by Debra Kayn
"I have my memories, but I don't want them," he whispered, finally telling someone the truth.
Prez whistled and sagged against the back of the chair. "Damn."
"What's going to happen now? Are you going to the controller with the information that I'm alive and in Avery Falls? Should I slip out the door and disappear?" he asked.
Prez shook his head. "There was an implosion in the cave that collapsed the tunnel ten days ago. Neither the controller nor the two handlers have been back. So all of us have been without our allotment of drugs since Sunday when we ran out."
"So, three days." He walked away from the table.
He had no idea how many days had passed between when they switched him and when he became coherent in the mountains. It could've been days or months. Once he woke up, it'd taken several days, maybe a week, for the flashes of memories to start torturing him.
He couldn't predict when they'd come or how he'd react. Everything the Alpha Bio Project trained him for was useless during the switch.
"The explosion doesn't make any sense. Why would they destroy everything?" He returned to the table. "Where else would they have the secrecy of training the men? There're tourists running everywhere in Avery Falls. The cave was the one secure location that'd worked for two decades."
"Trip believes the project is recruiting more men and handling the day-to-day training somewhere else. He's afraid those in the organization will build a new group of participants and come after the club."
"To create a war?" He could see where Trip's thoughts led him. "Jesus...that's not what they trained us for."
"Isn't it?" Prez shoved back from the table and stood. "Throughout the years, did you ever think they'd blow up the fucking mountain and leave us high and dry? We're trained killers. It doesn't need to make sense to us. When the time is right, boom, we're killing machines. There's your war."
He always understood the controller would switch him one day. It was something he never feared because he believed it was his purpose in life.
While he had knowledge of what went on during training—the project softened the lingering effects with the drugs they handed out.
He was thankful they'd wiped any memory of living through the brainwashing and physical abuse. If only it were so easy to remove his past again.
He rubbed his hand over his face. He'd take every painful moment since signing up for the project if they'd make him forget his past, again.
"You're all going to remember." He wanted to protect his club from the truth, but all he could do was prepare them for what was to come. "And you're going to wish you were dead. There are going to be men who won't survive. They'll turn on each other. They could attack the town in their rage. Not only will they want to end their life when the pain gets too much, but they'll also believe they're going insane."
"Fuck," muttered Prez.
He looked at Prez, having known him for as many years as he'd participated in the project. There was no right number of warnings to prepare the club for what was to come to each of them.
"We need to do something to retain the brotherhood." Prez rubbed the back of his neck. "We can call a rally—"
"No. That won't work." Keenan inhaled deeply. "If we let them know what they'll experience when they're all together, they'll flee, believing they can outrun the warning. With the organization gone from Avery Falls, nothing will keep them here."
"They took an oath to the brotherhood." Prez pushed the table away from him and stood. "They damn will stay. I'll make them stay."
None of them could stop the switch. They were killers. It was impossible.
Prez wiped his forehead and looked at the palm of his hand. "What the hell is this?"
"Sweat," muttered Keenan. "Get used to it."
The normal reactions people went through when angry, frustrated, or exhausted would soon become stronger in those who were enhanced and no longer taking the drugs given to them by the Alpha Bio Project.
It was a side-effect of the withdrawals. It would take time for Prez and the others to acclimate. Then, they'd start to go back to how they were trained.
"The switch supersedes the brotherhood." He gazed at Prez, feeling the connection that existed between each member wearing the patch. "It'll be life or death, and none of us can protect the other."
Trip had tried to warn them something bad was going to happen. At the time, the other originals had no experience to understand the bigger picture, including himself. Even after going through the switch, he still hadn't figured out how Trip knew what could happen while he continued to take the drugs given to him.
Prez hung his head before raising his gaze to Keenan. "How did you survive alone?"
Tension rolled through his body. Living with the truth was a nightmare. Even when he was busy finding food and wood for a fire, making sure he had clean water, and hiding from a bigger threat, the ramification of the switch remained forefront on his mind.
It consumed him.
It ate away at him like cancer until there was nothing left.
Even more dangerous than being enhanced, accepting his fate, and trained to react to all situations, deep down, he would kill.
He was no longer disconnected from his feelings. The bad he was born with had won.
"I haven't survived. I probably won't," he whispered.
"It's that bad?"
Keenan dipped his chin. Telling Prez more would only make it more difficult for his president.
"We need you to come back to Avery Falls."
"I can't." If he stayed here, he was too close to his MC brothers. On the mountain, he could hide from the pressure that came back with a vengeance when he regained his memories.
"We need to deal with this before we lose everything. Without the drugs, we'll lose control. What's going to happen then? We have almost three hundred fucking tourists milling around each day of the summer. We need to keep running the businesses. If the locals start seeing us drop the ball, they will question what we're doing." Prez closed his eyes an extra breath, inhaling deeply. "As it is, we're failing to keep up since the implosion."
The club wasn't the only thing on the brink of disaster. He had a woman he'd kidnapped tied up on his bed in the cabin.
