by Carly Fall
move. It just seemed like the wrong thing to do. Maybe it was because they were such close
friends and he didn’t want to screw it up. Or maybe it was because they were such close friends
and you weren’t supposed to want to take your friends to bed. Or maybe it was because he was
afraid she would reject him.
Sighing heavily, he ran his hand over the stubble on the top of his head. He had never
been unsure of himself when it came to women. He took what he wanted when it was offered,
and chased down and charmed their pants off when it wasn’t.
But Annis was different, regardless of her being an SR44ian, and he wasn’t sure why.
Not that he had bedded very many SR44ians in his time. No, his score on that was a big, fat zero.
There was just something about Annis that held him back, and he couldn’t place his finger on it.
He stopped his channel surfing at the evening news and saw Susan’s face come up on the
screen. He turned up the volume.
Susan Kresper, age thirty-two, was found dead this morning in an alleyway not too far
from her home. Police have said that there is little evidence, and they have no leads.
Perfect.
The TV switched to some footage of the outside of Susan’s apartment.
According the apartment manager, security cameras haven’t been working for
approximately six months, so they won’t be of any help to the investigation.
Well, that was a bonus. All of it had gone down so quickly last night that he hadn’t even
given any thought to security cameras.
Then, of course, the perky reporter had to interview Susan’s neighbors. They described
her as quiet, a good neighbor, a person who kept to herself and didn’t try to connect with her
fellow apartment dwellers.
The camera came back to the reporter who was standing at the mouth of the alley where
Susan had been killed. A woman in her thirties with blonde hair hanging to her shoulders in soft
waves and serious blue eyes stared into the camera with her best I’m-a-serious-reporter look.
Blake pushed the off button on the remote when he heard the bathroom door open.
“What were you watching?” Annis said. Blake turned to her.
Annis stood there, a white towel around her torso, another in her hands as she dried her
hair. He watched as the muscles in her arms rolled under her skin as she gently pressed the towel
to her braids. He wanted to rip the towel from her torso, take her down on the bed, and make her
scream in pleasure, but something held him back, just like at Susan’s apartment the night before
when he had pulled her close. He had wanted to kiss her with everything in him, but he just
couldn’t. Instead, he had said something brilliant about darts.
He just didn’t get what was holding him back.
“Just the news,” he said. “They had a piece about Susan.”
“What did they say?”
Blake shrugged and turned back to the desk, trying like hell to focus on the computer in
front of him. “Nothing. They don’t have any leads or evidence.”
“Good.”
He listened as Annis rummaged through her suitcase, then he heard the click of the
bathroom door.
Rubbing his hand across his face, he once again wondered what was wrong with him.
Chapter 10
Annis sat in the Great Room of the silo in Fernley, Nevada, not wanting to be in her
bedroom where she had woken from the same nightmare that haunted her almost every night, or
day, depending on when she slept.
Her and Blake had arrived back in Fernley just a few hours ago, and both had gone to
their respective quarters almost immediately, claiming exhaustion, which had been the truth for
her.
But the dream always took care of that.
When they had arrived on Earth, Annis had been hurt and unable to run when the FBI
descended on them. She had gone quietly into custody, not really prepared for what would
happen to her. They had given her a shot, which rendered her unconscious. She had woken blind,
not knowing where she was, but lying on what felt like a bed. After a few moments of listening
to her surroundings, she thought she could hear another person in the room.
“Who are you?” she had asked, sitting upright.
The rustling stopped, and footsteps came toward her, echoing off the floor.
There had been no answer.
Something touched her shoulder, and she brushed it away. Then fingers caressed her arm,
and she smacked at it.
There was a low chuckle, and a male voice said, “If that’s the way you want it to be.”
Then a palm connected with her face, jerking her head to the side.
Her Warrior instincts took over, and she jumped to her feet as best she could manage
with her injury. She landed two solid punches, then heard an alarm. Within seconds, the sounds
of the door opening rang through the room and suddenly she was pushed on the bed with very
strong arms holding her down. Whether they were male or female, she didn’t know. How strong
were humans anyway?
Shadows began to shimmer before her eyes, and a moment later she was able to see. Two
large men held her down. The stark, white room with the harsh lighting came into focus.
Straining her neck, she tried to see around one of the men. A man with brown hair and an
unremarkable face came into her line of vision. He held a cloth to his bleeding nose, and she felt
satisfaction roll through her.
He smiled grimly. “I’m Dr. Davis,” he said in a flat voice. “We’ll be meeting again
later.”
He turned on his heel and left, and she had been given another shot.
And that’s where the nightmare, or the reliving of events, began.
