is.”

  Huh? Though he couldn’t see her, his gaze shifted in the assassin’s direction.

  She sighed. “I extracted the main fuse connector from the weapon before you and I fought.” Her words were low and clipped and meant to be heard only by him. “I broke off pieces and wielded them as projectiles to slow you down and lure you closer. Thanks to you, 223’s precious fuse connector is dust, ground under your giant-sized boots.”

  He’d never been so pleased about being used before. “Clever.”

  “It’s only a delay, not a respite.” The faint thread of surprise in her tone suggested he’d knocked her more off-kilter with his praise than his actual blows ever had. “223’s resources are limited, but he’ll devise an alternative. All I’ve bought is some time.”

  “And made him more pissed off.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was more subdued this time around.

  Janus hell. He suspected he’d regret this, but…

  “Give it.” Keeping his voice low, he marched toward her, stretching his chains to the limit, the collar digging into his neck as he held out his hand for her metal leash. “I’ll break your cracked link. But if you try anything, I swear I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

  The image helped calm him.

  Until he heard, “Not if I get to you first.”

  Some partnership.

  “Here.” Something hard smacked his knuckle. The scent of rhozeberry wrapped around his lungs. “It’s the fifth link.” Calloused fingers grabbed his, guiding his hand to a length of chain. Against his will, the heat of her skin conjured up the image of midnight hair, alabaster skin, and deadly green eyes. “I’ll use my body weight to stretch the chain as far as I can. That should help put greater strain on the crack.”

  It would be so damn easy. Grab the chain. Jerk hard. Snap the Council operative’s neck and bring himself one step closer to making those who’d murdered Saralynee and his son pay…

  “Hello? You two still in there?” The gang leader’s smug voice intruded. “Did the bastard Council send you? My ex-employers do so like to keep tabs.”

  “Ex-employers?” Ryker’s muttering was intended for himself, his twitchy fingers still warring over whether to kill or cooperate.

  But his cellmate answered, anyway, her voice low and deliberate as she spat out fact after fact as if she’d memorized an entire intel briefing. “223 was a high-ranking scientist for the Council. His given name was Benjamin Greer. The head of the Council’s research and development wing, he was tasked with finding ways to save New Earth and end the famines. He had a wife. A child. The rest of the file information was redacted, but at some point, something changed. Then, it was discovered he was testing out his new technology on unsanctioned, unwilling volunteers—and focused far more on maximizing death than trying to save lives. He was sentenced for his crimes to life on Dragath25 by the same Council you continue to dismiss. It was assumed an ill-prepared scientist wouldn’t survive more than a lunar rotation. Instead, he embraced his prison designation 223, rose to become the leader of one of Dragath25’s most dangerous prison gangs, built a deadly weapon from spare parts, and repaired a downed shuttle he intends to use to reach New Earth and dispatch his weapon.”

  Janus hell. This was their jailer? And his team’s neighbor? He’d liked it better when he’d just thought the gang leader was just some feral nut job. Now he knew the bastard was also brilliant and ambitious—and equipped with not only a deadly weapon, but the transportation to use it on whoever he liked.

  Definitely not the kind of despot he wanted in his own backyard. Or threatening the people of New Earth.

  Gripping his cellmate’s cracked link, he got to work. He couldn’t save Grif or the rest of his team rotting in some old, rusted transpo hold.

  “You Council lackeys ready to talk?” A loud pounding as 223 tried to engage them once more.

  “Keep quiet.” The whispered instruction issued from the nearby darkness. “The less he can discern about us, the better chance we have.”

  “No shit,” he hisse
d back.

  “The female’s still alive, right?” 223 was proving persistent. “She promises to be such a favorite for the crew. We don’t get too many real women here. Especially ones who look like her.”

  “Anyone who tries to touch me will die,” announced his cellmate, loud enough to penetrate the walls.

  Ryker was too pleased with the certainty in her tone to give her shit for responding after she’d just told him not to do so.

  “Such spirit,” cackled 223. “My men will like divesting you of that.”

  “Fuck you,” roared Ryker. “No one is touching her or me.”

  “It’s good to have dreams.” 223 chuckled at his own joke. Something only assholes did. “One last chance to tell me where the fuse connector is.” He paused. “Refusing to tell me will only make your deaths more hellish.”

  “He lies. Our deaths will be painful either way.” His cellmate’s observations were as cheery as always.

  “Keep your silence then,” said the gang leader. “Maybe after a visit from my colleagues, you’ll be ready to tell me where you’ve hidden the rest of my weapon.”

  The shrieks crested to a new decibel.

  4

  Without warning, the floor beneath Ryker’s feet pitched and he stumbled, the collar at his neck stealing his air before he righted himself. “What in the hell?”

  The floor seesawed in the other direction.

  “They’re rocking the hold.” The assassin’s voice was eerily calm. “Trying to tip it.” Another pause. “It could work in our favor.”

  “How could—” But he never got to finish.

  The floor slanted the other way. Then, kept going. Like a giant spinning wheel. With them along for the ride.

  He flew airborne.

  A body slammed into his. A body he hadn’t been able to reach only a few moments before.

  Reacting on instinct, he grabbed hold. Pulled her to him. The lean, delicate lines of her form surprising him all over again—shouldn’t someone with her obnoxious attitude be ten feet tall and twice as wide?

  The rattle of chains was deafening as their restraints clashed and twisted. The heat of her skin pressed into his own as her leg slid between his and her elbow smacked his chin.