"We need you, Keenan."
To come back to his house, he'd need to bring the woman. Letting her go would only bring the authorities down on him and everyone else involved with the club.
"I have a problem." He sat back down.
He quickly informed Prez about the happenings over the last several days. The last thing he needed was a woman underfoot, but it was too dangerous to let her go.
Chapter Six
Grace held on to the cargo rack behind her on the back of the ATV, trying to keep her body away from her kidnapper in front of her. An almost impossible task as they navigated over the rocky ground.
From her advantage point on the mountain, she could see the lights of Avery Falls in the distance, along with the flowing St. Joe River. Somewhere down there, her Jeep was waiting for her to go home.
When he'd ordered her outside that morning to get on the ATV, she'd jumped at the chance to escape the confines of the cabin. Nausea hit her. She closed her eyes. One more night in pure blackness with only a speck of the moon shining through the holes in the roof would've made her go insane.
She wanted electricity, a cell phone, and her sister.
She hadn't eaten since the morning of the kidnapping. Never in her life had she gone three days without eating and living on water that tasted of earth.
Knowing if he had kept her at the cabin any longer, she would've given in and consumed the meat he stored in the ground. She couldn't jeopardize her strength and the ability to think straight. She needed both those things to escape.
His plan to take her to Avery Falls gave her hope. Along with the fact that he'd tied her bags onto the back of the ATV.
She could almost taste the turkey in a club sandwich, loaded with tomato, cheese, lettuce, and an
avocado. God, a pickle. She would love a big dill.
The fizz of a diet Pepsi would probably reduce her to tears. She wanted a can so bad. The caffeine would give her the kick in the ass she needed to survive.
The water she'd consumed in the cabin was refreshing—and if she had to admit, better than any water she'd ever tasted—but she needed her pop fix.
Then, a shower. A long, hot shower.
The ATV came to a stop. Her heart raced, and panic gripped her. They hadn't reached town yet.
Had he changed his mind on letting her go? He'd specifically told her they were going to Avery Falls.
She'd assumed he meant to let her go. She desperately held on to the idea her captivity was soon to be over.
From the moment she sat on the ATV, she'd planned on finding a police officer. Either in Avery Falls, if they had someone patrolling the recreational hub, or she'd go to St. Maries and report him for kidnapping her. She wanted him to pay for what he'd done to her. He couldn't go around tying women to his bed and starving them to death.
Her absence caused a domino effect. She'd lose her deposit at The Shack for not returning the ATV rental on time and would have extra fees due for overstaying at the campsite—if someone hadn't ripped her off, thinking she wasn't coming back.
Her patience running out, she said, "Aren't you going?"
"Not yet." He held up his hand. "Quiet."
She bit down on her lip to stop from telling him she'd walk the rest of the way by herself in the dark.
For some reason, she had the feeling he was thinking about what would happen when he arrived in Avery Falls.
He had to realize the cops would be after him. If not now, then soon when she reported him to the police for kidnapping her.
She hoped someone could identify him, going by her description. He never told her his name. But how many six foot four inch men with muscles upon muscles also had long dirty-blond hair, muted hazel eyes, and full lips that were prettier and sexier than they should be on the rare chance a person could see them through the thick, over-long, tangled-mess of a beard could there be?
It sickened her that she could see the beauty in him behind the sick, psycho, masochist, killer, neanderthal behavior. But she'd had nothing but time locked in the cabin with him, and he was the only thing to look at—and he was always there, filling up her personal space.
At least he wore a shirt and jeans now. She no longer had to look at that massive monstrosity dangling between his legs.
"We're going to wait until it's darker," he said softly.
"It is dark." The longer they sat still without moving, the harder it was for her to see ten feet in front of them.
He refrained from replying. Her hands ached from holding on to the rack and leaning halfway back. The awkward position grew more uncomfortable, tasking her abdominal muscles.
Scooting back as far as she could without losing her seat, she sat up straight, stretching her back. Rubbing her fingers, she frowned. She hardly recognized her hands.
Pinching the skin at the back of her hand, she waited for the skin to snap back in place. Instead, the skin steepled. She rubbed her hands harder. There was no denying she was dehydrated.
She hadn't gone pee since that morning.
While she had consumed water the man had collected from somewhere outside the cabin, she wasn't getting enough. Normally, she carried around a water bottle, drinking all day to keep up with her busy lifestyle.
Time ticked by slowly. She gave up hope that he planned to take her back to town and let her go.
Tears flowed silently down her cheeks, and she had no energy to care if he witnessed a weak moment from her.
Her situation was all his fault.
She was tired of surviving and patting herself on the back for staying alive one more hour and, in the next moment, scared of never seeing her sister again.
She was scared to think of dying.
She wanted to live. She wanted to have a husband. She wanted a baby. She wanted to buy the new Sigma 18-35 f/1.8 DC HSM art lens for her camera.
Her spirits spiraled downward, plummeting into resignation. He was never going to let her go. Her sister would never know what happened to her.