It was always the same. She was strapped to a cold, steel table, naked and shackled at her
hands and her feet. A strap over her forehead held her head down. She stared at the fluorescent
lights above her, knowing what was coming, but hoping this time would be different.
The click of the door opening and closing signaled the arrival of the doctor.
He never met her eyes, but looked over her body with intensity. His hand would caress
her neck, then her breast, moving down to her stomach, to her hip, and down her leg to her foot.
To her surprise, her feet were clasped in some sort of stirrup, and with a click and a push, her
knees were up in the air, exposing her most intimate flesh.
Without a word the doctor ran his finger down her center, and she heard another click.
The table beneath her bottom disappeared, her legs suspended in the stirrups.
She strained to see what was happening, but she couldn’t move her head due to the
constraints. She heard something that sounded like a zipper and froze. Was the doctor taking out
his sexual organ?
Then she heard something that sounded . . . wet. The doctor hovered over her and said,
“This is for science. So we understand you better.”
Searing pain ripped through her as he pushed his hips toward her again and again. She
refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream, clamping her jaw tight at the brutal
invasion.
That had been the first time.
It didn’t get any better the many times afterward.
It had taken only one session with the male who called himself a doctor, or a healer, for
her to realize that he had no intentions of healing anything. I
n fact, he’d seemed hell-bent on
destroying anything good within her.
Annis looked around the Great Room and got her bearings. She ran her hand over the
lovely leather dark-brown couch, and looked up into the glow of the lamp that had a copper base
of a cactus. The room was done in desert reds, greens, and browns, and she pulled a cream throw
pillow on her lap, loving the feeling of the soft satin beneath her fingers.
The present was so much more pleasant than the past. In her ten months with the Saviors,
she had been provided her own quarters, a luxurious bed to sleep in, adequate clothing for both
training and everyday living, good meals . . . yet the nightmare haunted her almost every night. If
she were to be honest with herself, she would admit her exhaustion was from lack of sleep.
However, she had a spirit of a true Warrior. That was her past, and she wouldn’t allow it
to dictate her future. She looked forward to the day when she hopefully would be properly mated
to someone worthy of her strong spirit and body. Someone who could make her body sing, as
Liberty described it, someone who wanted to cherish her, not hurt her. She held on to that hope,
as she couldn’t imagine going through life alone any longer. In her deepest, darkest hours, she
lamented the fact that she had always been alone.
She stood from the sofa and went to the bar.
Looking at the many bottles, she decided to go with the whiskey that Liberty had
recommended. Annis found that she actually preferred a Chardonnay wine to the whiskey, but
she didn’t see any lined up among the many choices.
She carried the glass back over to the couch, took a long sip, and closed her eyes as a
feeling of warmth and relaxation seeped into her bones.
A moment later, she felt another presence before she saw it. Her eyes flew open, her calm
evaporated. Cohen walked into the room, but didn’t see her or the golden glow of her eyes. She
didn’t close them, but stared at him boldly. He wore only a pair of sweatpants, and the muscles
on his back heaved beneath his skin as he walked, as if he were carrying an extra burden on his
shoulders.
He went to the bar and grabbed a glass from the shelf, mumbling something, but she
couldn’t understand what he said. Turning, he finally noticed her, and their stares met, hers
golden, his eyes a violent purple.
Her heart fluttered as she took in his broad frame standing behind the mahogany bar, his
dark hair a mess, and the shadow on his chin.
His gaze intensified as he stared at her, as it always did.
“Hello, Cohen.”
He didn’t answer.
After a long pause, she said, “It seems that we are both up at odd hours. Perhaps we can
sit and make peace.”
He again didn’t answer, but his eyes brutalized her as she sat in her simple black
nightshirt.
Taking a long sip of whiskey, she stood, ready to take on the verbal onslaught that might
be the result of her pushing a stick into the hornets’ nest that was Cohen.
“Cohen, it is apparent to me and everyone in this house that you have a deep-seated
hatred for me, and I would like to know why, as I have done nothing but tried to be kind to you.”
He stared at her a minute more, then slammed down his glass, the shards flying up as the
tumbler hit the bar. As he approached her, she could see the anger vibrating within him, and she
tapped down the fear that began to rise within her. Thoughts about ways to take him down, if it
came to that. First she would throw the whiskey in his face, then an uppercut—
He stopped inches from her, his fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy. It was
then she realized that it had not been his first trip to the bar, as she smelled the alcohol on him
with each heavy exhale. Perhaps her idea of a little chat, the clearing of the air, would be more
appropriate at another time.
“Cohen, I would like to talk to you about what bothers you, what I have done to deserve
such hatred, but perhaps this isn’t the best time.”
