by Alexia Reed
“The headache is nothing more than a side-effect of what I am. I’m sure you and the others must deal with drawbacks.”
“Sure, we all have drawbacks,” he murmured. “However, our side-effects don’t inhibit our lives. There are a few who have it worse and need to take precautions. For instance, Darilynn is a psychometric. She picks up information about objects she touches—where they are from, who owned them, what happened to them, etc. She wears gloves to prevent herself from overloading.”
“And what could I use? A tin foil cap?” She rolled her eyes and when his hand curled around her nape. She leaned back into the strength, resisting the urge to moan as his fingers moved in small circles. The heat of his body was a temptation in itself. She didn’t think she’d ever been so cold and she wanted to curl up in the warmth of his body and soak it in. How would it feel if he used those hands elsewhere? A shiver climbed down her spine.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a filter that you could turn on and off until you can control these abilities of yours. This place wasn’t created with telepathic-empaths in mind. You’re the first I’ve seen alive, Amy. That in itself makes you incredibly useful.”
Or incredibly dangerous, depending on a person’s point of view.
Drawing away, Amy rose from the bed. Her leg trembled, forcing her to grip the edge of the wall to stay upright. “So what? I stay in another locked room for the next ten…fifty years of my life?” She shook her head and limped to the window. “Geez, it’s a nice view and everything, but I’m going to have to pass on your very generous offer.”
“You don’t get a choice.” He flashed his teeth at her in warning and when she opened her mouth to protest, he stalked forward. She had no time to evade. He pinned her back against the window frame, his hands planted on either side of her face. “Do you think I’m talking to hear the sound of my voice? There’s no way you can survive outside this room unless you return to the psych ward. Is that what you want?”
She narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips together.
“Damn it, Amy. You don’t need to trust me, but you’ll do what I say. Is that clear?” His voice was flat and dismissive and behind it all, she heard the agent beneath his words.
Amy lifted her face and glared at him, startled when her nose bumped his. “Yes,” she said tightly. “It’s clear. Clear that everyone thinks they can control me. Back off, J.C., or you’re going to think you’re nothing more than a pretty paperweight. You don’t want to push me.”
“Oh yeah honey, you’re so scary. The boogeyman could take lessons from you,” he drawled. He leaned close, his eyes sweeping over her lips. Liquid heat swept through her body, settling low in her gut, a sensation she had never experienced before. “But you forget that I’ve met her and sweetheart, she isn’t you.”
She made a small sound—a cross between annoyance and exasperation—and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I may have been kept in isolation for most of my life but that doesn’t mean they broke me. I know what I’m capable of. I’m not someone you want to mess with. I can make you let me out of this room.”
He chuckled and the warmth of his breath brushed along her skin. Goosebumps trailed in its wake. “Try it, but I’ll guarantee, you won’t succeed.”
He was too close, his presence overwhelming. She wanted to touch, to brush the pads of her fingers over the shadowed edge of his jaw, to feel the contrast of the rough stubble. Her tongue swept over her dry lips as she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
If this was his method of ensuring he got his way, it was effective. Before she’d gotten out, skin to skin contact had been limited unless a person wore a device to block her from picking up on things they didn’t want her to know.
She’d never been interested in anything physical, but she was curious now. Her neck tingled from his hot breath and her pulse raced as he watched her, waiting for a response. “Back off, J.C. I’m serious.”
His nearness awoke foreign needs in her body. She wanted to lean forward, to close the distance and taste him, to feel his mouth on hers again. To have his hands on her body.
This wasn’t like her. She didn’t feel these…urges. She had to be picking up on the minds of others. Someone had to be projecting their emotions.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Slipping past him, Amy limped back toward the bed. “Just because you’re used to ordering others around doesn’t mean I’ll fall in line because you snap your fingers.”
She caught a flash of something in those amber eyes, but whether it was anger or amusement, she wasn’t sure. His brow arched. “That’s very interesting, but your argument is useless. You’re going to stay here and I’m not going to worry about finding you dead in some hallway because you ignored me. Do you hear me?”
She didn’t answer.
He pushed his fingers into his hair with exasperation, leaving the tips in dark spikes. “What do you know about this place?”
She could hear the irritation in his voice. “We’re at a research lab, designed to train special agents. The specifics were never given to me.”
“We’re part of the Shadow Ops.” He drummed his fingers along his thigh. “This place is a genetics research lab facility owned by a firm in the Shadow Government, everything funded under a cloak of the Black Budget umbrella. It began as simple mental experiments, the creation of soldiers—men and women that could use their minds as weapons. Psychic experiments.
“When the first trials resulted in little satisfactory results, the scientists turned to gene therapy with the use of a virus. They infected the brain cells and using radiation, created broad base mutations.” He pressed his fingertips above his eyes, almost as though he were picking up on her headache. Maybe he was. “They used homeless men and women no one would miss. The first experimental rounds were used to perfect their methods. Those who didn’t fit their ideal image of a psychic were terminated or placed in the psych ward.”
