by C. I. Black
The room grew dark, and the weight warmed like a too-heavy blanket, binding her arms—
Binding… her arms…
Bound!
She was cuffed to the bed.
She wrenched her eyes open.
“We have unfinished business with the other—” Koehn said, now standing in the doorway. “—he’ll be more forthcoming, like—”
Something clicked. The door? Something else? Becca floated, yet sank deep into the mattress at the same time. The heart monitor’s slow chirp jarred with each beep, yet lulled with its steady rhythm.
If she just closed her eyes, she’d fall asleep… except darkness surrounded her, and she was pretty sure her eyes were already closed. But if she could just fall asleep, she’d wake free from the nightmare.
A jolt snapped through her, and the rhythmic beeping stuttered.
She was in a nightmare. She couldn’t forget that. Ever. Not until she was free.
She concentrated past the fuzz in her head to her arms. They were so heavy, she didn’t know if they’d move, no matter how hard she thought about the action. The leather cuffs pinched tight around her wrists, and the metal pen dug into her skin.
If she could just grab it, she could use it to slide the strap free of the buckle.
She forced her eyes open.
Darkness still surrounded her.
No, her eyes were still closed.
God, she was never going to make it like this. She should wait until the sedative was out of her system.
Except she had no idea how long that would last, or if Stanbury would come back and find the pen, or if they’d decide she was no longer useful and kill her.
Her pulse stuttered again.
Shit. They were monitoring that. She needed to control herself. Needed a plan. Needed to open her eyes and stay awake.
She strained past the weight dragging her into the mattress.
Just open her eyes.
The heart monitor beeped, and her muscles twitched, jerking for a second past the sedation.
Open.
Another beep. Another twitch. She clenched her jaw and concentrated.
Please. Open.
Chirp.
She could do this. Fight through it. She was stronger than some drug — and she was not going to acknowledge how impossible that actually was. This was just a dream. She could God damn open her eyes if she wanted to.
Chirp.
She would God damn open her eyes.
Chirp.
Come on. Wake up.
Chirp.
Wake. Up!
Someone gasped. A tremor sliced through her, and the heart monitor squealed. Her eyes flew open, and her gaze jumped to the monitor. She didn’t know how fast was too fast, but this was clearly a change. She drew in a quick breath, but it was too ragged to slow her pulse. If she couldn’t get her heart rate under control, she was going to have to be ready to fight her way out of there.
4
She wrenched her attention from the monitor to the pen and twisted her wrist to pin it between her first two drug-numbed fingers.
Another tremor sliced across her chest. The monitor chirped and her body tensed. She tightened her grip on the pen and slid it closer to her thumb to get a better grip. No way was she twitching and tossing her only means of escape to the floor. She was stronger than that. If she’d managed to keep her head while pinned down by sniper fire and with her light tactical transport vehicles lit up with flames, she could hold her shit together now.
The pen tip brushed her thumb, and she changed her grip, pinching the pen between her thumb and forefinger, and pushed the end under the tongue of the cuff at the buckle.
Just shove the tongue back. Just an inch.
The drug’s weight buffeted her senses, dragged her toward a darkness that threatened everything. Her vision tightened to just the pen’s tip against the cuff. The rest of the room blurred and dimmed. Even the chirp from the monitor faded.
Just enough to release the buckle. One step at a time. One step to freedom. One—
Darkness bled over her hand, the cuff, then the pen. She was floating and melting and—
Someone groaned, but she had no idea if it was her or someone else.
Another tremor sliced through her body, this one stronger. It jerked her awake, stole her breath, and made her pulse leap again.
The pen flashed back into focus, thankfully still under the cuff’s tongue. She pushed it deeper, the tongue slipped, and the buckle’s prong jumped a grommet then caught again. She tugged, but the leather rubbed against already raw skin. It was still too tight.
Crap. She shifted her grip and fought to adjust the pen’s tip back against the catch. One more grommet. That was all she needed.
Darkness swarmed across her vision and the exhaustion dragged at her muscles. Her fingers twitched, but the pen didn’t move.
Come on. What she wouldn’t give for a pulse-jerking tremor. Stay awake.
The pen tip bled back into sight, and she tightened her mental grasp on her consciousness. Her hand trembled, but the damned pen didn’t move. She ground her teeth, willing everything she had into pushing the pen the necessary fraction of an inch to the prong.
Another tremor sliced across her chest.
Holy Mother.
Her thought? Not her thought? God, it was so hard to think.
Her hand twitched, and the pen jammed against the prong as something clicked. Logically she knew the sound had to be quiet, but it roared through her, setting her on high alert. The click meant something important. Except she couldn’t make her mind work past releasing the cuff’s buckle to figure out why the heart monitor screamed and adrenaline shot through her. No—
She could.
Danger.
The click meant someone was in the room.
She dragged her gaze to the door—
The cuff shuddered into focus.
No, she had to look at the door. It was important.
She rolled her head to the side and focused on Lenard, standing in the doorway. Everything was in stuttering slow motion. She wasn’t just thinking through water. Thoughts were being ripped from her head before she could fully think them.
Lenard’s attention was locked on her hand. The one holding the pen.
