When she finally stood, it took pure restraint on his part to keep from going to her. Unsteady to say the least, she damn near fell with each step. Sweat slid down her cheek as she made her way toward the bathroom. Not once did she ask him for help or even look in his direction. At the bathroom entrance, she leaned on the doorframe.
The muscles in her arm flexed, spasmed, then flexed again as she kept herself upright. Drake forced himself to hold his position. Aggravation at the situation inched along his spine. On faltering steps, she entered the rest of the way and closed the door behind her.
Blowing out a breath, Drake shook his head. Stubborn females were the most difficult of creatures.
He should know.
One had raised him.
* * *
Joss wanted to die. Death would be far preferable to the hell of forks and knives stabbing every muscle. Yes, she knew it was paresthesia caused from sitting for so damn long restrained in the chair. Didn’t matter. It hurt like a mother fucking bitch. Gripping the sides of the sink, she managed to stay on her feet as she lifted one leg then other. Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to shed them.
She survived boot camp. She survived twenty-eight mile runs with a sixty-plus pound rucksack on her back. She survived the hellish heat of Iraq in the summertime, firefights with insurgents, roadside bombs, and Sunday dinners with her family—a situation more treacherous than a minefield. She would survive getting the nerves all back online.
Dammit.
Ten nightmarish, sweat-soaked minutes later, she leaned on the wall without wanting to cry. She tested mobility on every digit and limb. Confident they wouldn’t give out on her, she surrendered to her bladder’s desperate need and made use of the facility. No lock on the door offered her another issue. The shower Drake offered sounded damn good.
So far, he hadn’t plowed into the door. After three days of his constant questioning in that oh so polite deep baritone that she might normally have admired, she had to admit he never seemed to say anything he didn’t mean. She was torn between not really wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth and not wanting to give someone a peep show, no matter how “honorable” they sounded.
First rule—identify what could kill her now, then what could kill her later. Unfortunately, the man in the other room fit into both categories, even if he hadn’t killed her so far.
Using a towel, she wiped her face and made sure no signs of tears remained before she opened the door. Drake stood exactly where she’d left him. If he played some psychological game with her, hoping to foster a sense of dependence after three days of mental torture, it needed to not work.
“I’ll shower.” Her voice sounded horrendous and it actually hurt to speak. Refusing to engage with him had been pure stubbornness on her part. She couldn’t trip up and reveal something if she said nothing. “I want your word that you will stay out here.”
“My word has value to you?”
Truth or butter him up? Lying stuck in her craw, so she opted for honesty. “No. You’re my jailer—kidnapper. You have no value nor does your word. The shower, however, sounds nice and I’d like to eat and drink.” Baby steps. “I’ll castrate you if you come in this bathroom.”
Seemingly nonplussed by her threat, he merely nodded. “Do you require fresh clothing or would you prefer to put on the outfit you already have?”
The polite gentility was so very awkward in light of their circumstances. “I’ll take the clean clothes.”
“Very well.” He strode to a closet she hadn’t noticed. From there, he extracted a set of scrubs. He added a couple of plastic wrapped items to the stack and some towels. At his approach, she tightened her grip on the door. He stopped three feet away, and extended his arm to make the offering of fresh clothing.
This close to him, she could no longer ignore the frantic fluttering in her gut or the warning signals her mind sent out. He was huge. Her earlier estimates of his height seemed off by at least an inch or two. More, he was broad shouldered, thick chested—built like a tank.
“Joss?” The question in his tone did more to pull her out of her fugue than anything else.
Not quite trusting her own strength, she snatched the clothes and towels then closed the door and leaned against it. Blowing out a shuddering breath, she hugged the items to her chest. “Thank you,” she managed. He didn’t try to force the door. Even listening intently, she couldn’t hear him through the thin wood.
“You’re welcome. I will not enter the bathroom unless you are in distress.” It was the closest to a promise she was likely to get. “I will wait here.” Here had to be farther away from the door than he’d been when he handed her the items. He sounded like he was on the other side of the room.
“I can live with that.” Whether she had a choice in the matter or not, it was better to maintain at least a semblance of control.
The bathroom didn’t have a mirror or a detachable towel rack. In fact, it had nothing detachable. Damn, and she’d hoped to at least find a weapon.
Thirty minutes later, she wrapped a towel around herself. The hot shower exhausted and invigorated her in equal measure. The shower products left a lot to be desired, but thankfully she was clean, warm, and ready to sleep for a week.
Except sleep isn’t an option.
Using a wide-toothed comb, she stroked it through her hair. Thanks to her grandfather’s love for a Japanese woman, Joss’s hair didn’t require half the work her mother or sister had dealt with through the years. The thickness however required more conditioning than she’d been able to give it.
At least it was clean. After toweling herself dry, she dressed in the borrowed scrubs. The plastic wrapped items turned out to be a tank top and panties. No bra in the mix, but she didn’t have a lot in the boob department to worry about. By the time she had on the clean clothes, she had to lean against the wall again.