Revulsion chilled her as she listened to J.C. How had the Council gotten away with it? How could this have been allowed to continue? She wrapped her arms around herself, needing that comfort, as small as it was.
“There’s a concept to cell memory, based on the idea that whatever happens in our lives is imprinted throughout our makeup. Our bodies are made up of billions of interacting cells, each reacting to information that it receives from the subconscious mind.” When she frowned, he slowed down. “Think of it like your three types of energies that you mentioned earlier. Your physical body may be dead, but your soul, retaining all those locked away memories, still exists. With cell memory, it’s something similar. There have been documented cases of transplant patients having new and random cravings or habits after surgery…similar or exact to those of the donor. Like a footprint of the soul.
“The scientists opened that door. The capability to have these abilities were always there, passed down to us through our junk DNA. By rewiring, they changed the way the brain functioned, enhancing our mental capacities and unlocking psychic abilities that should probably have been left alone.”
And now the responsibility fell on him to keep it going. She didn’t need to be in his head to know how he felt. His hatred of the project and the Council was there in every word.
“Once a child was born and it was determined that the gene therapy was a success, he or she is then raised in a squad with eight or thirteen other children approximately of the same ages. Once a squad is formed, it’s permanent. For the rest of your life and every waking moment, those would be who you trained with.”
“What was training like?”
He shrugged and suddenly he looked exhausted. She started to go to him but stopped, not wanting to distract him. “A normal day was waking up at five in the morning to do physical training from five-thirty to seven, breakfast at seven-thirty and then classes and mind exercises until six to strengthen our abiliti
es. After dinner we went out to do fieldwork and more physical training until nine or ten. Lights out at eleven.”
“Classes?”
“Oh yeah.” He smirked. “Because out in the real world on missions, we had to at least appear civilized and knowledgeable. Not like the killers and kidnappers we were trained to be. We had tutors in every subject you could think of—from science to math, politics to geography, linguistics to weaponry. Out of the classroom, we trained to strengthen our physical limits and learned how to shoot and blow shit up.”
His words made her frown. Was that all they were? Was their only purpose to be spies?
“Why?”
He glanced over, his gaze colliding with hers. “Why what?”
“Why would they do all this?”
“Because the threat of war is always whispered about, even if society doesn’t know about it. Everyone wants an edge and we are the weapons. In the meantime, our ‘gifts,’ if you can call them that, are utilized in other ways—whether it’s gathering information, making enemies of the Council ‘disappear’ or scouting out new recruits to bring over.”
“What happens if you fail as a psychic agent?”
“Failure to complete the necessary training tests and you received a black mark. Three marks and you’re no use to the Council.”
Not ready to think about what they wanted with her, she asked, “What’s the Abyss?”
He glanced at her, started to lift a hand as though to shrug off the question then stopped. “It’s what we called the rooms with no stimulation. Once you go in, you become lost to the outside world. They throw you in there for awhile and your body goes into a state of shock because there’s nothing for it to process. When they finally lift that barrier and all sensations come back, they overload your body. It’s a favorite form of interrogation because it’s so successful.”
Voice gruff, he began to peel off his shirt. He turned and she wasn’t able to stop her gasp.
His back was marred, deep scars traced over his skin—the raised smooth surfaces similar to chain links…
Chapter Ten
“I was eighteen when I was locked up.” J.C. paused, unsure whether he should go on or not. In the end, he determined that she needed to know. “It was a stupid prank gone wrong. We had an important exam coming up, one that would determine who graduated or not. Stefan and I were always finding a way to fight. By that point, we couldn’t stand each other anymore and were always trying to upstage one-another. He dared me to break in to the Centre’s mainframe and steal the details of the exam.”
Tears brightened Amy’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she moved carefully toward him, her fingers shaking. “What happened?”
“I got caught. Because I’d breached the system, someone hacked in and stole some files. The Council took the breach seriously, despite the fact that the stolen files were of non-importance. It was a matter of principle. I made the Centre vulnerable to the attack and I was punished for it.” They’d made an example out of him.
He leaned forward, brushing his thumbs at the tears that glittered on her cheeks. “Caleigh was changed, like you and me, but unlike us, she became something…someone that thrives on the pain and nightmares of others. Seeing that as an advantage, the Council made her an Enforcer. That memory you were caught in was mine.”
“There were some memories of yours that were closed off to me the other day when I was copying them. I didn’t have access to them so I had no way of knowing what they were.” She whispered and fresh tears spilled down her face. “I’m sorry.”
Touched beyond words that she would cry for him, he slid his lips over her forehead. “It’s not important anymore. The Council likes to remind everyone that they created us and without them, we’d be nothing. I broke the rules and I did the time for it.” His words sounded dull and hollow.
