Iris heard shouting, Artur or Dean, and imagined Blue crawling to her, calling her name. She dreamed about fighting, men falling down, men grabbing her body and carrying her. She dreamed she was stolen away.
Again.
Blue could have blamed the dart for taking him down, which it would have despite his best efforts to the contrary, but the real truth was that as soon as he saw Iris dragged away—his friends distracted, overwhelmed by sheer numbers—he gave up the fight and practically waved his assailants over.
“Take me with her,” he mumbled, and that was it. Darkness.
The next time he opened his eyes it was in a poorly lit room with sweating concrete walls, a wet concrete floor, and bars over a narrow slit of a window. The air was hot and smelled like piss. His body hurt. He could taste electricity all over the building, but nothing in this room, or inside the locks of the door.
He was also not alone.
His brother, Daniel, sat on a threadbare mattress, back against the wall. Bruises covered his face, his right eye was swollen shut, and blood caked his shirt.
“Hey,” Blue croaked. “You look like hell.”
“Back at you,” Daniel mumbled, as though it hurt to open his mouth.
Blue rolled his eyes around, looking for the door. “Is there a reason you haven’t broken out of this place yet? Seems like you could just knock down some walls or something.”
“Serena,” Daniel said. “Santoso, well-informed man that he is, said that he would kill her if I tried to leave. Of course, he also said he would kill Iris and you and all my friends at the circus. I decided not to take the risk.”
“You missed a good opportunity.”
“Thanks so much for making me feel better.”
“Sure.” Blue frowned, trying to sit up. “So this is one of Santoso’s facilities?”
“This is where I’ve seen the man, so yeah, that’s my guess.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Iris and I were taken down by men working for our father. Why would he have us brought us here?”
“Our father?” Daniel closed his eyes. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that question.”
Neither did Blue. “We need to get out of here and find Iris and her mother.”
“They made me watch,” Daniel said, his voice deepening into a hoarse rumble. “The surgery, I mean. Santoso ordered it as soon as we landed in this country. Dragged Serena into that operating room and went right for her skull. Took out her eye and Santoso watched, laid there like it was candy for him. And then they did the same to him, except he got something new in return for the pain.”
Blue felt nauseous. “Was that before or after he beat the crap out of you?”
“Both. Man said I had it coming. Makes sense, if he knows our father.”
“Our father who is supposed to be dead.” Blue attempted to stand. His head pounded, vision spinning, but he kept his balance and leaned hard against the wall. The humidity made it difficult to breathe.
“No time to be cautious,” he said to Daniel, trying to focus his concentration on the area beyond the door. He found two heartbeats a short distance away; guards, probably. “Can you undo those locks with your mind?”
“In my sleep,” Daniel said.
“And can you run?”
“Because I look like road kill?” He smiled, grim. “I deflected the worst of the blows Santoso’s men gave me. Not all, though. I didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. But yes, I can run the hell out of here. And God help the idiot who tries to stop me.”
Which meant that Blue still had to take care of the guards.
So he did.
No chains this time around. No naked women lounging on pillows. Iris woke up on an operating table instead. Leather restraints crisscrossed her body from head to toe; there was a ball gag in her mouth. She smelled blood, bleach, sweat, the lingering miasma of anger and pain. A sliver of fear. Her mother. She smelled her mother.
My mother was here, and they hurt her.
From the look of things, Iris was next. She hoped that Blue was still free, but she had a bad feeling about that, too.
She could not move her head or her body—wiggling seemed to be her limit—and shape-shifting into full leopard seemed out of the question. Her hands, however, were another matter entirely, and she shifted her nails into claws. A leather strap pressed just beneath her hand; she began picking at it with her fingers, sawing and raking. She cut her own skin by accident, but the pain was nothing compared to the idea of getting the hell out of there.
She heard footsteps outside the room and shifted her hands back to human. The door opened. Broker stepped through. Coiffed, relaxed, pressed, and ready to plunder. Iris wondered if any of his relatives were Nazis.
He stood, just watching her. Iris stared back, and after a moment he sighed. Walked to the table and let his eyes travel up and down her naked body.
“I foresaw this,” he said quietly. “And I thank you for doing your part in bringing together all the players. I do, however, feel some regret for the way you have been treated. Santoso is a very jealous man. An intelligent man, with a good eye for business, but nevertheless quite shallow, incapable of seeing the larger picture of things. He wants respect he will never have, and no matter how many exotic body parts he attaches to himself, he will never attain the class he desires. Unlike you and me, on the other hand. Unlike others of our kind.” Broker touched her forehead, tracing a circle between her eyes. His skin was cool.
“I had a sister,” he whispered. “She and I worked toward the same goal, but she took a slightly different path and was shot in the back for it. I will not make the same mistake.”
Broker stepped away. His expression was grave—disturbingly so, because his scent showed no emotion, no fear or anger or lust. Just cool nothingness, perfect control. “Santoso wishes his technicians to harvest your ova, Ms. McGillis. Your mother was too old for the procedure, but you are prime. He will grow your babies in a test tube, with himself as the primary sperm donor. A terrible thought, I know. But do not worry….” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I will find more suitable fathers.”