She moved to step around him, but he grabbed her upper arm. She looked at his hand
circling her bicep, then up at him.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” he growled.
Annis said nothing, just stared at him.
“You think we need to get together and sing Kumbaya or some shit. Bring out the peace
pipe and smoke to our newfound friendship because we’re of the same species. Well, that’s not
going to fucking happen, Pocahontas.”
Annis didn’t know what Kumbaya meant or who Pocahontas was, but her anger was
rising at the tightness of his grip. She was also uncertain on what to do. He seemed as though he
had enjoyed a little too much of the liquor, so she felt that she should go easy. However, she
didn’t appreciate being manhandled in this fashion.
Not. At. All.
“Cohen, I would suggest you let go of me, and we can discuss things, or I can just leave
you be.”
Instead, his grip tightened, and he caught her off guard. In a few steps he had her sitting
on the couch while he hovered above her. Oddly enough, she still wasn’t frightened, but more
curious than anything. This was the most contact and conversation she had ever had with Cohen,
and she had a feeling that the beans were about to be spilled, so to speak.
“See, you don’t know jack-shit about me, Annis.” He leaned closer, his face inches from
hers. “But I know all about you,” he whispered. He brought his hand up and traced a finger down
her face. “The beautiful Annis whose body had been brutalized, the Annis who can still laugh
even after all she’s suffered through.” After a beat of silence, he said, “Or maybe you didn’t
suffer. Maybe you liked it.”
Annis gasped, feeling as though she was going to choke on his sour breath. She had never
told anyone what she had been through. It wasn’t like the rapes left scars on the outside; all the
damage had been done to her internally and to her very soul. Having been alone for so long, she
was used to keeping her struggles to herself, and she had told no one of what the doctor had done
to her. How did he know?
“The healings, Annis. I put my energy in you. I know everything that’s been done to
you.”
Of course. She should have known. However, anger boiled within her at his words, and
before she knew what she was doing, she clenched her fist and hit Cohen squarely in the jaw,
causing his head to jerk and for him to step back. She lifted her chin, refusing to feel guilt or
shame for what had occurred to her body. Her Warrior spirit had not been broken.
“But you . . . you know nothing!” he yelled as he backed off.
Annis stood up and walked toward him. He backed away, and she kept going until he was
against the bar. “Oh, but I do, Cohen. I know that you lost your lovren. I know that according to
others in this household, you have been a different male since the day you found out. And I do
believe at this moment you are trying to hurt me by bringing up terrible things of my past. I,
however, will not play your immature game and try to hurt you with my words.”
She turned to leave, and Cohen grabbed her arm again. Annis spun and met him face to
face. The pain she saw there almost made her anger evaporate, and she felt an ache of sadness for
very traumatized people. If they were any shade of normal, they wouldn’t be standing in the
Great Room at four in the morning drinking alcohol, but instead they would be snuggled in their
respective beds.
“How? How do you do it? How do you go on? How does it not eat you up inside?” His
voice was raw and intense, as if he were choking on emotion.
Annis was about to question him on what exactly he meant when she heard hurried
footsteps coming toward the room. Cohen released her arm and both turned toward the doorway.
Liberty and Jovan rushed in.
“What’s going on in here?” Liberty said, coming to Annis’s side. “Jovan and I both felt
the anger. It was so strong . . .”
Jovan walked up to Cohen and lightly pushed his chest, backing him away from Annis
and Liberty. “What’s going on, my man?”
Cohen said nothing, but his gaze darted from Jovan back to Annis, then over her
shoulder, as if someone else was in the room. She turned around and saw nothing.
It was an excellent question—what exactly was going on between her and Cohen? The
pain she had seen in his face before was now gone and replaced by the anger again.
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on, Jovan,” Cohen sneered, turning back to the bar.
“I think it’s time for you to go back to bed, my friend,” Jovan said.
“I haven’t even been to bed, Jovan. Just please, leave me alone.”
“Come, Annis,” Liberty said, taking her hand. “Let’s leave.”
“No,” Annis said, wanting to see what played out.
“Get out,” Cohen mumbled, as he poured more amber liquid into a glass with shaky
hands.
Annis didn’t move.
“Get out!” he shouted at her.
She turned and left as she heard Jovan say, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Chapter 11
Cohen had managed to avoid Annis all day. It wasn’t easy, but he got out of meetings he
knew she would be present by claiming a stomach bug, which was a half-truth. He felt like hell
from what he did, and the amount of alcohol he had been consuming didn’t exactly put him in
the healthy department either.
He pushed a fifty-pound barbell up with his left hand, then did the same with his right.