Oh, shit. She heaved her attention back to the pen and shoved at the tongue. The heavy leather shifted, but the buckle didn’t release.
She shoved again as Lenard materialized at her side and snatched the pen from her fingers.
“Looks like extra precautions will have to be taken,” he said.
And then she’d have no hope of escaping.
Lenard shoved the pen into his pocket and reached to tighten the cuff.
She couldn’t let him secure her. It was now or never and never wasn’t an option. She heaved her legs up against the drug-induced weight of the blanket and rammed her feet into Lenard’s chest. He staggered back to the foot of the bed, and she yanked her hand against the loosened cuff. The leather ground against her skin.
Lenard grabbed an ankle restraint at the foot of the bed and shoved the blanket up, exposing her legs. She kicked at his face and yanked harder at her wrist, squeezing her thumb as tight to her palm as possible.
He snagged her foot. She kicked at him with her other foot and cracked her heel against his temple. His head snapped back, but his grip didn’t release.
Shit. She kicked again and missed, her leg suddenly heavy, as if her desperation to flee was only strong enough to survive a few seconds against the sedative.
Lenard secured the cuff around her ankle then shifted to seize her hand again.
Her chest tightened and another blast of adrenaline sliced through the sedative. With a scream, she wrenched her wrist against the cuff, and her hand slipped free. Lenard scrambled to get a hold of her, but she jerked out of the way and rammed her fist into his throat.
He gasped, his eyes wide, and staggered back. She heaved against the drug slowing her limbs and unbou
nd her other hand.
Lenard drew in a ragged breath and reached for her again. She sat up, punched him in the face, and snatched the pen from his pocket. He lurched forward, and she jammed the pen into his neck. With a howl, he staggered back and grasped at the pen.
Becca undid the ankle cuff and rolled off the bed, but the sedative slammed into her, sweeping into her head, making the room twist and the muscles in her legs give out. She grabbed for the bed to keep standing, but didn’t have the strength to hold herself up and sagged to the floor. Come on. Get up. Get out of there.
Someone groaned—
She groaned? The out-of-focus room spun. Lenard screamed, the pen clattered to the floor, and he staggered toward the bed. The heart monitor wailed, wrenching her attention toward it, and for a second she couldn’t remember why that was bad.
Because they’re monitoring it.
Shit. Right. Whoever her captors were, they had to know something was happening. She had to get out of there. Now. It didn’t matter if this was a dream or not. This was her one chance to escape, and she sure as hell was taking it.
Lenard staggered to the edge of the bed. He was going to cut her off, and then she’d have to fight both the sedative and him to get out the door.
She tightened her grip on the bed and hauled herself up. The world twisted and darkened.
This was not how it was going to end.
She ripped the heart monitor leads from her chest. The machine’s wild beeping turned into a grating squeal. Lenard, with one hand clamped against his neck, blood oozing between his fingers, lunged for her.
She lurched toward the door, but as soon as she put weight on her leg, her knee gave out. A pressure swept through her and darkness flooded her vision. She grabbed at the closest thing, a trolley with medical stuff on it. Her hand bumped the silver tray on top, knocking it and the contents to the floor.
Lenard lunged at her. She twisted out of the way, but couldn’t keep her balance and collapsed to her hands and knees.
“You can’t fight it,” Lenard said. “The sedative is too strong.”
Except she had to fight it. If she closed her eyes, she wouldn’t get up, and she’d never be free.
Her hand bumped the tray.
Lenard seized her shoulder.
Grab it.
Her fingers clenched around the tray as Lenard yanked her around to face him. She swept into the movement, using it to propel her around, and smashed the tray against the side of his head.
He jerked back, and she bashed the tray against the side of his head again. He screamed and crumpled to the floor. The room darkened and the drug’s weight billowed within her.
She clenched her teeth and wrenched her attention to the door. If she could get her brain to work faster, she would have taken a second to look for a better weapon, a scalpel or pair of scissors, but it took everything she had to stand, let alone lurch to the door.
Her shoulder hit the wall beside the door and she grabbed the handle. She couldn’t remember crossing the room. And it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was escaping.
She eased the door open and glanced into a brightly lit, institutionally beige hall. She strained to hear anyone coming but couldn’t hear past the screaming heart monitor.
Her thoughts stuttered and her heart pounded with a heavy thud that shuddered through her, darkening her sight and weakening her limbs.
She couldn’t just stand there. She had no idea how long she’d been standing there. Lenard was going to get up any minute. Stanbury and Koehn were going to come back.
Keep moving.
Yes. Just keep moving.
She staggered out the door, her shoulder against the wall to keep standing and the tray clutched in her hand. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. But her insides churned, howling that she wasn’t moving fast enough. They were going to capture her. The nightmare would continue.
No. She squeezed her consciousness, tightening it into a pinpoint, and focused on the hall. She could do this. She had to do this.
She pushed her legs to go faster until she managed a lurching jog and reached another hall. A split-second pause to peek around the corner confirmed no one was in sight, and she forced herself into the other hall as footsteps pounded from somewhere behind her and someone yelled.