Giving her trembles some time to pass, she tried to gather her wandering thoughts together. She didn’t know who Drake was or who he worked for. The best case scenario said he was one of the so-called heroes who worked the home front like they were God’s gift to civilians. They caused nearly as much damage as they prevented.
Worst case—he was one of the very bio-enhanced soldiers her unit had been removing from the checkerboard. With no professed allegiance, they were working within U.S. borders. Granted, the private research facility had been subcontracted—and most likely funded—by a black ops budget from one of the alphabet agencies.
It doesn’t matter who he is or what pulls his strings, my first priority is survival then exfiltration.
His politeness, and refinement might very well prove to be a tool she could use against him. On the upside, it meant she could be as weak as necessary without any damage to her pride.
Her exhaustion was a weapon. Her neediness? Also a weapon. Lifting her hands, she studied the cracked nails, broken skin and bruised wrists.
Opening the door, she stepped out to find her captor waiting.
All right, Drake…let’s rumble.
Chapter 5
“You’re leaving.” Of all those who might intercept her, Rory knew it would be Simon.
She didn’t slow her steps as she strode toward the private dock. The group kept two boats anchored there. Privacy and practicality, as always, drove their decisions. They couldn’t fly, so they needed marine access to the island.
“I’ll leave the boat where you can all pick it up next time you make a crossing.”
Circling around him, she continued out the door and across the windswept yard toward the path leading away from their fortress on an isle off the coast of Long Island. They might as well have been in some distant fairyland. She’d allowed herself to be consumed by their mission, to be consumed by her passion for Michael, and ended up betrayed.
Time to take the reins back.
“Where you leave the boat is irrelevant, Rory. You are not safe out there.” Well, point to Simon, he didn’t try to demand she stay nor did
he get in her way. Instead, he fell in step with her as she made her way to the dock.
“It’s never been safe out there and, in case you haven’t been paying attention, we’re not safe here.” She adjusted the strap on her bag. All she’d packed was a change of clothes and her uniform.
“Rory, Michael—”
Halting, she raised a hand and pivoted to face him. “No, you don’t get to bring up Michael. I trusted him. He decided not to trust me, and now he is God knows where. You have your mission. I have mine.”
She resumed her course for the boats. Simon hesitated then jogged to catch up with her. “I know you’re upset with him.”
“We’re way beyond upset.” Descending the hill toward the private dock, she scanned the area. So far, no one else had tried to intercept her. Amanda’s loyalty to Simon wasn’t in question, but she trusted her best friend to not intervene. Ronan was ten times more likely to join her. Garrett wouldn’t touch her, a byproduct of Michael shooting him the last time he did, and Ilsa had her patients.
“And Drake is preoccupied with Joss Archer.” Simon sighed. A moment later every muscle in Rory’s body locked. She froze in place, the bag thumped against her leg. “Rory, I cannot allow you to risk yourself.”
No? She’d prepared herself for this eventuality. Simon, you all came here for one reason, to save your future. Saving your future means allowing for self-determination. The corporations made all the decisions, a handful of men and women decided who lived. Who died. They determined where you would serve. They instituted the caste system, and they experimented on people, hunted down those who were different, tore so many lives apart.
She couldn’t turn her head, but it was as though she could feel the weight of his stare.
Now, tell me how you doing this is any different.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Then her muscles unfroze. She caught herself and spared him a look. His face was ashen, his eyes tortured, and his mouth tight.
I’m sorry, Simon. I excel at the possibilities. You guys have the right idea, but you have shitty execution. You were all borne of a war. You’ve forgotten how to hope, how to fight for more than simple survival.
He folded his hands but said nothing. She left him to stew and continued down toward the boat. Once inside, she dropped her bag, fired up the engine, then freed the ties. Engaging the rotor, she backed the boat away from the dock and let the waves pull her from the shore before turning the wheel. At full throttle, she sped away from Rock Isle.
You may be right. Laden with defeat, Simon’s mental voice followed her. Maybe we haven’t handled every situation the way we should’ve. Maybe we are soldiers—warriors—not heroes.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them away. The wind stung her face.
Don’t die for us, Rory. Michael still needs you. As if reconsidering his sentiment, Simon’s mental sigh was audible. We all need you.
Ronan folded his arms, the pain along his spine a constant lash of fire. The tendons connecting his wings to his back contracted, which increased the agony twisting every nerve ending. It wasn’t just the repeated amputations, which hurt. The regrowth of his wings tortured him, but he needed his wings like he required his hands and feet. Fighting the cramp, he stretched the already regenerated bones. Pushing past the torment, he extended his wings to their fullest extent.
The feathers took longer than the wing structure. It would take time before he would be able to actually fly again. Time he didn’t want to spend waiting, but he would be as patient as he could.
“She’s gone.” Amanda’s quiet voice behind him should have stirred more than recrimination and intense dislike. Amanda and Rory were his oldest friends. They never treated him like a freak when his wings grew in during a rather vicious bout of puberty.
They trained with him.