Iris wrenched herself against the bindings, but they held firm. She screamed at Broker, too, but the ball gag cut her words until all she could do was make inarticulate noises that sounded more animal than human. Which made sense, because she suddenly realized her body had shifted; fur leaked over her skin, her muscles thickened, her face altered shape.
“Lovely,” Broker said.
It got easier after a while. The killing. Blue had fought using his mind as a weapon for his entire life, and now—now, with the line crossed—the sick feeling in his gut was fading. He did not know if that was good or bad.
He and Daniel both had guns taken from the guards whose hearts he’d stopped. There had not yet been a need to use the weapons—in this, stealth seemed like the better option—but Blue had a bad feeling their luck might be running out. “They must know by now that we’re gone,” Daniel said.
“Yeah,” Blue replied, glad he had shorted out the connection that powered the facility’s alarm system. Something that would not be noticed until an actual emergency.
The two brothers raced down a narrow, cramped corridor made of peeling linoleum and poured concrete. The few windows they passed were covered in bars, the glass so aged and clouded it was impossible to see outside—the polar opposite of the facility in the Nevada desert. The air was hot and sticky and smelled like a toilet had overflowed somewhere nearby.
Bioelectricity fluttered ahead of them; two individual heartbeats. Blue thought of Iris—he thought of her every time he felt a heart.
But these hearts had voices. Not native Indonesian speakers, either. Blue heard a woman with a crisp American accent and a man who sounded as though he had just gotten off the plane from France.
“He’s already here. He’s insisting that he see them now.”
“Impossible. I was told the men are disparas. Missing.”
; “Then we will have to think of something, yes?”
“Oui. L’homme est dangereux.”
Blue and Daniel shared a long look, and in his brother’s eyes he saw a mirror of his emotions. Was it possible their father had come for them? Had Santoso truly ransomed them out—the old man coming out of hiding to personally make the exchange? For any other father those actions might make sense, but Felix Perrineau Senior was not a man of self-sacrifice—or even sentimentality. At least, not to Blue.
Footfalls—the man and woman, coming around the bend in the corridor. Blue looked at his brother, found complete agreement, and the two pressed flat against the wall, waiting until their targets were so close Blue could hear the whistle of their breath, the buzz of their hearts inside his head. He reached around the bend in the hall, grabbed the first thing he found—a slender shoulder—and yanked hard. The woman fell into his arms. Blue covered her mouth and pressed his stolen gun against her cheek.
Daniel was right behind him, but he did not have to use his hands. Blue heard a choking sound; on the other side of the bend the man stood frozen, eyes bulging so far out of his small baldhead that Blue half expected them pop right out.
The woman Blue held was equally short, with her brown hair slicked back tight in a bun. Gaunt face, tiny glasses, almost no lips. Blue said, “You scream, I’ll kill you. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded.
“Good. Where are Iris McGillis and her mother being held?”
Hesitation. Blue shook her so hard her teeth chattered, but he stopped when he heard distant voices. The woman sucked in her breath. Blue jammed the gun into her mouth.
“Move,” he whispered, and he and Daniel led their prisoners to a small locked room that opened easily with only one telekinetic push. They filed in, relocked the door, and Blue pushed the woman against a table. “Tell me,” he said.
She swallowed hard. “Top floor is where all priority projects go. The two women would likely be there.”
“And if they’re not?”
“This facility covers a city block, and there are many rooms, many labs, and many surgical bays. I am afraid you will simply have to look the good old-fashioned way.”
“Right,” Blue said. “And Felix Perrineau? Where might he be?”
Her mouth clamped shut, and any doubt Blue had that his father was here disappeared. He and Daniel traded glances, and his brother wrapped a large hand around the back of his man’s neck. He leaned close.
“You’re right, you know. My father is a dangerous man. But if you don’t cooperate now, we’ll fix you and your friend so good you’ll be thinking he’s a fucking saint. Vous comprenez?”
The Frenchman understood. Even Blue understood. They got what they needed, though it was a good thing Daniel happened to be fluent in la langue d’amour, because the little man rattled off a stream of words Blue would have been helpess to understand. He watched his brother pale beneath his bruises.
“What?” Blue asked sharply.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Daniel muttered.
Blue’s hand curled into a fist. “Tell me.”
“It’s true, our father is here. Santoso requested a ransom—originally for me, and now for both of us. But he’s not asking for money.”
“Then what?”
Daniel shook his head, closing his eyes. “The price is Iris. And our father.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
So. Being a sex slave organ donor was not enough; Santoso wanted Iris to be the mother of his children, too. A little army of über-shifters.
God. Kill me now.
Or better yet, get me the hell out of here. Iris was not about to give up her little ovum for a test run attempt in some tube. Even if Broker was offering his “help.”
I will find more suitable fathers, my ass. There’s only going to be one father, and I already found him, thank you very much.
