She raised her bound hands. “Can I…take this off now?”
“What?” he asked, looking up again. “Oh yeah. Sure.” He stepped forward, reaching his hands through the bars.
She wiggled her hands, pulling one out of the belt that was wrapped around them, hoping he understood her message: I could’ve gotten free, but I chose not to. Then she unwound the other and put the belt into his hands. “It may be a bit stretched out, but…” She tried smiling. It felt odd, stiff. But she knew she needed to convince Landon she wasn’t Chastity. Then, with him on her side, maybe Mitch would start believing as well.
When she took off Alex’s jacket, she felt the syringe through the fabric and, with a slight shift of the other, the phone was in her hand. Better they find out now than think she was hiding it from them. She pulled the phone out and handed it to him through the bars. She was struck by an un-amusing irony—two weeks ago, Landon gave her the exact same phone, having found it after her fight with Jolie. It was supposed to give them answers, bring them closer to the truth. Then The Clinic took her. And now, she was giving it back. Some of their questions had been answered, but how many had been answered honestly?
He reached out slowly, cautiously. “Is it theirs?” Then as soon as he’d taken possession of it, his hands became a blur. He flipped it over and removed the battery before she’d even answered. “These phones are too easy to track.”
“Makes sense.” She hadn’t thought of that. She’d been too focused on seeing Mitch and confused by Fields letting her go to really think anything through. But Fields wanted them both to come back, so why would he need to track her? And they obviously knew where Mitch lived. “I don’t think that’s why they gave it to me.”
“Why else would they?” He tucked the phone and battery into his pocket.
“They want me to come back. For more tests.”
“I’m sure they do,” he scoffed.
Her lips tightened, cutting off her words before she said anything she’d regret. Like ‘At least The Clinic gave me a bigger cage’.
“So their number is programmed in here?” he asked.
“Fields—the guard who let me go—said his number was on speed dial.”
“Might come in handy. Thanks.”
“He gave me something else.” She paused, unsure she was making the right decision.
“Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”
“I’m going to show you this to prove I’m trustworthy. That I’m not hiding anything.” She reached into the other pocket and palmed the syringe. “It’s for Mitch. So he doesn’t transform. It’s a condensed version of what Jolie was giving him. An injectable that’s supposed to work faster.”
Landon waited with his hand out.
“You can’t let him throw it away, Landon. Do you understand? It might save his life.”
He wiggled his fingertips impatiently. “Give it to me.”
She clutched it. Maybe this had been a mistake—too much, too soon. “Please, Landon. I’m begging you. Don’t destroy it. We might need it.”
He stood there silently until she placed the syringe into his palm. Holding it up, he peering at its contents. “He’s supposed to use the whole thing?”
“I…” She felt her brow furrow. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.”
He tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. “At least he’s getting good with needles and dope.”
She took in a quick breath. “What do you mean?” Eden thought of her mother. And how well that had turned out. Not well at all. For either of them.
“Turner uses three things to cope—the cage, fights, and morphine.”
“How much is he using?” She’d known he had it. He’d even offered it to her once. To stop her transformations. He’d told her that he hated the stuff, that it was only for emergencies. Hyde must be more dangerous for Mitch to start using.
“Any is too much, isn’t it? His dose is still low, but it’s more than it was a week ago.” He ran a hand over his face.
Yet another reason for him to take the serum. All she had to do is convince him to trade one needle for another. That shouldn’t be too hard should it? Especially because Mitch was such a naturally-agreeable guy.
She picked up a pillow off the mattress and sat down. It’s good to be home, she thought miserably. Steeling herself, she leaned over and checked underneath each corner for the cuffs. There weren’t any. So he’d remembered how afraid she was of being strapped down. Or maybe they just hadn’t arrived yet.
“Home sweet home,” she muttered.
“It’s not forever. Promise.”
“A promise made without eye-contact is like a contract written in invisible ink, Landon.”
He finally met her eyes. “Promise.”
She knew it was difficult for him—to be looking into the eyes of one person and be thinking she’s someone else. It was probably exactly how Mitch felt. And there might not be a damn thing she could do about it besides wear colored-contacts every day. But she was so tired of the lying, the manipulations. If the only two men she could trust would only trust her if she was lying, well… That just wasn’t right. She hoped the decision wasn’t a sign of the old, weak Eden coming back to haunt her. She couldn’t afford any more confusion—in her head or anyone else’s.
“So you’ll talk to him?” she asked.
“Yeah, I will. But…” He shook his head sadly. “Like I said, he’s not the same.”
“How often is he transforming, Landon?” she asked. What if it was already starting? The changes that Alex said would happen—that his transformations would happen more and more often, be more severe, and then Mitch might end with nowhere to come back to.
“What’s often? The amount of transformations isn’t the biggest problem. It’s the man he is between his transformations that’s more worrying. It’s like Hyde is seeping out of his pores more and more each day. And I’ve only really known the bastard for a few weeks.”
She gripped the bars, pulled her body tightly to them, feeling their chill through the thin dress she wore and on her bare skin. The one time Alex’s bullshit is proven accurate, and it ain’t good news.
“Landon, we need to help him. Please, I don’t know how much time he has left.”