Played.
Called him brother.
In a few, short brutal months, Amanda served only as a reminder of his tenure in hell. “Good,” he said with a long exhale. “Roar shouldn’t have let these fools cage her.”
“She wasn’t caged.” At least Amanda didn’t sound like she believed her words. Maybe she was waking up to her own choices as well.
“Wasn’t she?” He turned, facing her. “She let them make all the choices, chose their mission over our own.”
The electric blue of Amanda’s hair was a shock of color in the otherwise dreary room. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and still barefoot, she looked like a hippie. If not for the strain around her eyes, the faint tight lines at the corners of her lips and the loss of weight still evident in her thin arms and hollowed cheeks, she looked no different than she had the day she’d trapped him.
“I’m sorry they took you,” he said. The words rumbled in his throat and jarred his soul. “I’m sorry they used you as a weapon.”
Leaning against the closed doors, Amanda gave him a sad smile. “Me too. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know that they used me against you.”
“This ‘they’—who are they?” So far, no one had answered that question.
“We aren’t sure. We know they used R.E.X. facilities…and some of their scientists.” The hesitation in her voice reflected a confusion he shared.
“The Infinity Corporation is a primary investor in R.E.X.” The corporation Rory’s parents owned. The corporation had funded their training and their work as heroes. If not for the Infinity Corporation, they would not be who they were.
Amanda licked her lips then folded her arms and nodded slowly. “I know. So does Rory. It’s why she’s going to see her parents and the company itself.”
“Why now? Why not earlier?” He already knew the answer to the question.
“Michael,” Amanda admitted and looked down. “He didn’t trust them, didn’t trust her risking herself.”
“Michael. This dude sounds like a real dick.” Why the hell would Rory fully commit to such an ass?
“He’s not as bad as he sounds.” Amanda spread her hands as she spoke. “And before you tell me I just said he was the reason Rory hasn’t dug deeper into her family’s company…there’s a very real fear among these men. A shared commitment and absolute faith in their mission. It’s not hard to get swept up into the emotions.”
“Does that really sound like Rory?” The cramp eased in his back, so he relaxed his wings. Relief spread through his shoulders.
“Following her gut? Trusting her instincts? Ignoring what we would all call common sense to do what she believes is the right thing?” The absolute challenge in Amanda’s flat statement amused him.
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Fine, it sounds exactly like Rory.” From the moment she decided the world needed saving, she’d convinced all of them. They would have followed her through fire, because she was always the first to plunge into the inferno. “I still can’t get over the idea that anyone could convince her to hesitate.”
“I don’t think he could, not fully. It’s why he knocked her out.” Amanda grimaced then her face relaxed as she sighed. “Curtis and Josh’s treachery hurts her more than she’ll ever admit, but Michael? When he jabbed her with that drug and left her unconscious while he went on that mission? She may never get over the betrayal.”
Ronan flexed his hands, fighting the urge to clench his fists. His affection for his teammates aside, Rory occupied a special place in his heart. She was the girl on the team they’d all coveted in one fashion or another, but she’d never gone for any of them. Never accepted romantic overtures, never toyed with them. “Then he shouldn’t have done it.”
Never in a million years would Ronan have betrayed those he cared for. It was why, even in the midst of his pain and anguish, he’d held back from hitting Rory as hard as he could. Amanda? Amanda he had to work on forgiving. His head understood she had been under a compulsion and not a willing participant in the hell he suffered. His heart needed further convincing.
Not so with Rory. He heard the pain in her voice when she’d welcomed hi
m home. Saw the blaze of fury in her eyes at his condition. Heard the anguish she hid from everyone else. Her leaving these Boomers pleased him. As soon as he was able, he was getting the hell out of there, too.
“You should go, Amanda.” He hadn’t meant to give voice to the advice, but it came out anyway. “You should escape them.”
“I don’t want to.” She didn’t seem upset by his advice. If anything, she looked relieved he’d given it. Maybe he did care. “I know how messed up I was. Simon put me back together. He loves me. I love him. I won’t leave him. Not for any of you.”
Ronan nodded slowly. “I’m not staying.”
“I know.” Her smile turned sad. “We’re not the team we were.”
No.
They most certainly weren’t.
Head down, Ilsa studied the chip design under the microscope. Though she’d managed to deactivate their bio chips, she still needed to understand how they worked fully. The samples they’d extracted from the facility in Russia matched her design, only using stem cells as their base. It was exquisite, intricate work.
Dangerous and deadly, too.
The door opened then closed quietly. At her feet, Winston began to vibrate as his tail thumped. It had to be Garrett. Winston adored the man nearly as much as Ilsa did. A moment later, a gloved hand settled against her nape.
“One minute,” she murmured, still studying how they weaved the circuitry pattern into the cells. It baffled her how perfectly they’d mirrored the construction of silicon. “I can’t get over how beautiful these are.”
“Yeah?” A hint of teasing softened his voice as he massaged her nape gently. The action soothed her without distracting her focus.
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