Her pulse thrummed faster, each beat dragging against the weight of the sedative. They had to have seen her. If she didn’t get moving, they were going to capture her.
She half-staggered, half-ran down this hall to a T-intersection and stumbled around the right-hand corner. Here the wall on the left side was lined with windows looking into rooms. The first room was empty, but the second had a woman in it, huddled in the corner opposite the bed. The next room held Werner, who lay on his bed.
She stumbled to his door and wrenched on the handle. The door swung open. Werner’s head jerked up and his gaze jumped to her.
“Becca?”
“Come on.” Darkness shuddered around her and the room twisted. She clung to the door to keep standing. She had to keep moving. Had to stay awake.
His gaze dipped to her side as he rushed from the bed. “A tray?”
Becca glanced at the tray, still clutched in her hand. “Only weapon available.”
He wrapped an arm around her back and they hurried to the next door. Inside, Glenn was strapped to his bed. His eyes widened when he saw them, and Werner leaned her in the doorway and raced to his side.
The weight in Becca’s chest flared and she fought to stay awake. She concentrated on the hall, looking for trouble, and realized — in slow motion — there were more window-rooms in the hall.
She staggered toward the closest door, threw it open, and moved to the next one before registering if anyone was inside. Behind her, a surprised woman — she looked familiar, but Becca couldn’t make her mind work enough to remember — darted into the hall.
“Help the others,” Becca said, not knowing if there were others or not. She stumbled to the third door and shoved it open.
Werner and Glenn materialized at her sides. She hadn’t noticed them approach, as if time had stuttered — and she wasn’t going to consider that it could have been the impossible vortex that Werner could make.
Behind her, someone barked something, and others started yelling and screaming.
“They found us,” Glenn said, wrapping an arm around Becca and taking some of her weight.
Werner pressed his hand against the wall then swore. “I can’t make a gate. Something is blocking me.”
“Then we run. I’m not staying here,” Glenn said.
Werner glanced at him. “Agreed.”
They ran down the hall, Becca half-running, half-carried by Glenn. She fought to keep her balance and the darkness from her vision and consciousness. The hall shuddered. No. Time did, slicing sections from her awareness. One minute they were in the middle of the hall. The next around a corner. The next at a metal security door with a glowing exit sign hanging above it.
Werner opened the door, revealing a plain stairwell, cinderblock and steel. Someone yelled, and Glenn slammed to a halt. A large man in tactical gear, complete with helmet, held Glenn’s arm. Glenn yanked against the guy’s grasp, the movement making Becca jerk, her body too heavy for her muscles to properly balance.
Glenn’s grip across her back loosened and she staggered into the doorway, clutching the frame to steady herself. Werner rammed his elbow into Tactical Guy’s arm. With a grunt, he released Glenn but twisted to punch at Werner. Behind him, at the end of the hall, more people in hospital gowns hurried toward them, followed by men in full tactical gear and a few in scrubs. People screamed and begged, growled and swore. The sounds roared through Becca’s head and pressed against her senses in a heavy, all-consuming weight.
Werner seized the front of Tactical Guy’s vest at neck and crotch, and shoved the man down the hall into another guy with tactical gear. Glenn grabbed her again, but two more guys in tactical gear rushed around the
two toppled-over guys and drew their Tasers.
Becca opened her mouth to yell, but time slowed, drawing a delay between thought and action.
Both men fired. One barb hit Werner in the arm while the other bounced against the wall, while both Taser barbs from the second man hit Glenn in the back. Searing agony sliced through her and all her muscles contracted. Glenn screamed and shoved her. The agony vanished, but so did the floor. She dropped to the first step of the staircase, off balance, and grasped for the railing, but she was moving in slow motion… or was that thinking in slow motion?
Her hand brushed the cold metal railing, but she tumbled away before she could grab hold. Her shoulder slammed into the concrete step, exploding pain through her neck and chest, then her hip, other shoulder, other hip, back, shoulder. Her head smashed against the cinderblock wall and sharp flashes of light snapped across her vision, biting through the enveloping darkness.
Get up.
She fought to catch her breath. Above her, someone yelled.
Run.
A hint of sight broke through the darkness. Two guys had Glenn pinned to the ground, and another one was punching Werner in the face.
“Run,” Werner screamed. “Becca. Run.”
5
Nero clenched his teeth and fought to concentrate on Regis yelling at the doyens of his Counseling Coteries. The prince’s face was crimson and spit flew from his mouth with every word, but his voice was ghostly, barely there, compared to the woman, Becca Scott, screaming in Nero’s head. She had to get up and save her friends… no, run… concentrate… wake up—
Run!
Her will squeezed so tight around his essence he could barely breathe, let alone focus on Regis. He had to get out of there, find wherever the hell she was, and deal with her. He couldn’t let anyone know about his weakened condition, especially not the other doyens and certainly not his prince. Definitely not his prince.
A tremor lanced up his arm and across his chest, threatening to send his body into convulsions, and he bit back a moan.
Regis’s wild-eyed glare jumped to him. “You have something to say?”
“Only my hearty agreement.” Mother, what the hell had Regis been ranting about? Nero wasn’t certain he’d heard the prince’s last few statements.