Suspicion creased his brow, the corners of his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“He needs to start taking the serum again. It’s the only way he’ll be safe. And they will give it to him, if he agrees. So you and I need to make him agree.”
“Good luck with—”
Something crashed downstairs, and Landon rushed out without a word.
Leaving her caught, helpless, and vulnerable behind steel walls.
§ § §
Mitch was kicking the glass and other shit he’d destroyed out of the main pathway in the kitchen when Landon came bounding in like some kind of rabid gazelle. His eyes darted around the room, his breath coming fast.
“Hey,” Mitch said blandly, pretending he hadn’t just thrown the last few glasses into the wall one-by-one in a moment of unbridled frustration. It had actually given him a lot of clarity on the situation. The person in my cage upstairs has come to drive away what’s left of my mental health. And it ain’t gonna take that long. See? Very clear. “Is she all tucked in?”
“What the hell happened?”
Mitch looked around calmly and nudged a large piece of glass to the side with his foot. “Nothing.”
“Give me my goddamn gun back, you idiot.”
Mitch grimaced. “It’s not nice to call people names, asshole.” He tossed the gun to the cop, his hand feeling naked without the pressure of the weapon in it. Strange. Strange, slightly sad, and a missed opportunity. Instead of using the last of his barware to play catch with the wall, he could’ve used them for target practice.
“Damn it!” The cop caught it well away from his body. Then he checked the rounds in the chamber and put it back in his holster. “What’s wrong with you?”
Mitch didn’t know. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t know what was right with him either, or if there was anything right about him at all. She was safe, or would be safe in the morning, once she came back into herself. He should be happy. But he felt…nothing.
Because he’d picked at the seam of his sanity for so long, it was beginning to unravel. And every step he took, every thought, left him with less of it, leaving a long thread of hopes, expectations, and his humanity trailing behind him.
“Nothing,” he said, pushing past Landon and going straight to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed one of the only two bottles left, not even bothering to look at the label, and took it into the dying room.
Landon followed. “She says she’s not Chastity.”
“Great, I’m glad she cleared that up for us. Makes things a lot easier.” The couch groaned as he landed on it, probably due to the fact that it was one of the many poor inanimate objects Mitch had used to relieve his tension on. The house was filled with them—broken, smashed, torn apart, all in the name of anger management. Better something that could be replaced than something alive.
He popped open the liquor bottle and took a long swig. Oooh. “Tequila,” he said, blowing the fumes toward Landon. Maybe he should’ve looked at the label before taking that big of a gulp.
Landon sat down on the sagging arm chair across from him—another of Mitch’s victims. “I believe her.”
Mitch stared at him, stupefied. “Then you’re the idiot. She’ll say whatever she can to get out of that cage. Didn’t you see her eyes?”
“I told you they’d changed. Remember? Or have you been so doped up since then that you don’t remember the fourteen times I mentioned it?”
“Nah,” Mitch said, taking another swig. “You only told me thirteen times. But you can never believe what a drunk says.”
“Or a junkie.”
Mitch flinched, smiling. “You mean me? You think I’m a junkie?” His smile fell. “You think I enjoy this shit?” Nah, it was just another thing to hate. Another reason to hate Hyde for forcing him to do it, just so the bastard wouldn’t come out to play. He held out his arm, palm up, showing off the underside of his elbow. Smooth, unblemished skin where injection marks would be if he didn’t heal so goddamned fast. There were no visible reminders, but he remembered. Every single motherfucking time.
“I’m doing this so that he doesn’t hurt someone,” he said. “So that he doesn’t kill someone. I think that qualifies it as ‘medically necessary’.” Landon had no idea how hard Mitch was fighting. How much he was hiding signs of losing control. If the cop knew how close he was to giving up, giving in, he’d have never turned his weapon over to him. Hell, he’d probably have turned it on Mitch and ended him. And what a fucking relief that would be.
The more he loved her, the more he thought of her, the worse he got. Now she was here. He only had to walk upstairs to see her, touch her. And Hyde was even closer—vibrating just under his skin, excited, thrashing, knowing how close to freedom he was.
“So when are you going to talk to her?” Landon asked.
Mitch blinked, seeing the cop walking out of the kitchen, a bottle of water in his hand. What the fuck? He’d been—
Mitch glanced at the place where he’d seen him last, only a second ago. Wasn’t it? He scrubbed his hands over his face roughly. Almost afraid to lower them and see Landon appear in another place he couldn’t be.
What the hell was happening to him? He was losing, that’s what. Hyde was beating him.
It was her. Her being here. Her presence was screwing up what little control he had left. But she’s not the woman he loves. She’s someone different, apart. So it shouldn’t matter.
“She’s not Eden,” he mumbled over and over behind his hands.
“Turner! Mitch! What’s wrong with you?”
He felt Landon’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He lashed out, slapped it away, hating the cop’s pity more than the physical contact.
“I’m fine.” Mitch looked up, his vision slowly coming into focus.
“Oh yeah,” Landon said, moving back a step, his hand moving to his gun. “I believe that.”
“Are you going to shoot me, Landon?”