Though frankly, the idea disturbed her on a level far deeper than personal preservation. Santoso and Broker clearly had different interests, but if both of them wanted to begin a breeding program with captive shape-shifters …
Or maybe Broker’s people have already begun it, and you’re just new stock. That might be the reason he’s willing to betray Santoso. The babies you could make are worth more than keeping that creep around.
Bad, bad, bad. Even just nasty.
The question, then, was whom Broker really worked for. There was no way he could hope to do this on his own. So was it the Consortium Blue and the others had talked about? The group supposedly responsible for putting Santoso in power? Psychic criminals? Mafia with telepathic abilities? Corporations run by men and women with ESP?
More like folks with a superiority complex. Broker practically implied that he and I were members of a master race.
And hadn’t the Nazis run their own breeding camps? Forced women to bear perfect little Aryan babies to seed the German nation? Was that what this was all about: building wealth to push an agenda that involved an advanced eugenics program?
But why? Just because they can? What would be the point?
She understood Santoso’s motivation. He was obsessed with the supernatural. And sex. And her.
She almost preferred that to Broker.
Her mouth was dry. She needed water badly, though the current lack of it did not concern her all that much. They obviously wanted to keep her alive—if not horribly comfortable. As for people watching her …
No security cameras—none that she could see, anyway—but even if someone was ogling her body via monitor, Iris was past the point of caring. She needed to do something, because there was no guarantee of a rescue. Not here and not now.
She tried to be subtle, though she worked at her leather restraints until her claws felt like they were going to peel off, and still she sawed and picked and worried, until after a while she could feel the beginnings of a tear, some give. Almost there …
Voices in the hall. Men. Iris’s claws receded.
The door opened. Santoso entered. White gauze covered his left eye. Behind him an old man followed, leaning on a cane. His hair was bushy and white, his shoulders broad. He had a handsome face, a strong jaw, and piercing blue eyes that Iris would have recognized even if she had not already seen them on CNN.
Felix Perrineau. His sons looked just like him. They smelled like him, too, though he had an edge of sickness about him. Something wrong and dying, like rotten meat. She was shocked to see him.
Broker entered behind the old man. He shut the door.
“So this is the prize that is worth my sons’ lives.” Perrineau’s voice was clipped and cold as ice, his eyes just as unforgiving. “With so many women to choose from, I am surprised that this is the one you break my back with.”
“She is unique in all the world,” Santoso said, trailing his bandaged hand up her leg. She endured his touch in silence, imagining her teeth clamped down on his neck, draining his blood.
“Unique and trussed up like a pig.” Perrineau snorted. “And you say she was with my boy? Has he had first taste, you think? Or is she a whore like any other?”
Iris glared at him. Perrineau smiled. “No, maybe not a whore. Maybe a lady. Just maybe.”
He reached for the gag and unbuckled it. Santoso watched, a trace of pride in his eyes, as if he were showing off his prize mare to a jealous colleague.
Broker remained as impassive as ever, though Iris knew different now. He did care about something: getting her.
Perrineau removed the gag. Her tongue felt huge, the roof of her mouth cracking as she tried to work up enough saliva to speak. Perrineau clicked his fingers at Broker, and the man silently fetched a cup of water from a nearby basin.
“There, my dear.” Perrineau helped her drink. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” Iris whispered.
“Good,” he said, and leaned so close she could see herself mirrored in his eyes. Hard, cold, calculating eyes. “Tell me, Iris McGillis. Are you fucking my boy? My boy Blue?”
“It is none of your business,” he said stiffly.
Perrineau swung around. “This is my business, you little fuck. And until I am dead it will remain so. You work for me. You answer to me. Do not be cocky simply because of our deal.”
This is my business. You work for me. Oh, my God.
Santoso’s jaw flexed, his eyes darkening into something ugly. This was not a good time to be Felix Perrineau.
“You wanted to see her, sir, and so you have,” Broker said quietly. “What else would you like?”
Perrineau gazed down at Iris. He touched her hair. “I want to know why this one is special.”
“I’m not human,” Iris told him, but instead of showing shock or disbelief, all he did was nod. Santoso lurched forward, but stopped just short of Perrineau. The old man paid no attention to him.
“I will tell you a secret,” he whispered. “I am not so human, either.”
“That’s no secret,” Iris replied, just as softly. “I know your sons.”
Perrineau smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. “A word of advice, Santoso. If you keep this one from the Consortium, they will punish you. I think they might even do worse than what you have planned for me.”
“She is mine,” Santoso said. “And I will kill anyone who says different.”
“Ah,” said the old man, glancing at Broker. “Then I suppose the future is written, is it not?”
The hint of a smile touched Broker’s mouth, and though it was already disturbing enough knowing that Blue’s father was, in essence, a criminal mastermind, she found the idea of Perrineau and Broker working together even more horrifying. Santoso truly did feel small-time compared to them.
She thought Blue might feel the same. If she ever saw him again.
You’ll see him. A man like him doesn’t give up.
But if she kept thinking about Blue she was going to cry. Which would be the worst thing she could possibly do. No weakness allowed.
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