"It's time." He started the ATV.
She grabbed onto the man's waist. "No, please. I have a sister and a job. I don't want to—"
"I'm not killing you."
Her body pulsed. She wanted to make him say it again, promise on his life not to murder her.
But he rode forward. Left holding on to him over the rocky ground as they descended the mountain, she put herself at his mercy.
She never questioned how he could see in the dark without the ATV's headlights on or why he planned on going to town during a specific time.
By the time he rode into Avery Falls, her head seemed to weigh a ton, and she'd long ago put her cheek on the back of his shoulder. She no longer cared that she was touching him. His sturdy body kept her seated on the ATV and not falling to her death.
The four-wheeler turned and then turned again. Lulled by the trip, knowing she was going home, she smiled against the man's back. It no longer mattered that she'd failed at photographing the Pekania pennanti. She'd give the money back that she was paid in advance to the man who'd hired her. Someone else could find the elusive fisher.
The money wasn't worth it.
The ATV stopped. A boost of adrenaline had her raising her head. The motion made her dizzy, and she moaned.
In the darkness, she could barely see the outline of a house in front of her. She looked to the left and right, trying to see in the darkness. Shadows grew closer, dark shapes shifted. She blinked furiously, trying to adjust her vision to the lack of light.
"The house is open. I had J.J. come over and air it out," said a male.
Grace stiffened as she made out a man standing in the dark. Someone was here. Someone to help her.
She pushed against her kidnapper, scrambling awkwardly off the ATV toward the other man. "Help me, please." She grabbed at the man's front, gripping leather. "He's kidnapped me. He's kept me in a cabin. That's my ATV. I rented it. You can check at The Shack. I'm Grace Lambert. I-I paid for a campsite by the river. Can you call—"
"Shut your mouth." A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground.
The air in her lungs whooshed out of her, and her kidnapper clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. She kicked and flailed her arms, trying to get free.
There was another man here. Why wasn't he helping her?
She stilled. The other man wore a biker's vest.
All other coherent thoughts went black.
Chapter Seven
Keenan walked out of the bedroom. At Prez's look of interest, he shrugged. "She's not dead. She's breathing."
Prez raised his brows. "What's wrong with her?"
"She's...stubborn. Wouldn't eat, barely drank. She passed out." He sat down, uncomfortable in his house.
The home he'd left no longer belonged to him. His life wasn't the same. It would never be the same. Right now, Grace—he'd looked in her bags and found out all the information he could about her, which wasn't much—was something he had control over.
And right now, he needed to have her with him. He needed one thing that grounded him because to make it out alive, he needed to keep his head. He needed to stay one step ahead of everyone else. If that meant holding her inside the house and not letting her go, then that's what he'd do.
He wouldn't risk her going to the authorities. He'd lose his club.
He'd taken an oath to protect each one of them. Prez would have to trust him. He knew what needed to be done.
"She claims you kidnapped her." Prez walked to the front of the house and opened the door.
"You could say that."
Prez shook his head as Trip walked inside. Right now, all Keenan wanted to do was acclimate to being back.
Before the switch, he adapted instantly to any new situation or cri
sis. Since the switch, he was slower to react. Problems never came with answers. He had to figure them out on his own, and to his disappointment, he grew frustrated and became impatient often.
Trip went straight to the fridge and grabbed everyone a beer. He couldn't remember what he had stored in the house. It'd been almost a year.
"J.J. brought groceries over with her yesterday. She thought you'd need to eat after being out of state visiting family." Trip handed him a bottle.
"Is that what you told her? I was with family?" He removed the cap and chugged the beer.
The bitter malted taste hit the back of his tongue. He thumped his fist against his chest and braced. The carbonation went straight to his head after surviving off creek water for so long.
Every cell in his body woke up. His hand shook. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Unable to sit, he put the bottle on the floor and stood. Motherfucking hell.
"We had to tell the locals something, or they'd question your absence." Prez tipped back the beer.
Keenan watched for any sign his president experienced the same reaction from the alcohol. But Prez seemed unaffected by the beer. He turned away from his MC brothers and ran his hand over his whiskered jaw. Nobody in Avery Falls knew him.
They knew him as Keenan or Kyle Bowman or Fifteen. They never knew him as Kurt Brown.
Kurt Brown was a drug addict. Heroin and cocaine were his drugs of choice, but he'd take anything he could smoke, snort, shoot, and stuff in his body. Alcohol only prepared his body for the trip he'd go on and was used as a cocktail for anything he could get his hands on.
And while he was flying high, he'd do anything.
He shoved the rest of the memories down before they surfaced. "Is everyone in the club going off the drugs at the same time?"
Prez shook his head. "The second crew had two days more available to them. Right now, it's the originals, minus you, and fifteen others."
That wasn't ideal, but better than all of them switching at the same time. He sat back down on the couch. "Who are the fifteen?"
While Prez rattled off their names, he memorized them. He'd deal with them first. They were the only ones he could try and protect as they went through the changes that would hit them.