He closed his eyes, hearing his screams from that night. He could still feel the hot whip of the chains and the filth he’d survived in. Could still hear Caleigh and her delighted laugh when he begged her to stop. By the time Broderick had come to get him, he’d been nothing more than an empty shell. It’d taken weeks to feel human again.
He didn’t know Amy had moved behind him. Not until she touched his back. He jolted, her touch light but shocking as she traced the old scars. He tried to turn, but something about the gesture entranced him.
“I could take those memories from you if you wanted,” Amy murmured. Her lips followed, brushing those white lines that dissected his back before he could pull on his shirt. “You don’t have to remember them, J.C. Or, if you would rather I leave them alone, I could take the sting out and make them easier to deal with.”
His feet bumped hers when he turned to face her. The horrors he felt echoed in her eyes and he wanted to wipe that terror away. “As much as I don’t want to remember that time, it shaped who I am. I can’t ignore that part of me because it’s painful.”
Something flickered over her features and she nodded quickly before she stepped back. “I would never do what Ashton did. I protected your memories as best as I could, but I have the ability to help you if you wanted me to.”
His fingers curled. She radiated an innocence and goodness he hadn’t seen in another in so long. He was unsure what he was doing here with her. If he touched her, he would only sully that purity. Knowing that he couldn’t, yet unable to resist, J.C. pulled her closer.
“You’re nothing like him. Ashton tried to change me, to turn me against the grain of my soul into a person I would never have recognized.”
As painful as the memories were, he needed to remember what had been done. Take that away and he didn’t know who he’d be.
“How’d you protect my memories, Amy?” However she’d done it displayed considerable power. She was stronger than he thought possible. She was a mystery and the scientist in him wanted to know more about what she could do. How did her brain work?
She crossed over to a chair and settled into it. “I basically acted like a computer. I copied the memories so that when Ashton was finished, I would be able to replace them all with your old unchanged ones.”
Stunned, J.C. turned from her. If she could do something so precise and complicated, there were depths to her ability Rick had yet to tap. They’d never had someone who did what she could. That meant they had a whole new set of options in their arsenal. Yes, she was important, but he didn’t care what the Council would want to use her for. He was more concerned about getting her to lead him to the killer and maybe this time, it would be over.
* * *
J.C. shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. Ariadne moved in as he attacked, her body angling instinctively and the moment he got close, she thrust her half curled palm upward against his nose. He caught her fist before it made contact, gripping her by the elbow and flipping her off her feet. As she landed, she braced herself and rolled backward from him to spring onto the tips of her toes.
“Is that all you got?” She shoved her hair out of her face and cocked a brow. She gestured for him to attack again.
The corner of his lips curled upward. He reacted quickly. She dodged and swiveled with a roundhouse kick aimed high. He trapped her foot, knocking her back. She edged in, rapid, intricate movements that blurred.
He twisted his body as though starting off into a cartwheel, flipping around and swinging his legs up and over mid-air without touching the ground. The aerial drove him forward and he kicked out, his foot catching her off guard. When he gained his footing again, he took her down until she was flat on her back.
He towe
red over her and held out his hand, waiting until she accepted before he helped her up. “Either get out of the way or move in and get in your opponent’s space. There’s not a lot of time to act once the flip has been initiated. You’ll catch them off guard.” With a nod, J.C. let go and walked over toward the bench to grab a bottle of water, tossing it her way.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the resounding grunts echoed in the training room. J.C. looked at the other agents in the room as they worked out, then back to Ariadne.
“You got lucky, nothing more.” She twisted the cap off, swallowing a mouthful. Her competitive streak burned bright in her eyes. “I want a re-match. I’ll take you this time.”
He moved around her to an empty bench and lowered himself flat on his back. Reaching for the dumbbells, he extended them over his chest, then lowered them. “Not tonight. Practice on someone else.”
“Like who?”
He angled his chin across the room. “Like Rick. He could use some lessons.”
Hearing his name, the man in question turned toward them. Sweat glistened over his face, dampening his shirt against his chest. “No. I’m not signing up to be a punching bag. Find another sucker.”
“You’re such a wimp. I promise I won’t bruise your ego too badly.” Ariadne shot back.
J.C. ignored them as they tossed insults back and forth. He’d thought that working out would help clear his head for a few, but it hadn’t. Nothing could make him forget that somewhere out there, Teresa had been killed. Or that Amy was up in his room, sleeping in his bed. He’d tried pushing her for more information, but as frazzled as her mind was, she couldn’t give him anything else.
“J.C.”
One of these days, he was going to figure out how Amy could ease into his mind without him knowing. It made no sense that the Council wouldn’t have tried to use her as a spy. He’d been raised to always know the enemy, but he had no idea what category she fell into. Friend or foe? Was she playing him?