“What?” He looked at the hand resting on the clip of the holster, and then lowered his arm quickly. “Shit. No. No, I’m not going to shoot you.”
“Maybe you should.” He’d thought he could last. That he could make it until she was safe and The Clinic was ended. One down, kind of. She was safe, whoever she was. But there was still one to go. The Clinic. Fuck. What if he couldn’t make it that long?
“Listen, asshole. I’m not going to shoot you, so shut up.” His words flew out of his mouth, his body backed away. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Maybe you should trust your reflexes.”
“Shut the hell up!” Landon yelled.
“It’s because of her, you know. Because she’s here.”
Landon looked at him warily. “You think this is her fault? That she’s doing something to you?” His tone was calm, like Mitch imagined he’d use when talking to a psychopath. Somewhat fitting, wasn’t it?
“No, not directly. That would be too Jack Nicholson-ish, even for me.” He ran his hand through his hair, grabbing hold of it and looking at the ceiling. “But I feel him more, now that she’s here. Like a pull, like she’s calling to him. I wish…” He didn’t start blubbering, but he wanted to. He wanted to curl up into a little ball and weep like he’d seen her do. “I wish she hadn’t come back.”
“You’re not going to do anything to her, are you, Turner?”
He looked at the cop, at the guy who was almost like a friend, knowing his eyes were shiny. How fucking pathetic. “Would you shoot me if I did?”
Landon paused before answering. When he spoke, it was only a whisper. “Yes.”
“Good.” ‘Cause that’s what friends are for.
CHAPTER XIII
Every time Eden saw Landon, her confidence grew. Chastity’s influence in the parking garage seemed to be a reaction only to Mitch—not to every man who came near her. Landon was definitely attractive, but his presence didn’t make her want to rip off her clothes and start pole-dancing. All the men at The Clinic—Fields, Carter, or any of the other guards—hadn’t even given her a tingle. And at least some of those boys were shooting themselves up with so much synthetic hormone, they probably had three shrunken-and-useless balls.
So it wasn’t just the testosterone that triggered something in Chastity. It was who the testosterone belonged to. As if she needed another sign she and Mitch were meant for each other.
Landon set down a bottle of water and some crackers. “I know it’s like some bad prison joke—bread and water, but it’s all we have. I’ll try to go out later and get some actual food.”
“You’ve been taking care of him?” When I couldn’t. Even if I hadn’t been carted off to an undisclosed location, I couldn’t have. Because he wouldn’t have let me.
He nodded. “But not particularly well. He pays the bills, so I do what I can.” He glanced around the room. “Except clean up.”
She looked for signs Landon had been fighting—bruises, scratches, scrapes. Mitch had obviously been fighting with someone, but it hadn’t been Landon. Unless Mitch had been tied up at the time and had asked Landon to beat the crap out of him. But Landon’s hands weren’t bruised. And in her short time as a warrior, she knew hitting someone left the person who strikes with a pain of their own.
“Who’d he fight?” she asked.
“Everyone. Anyone. Whoever will let him. It’s his method of coping now. Go in, get his ass kicked a little, cause a bit of damage, get out. Thankfully it does seem to help a bit. And thankfully, I don’t have to be the one to do it. It’s also helpful that he heals so goddamned fast.”
She swallowed. “Faster than he used to?”
“Faster than is humanly possible.”
So he was changing. Hyde’s power was t
rickling through, just like Chastity’s was doing to her. Her integration with Chastity was not without growing pains, but the changes were controllable, and occasionally came in handy. She suddenly had hope that the same metamorphosis could be happening within Mitch. But hope was far from fact.
“Speaking of the bastard… If you’re okay, I’m gonna…” He nodded towards the door.
The two men had grown close, she could tell. The last time she’d seen them together, the room could barely contain their animosity. Had her disappearance been the thing they’d bonded over?
“I’m glad that he has someone,” she said. At least something good had come out of it. If she could manage it, convince Mitch he needed the help that only The Clinic could offer, maybe she could add another good thing to the list. A list so short, she couldn’t think of anything else to add.
When she’d seen him in the garage, her hopes for everything to be normal between them again had been high. That wasn’t likely anymore. But even if she never got another chance to be with him, she’d make sure she gave him another chance to be.
“I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but I’m not here to be anyone’s babysitter.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you two are the only way I can get what I want.”
That stumped her. “And what is that?”
“Them. I want them.”
It’s hard to see determination in someone’s eyes. Fear, doubt, happiness—those things are easy to spot. But true determination is harder to identify. Looking at Landon, Eden saw it as clearly as if she could read minds. Which wasn’t in her skill-set, as far as she knew. So she had no idea what his motivation was.
“Oh shit, Landon. If you tell me that you’re a Hyde and they’ve been doping you too, I’m going to lose it. I swear to God, I will.”
His gaze softened as he chuckled. “No need to lose anything. I’m not like you guys. But a few years ago, The Clinic took something from me, and I want to find out why. I want to look into the eyes of the people who seem hell-bent on destroying your lives. Who can’t seem to get enough of screwing with you. I want to be here the next time they try, so that I can screw with them for awhile.”
Jekyll, an Urban Fantasy Page 12