Cursed Angels

by Edwards, Anna

  “Mara,” I call out.

  “We have to go.” The guy I was fighting is up on his feet and limping toward my woman.

  “I can’t leave him. He remembered,” she pleads.

  “If we stay here any longer, more guards will come. His conditioning will take over again soon, and he'll forget. I can’t fight him much longer.” The guy is dragging her toward the door, but she pulls away from him.

  “Conditioning?” I lie there thinking. What’s happening? She's leaving. Not now. Please.

  “Mara. We have to go. He won’t remember you in a few minutes. He’s one of them now. He’s doing to people what happened to you. Archer King is no longer the man you fell in love with. He’s a monster like them. We can’t save him.”

  “Hunter. We can try?”

  “He made his decision when he left you to join them.”

  I’m listening to their conversation, but it’s making so little sense to me. Everything is beginning to turn hazy again. I can feel my strength returning. I’ll be ready to fight again in a few minutes.

  “Ok.” She reluctantly takes his hand, and with a last look back at me on the floor, they leave.

  “Mara,” I shout after them. I have to remember her. I can’t forget her again. I roll over onto my front and crawl toward the computer which landed on the floor. It’s the key to this. They were looking at it. I need to take it with me. I struggle into a sitting position. My head is starting to thunder with pain. I don’t have much time left. This is how it goes.

  Whatever they’ve done to me is repairing itself in my brain. I put my finger in the blood that pools on the floor around me and use my index finger to write on the silver laptop cover.

  “Samara — take this, Archer.”

  The pain takes over as I swirl over the end of the R. It’s blinding. I cry out in agony and blackout.

  * * *

  I don’t know how long I’m out, but when I come to, I’m back on my feet in an instant and staring around the room. It looks as though a world war broke out in here. A couple of my subordinates run into the room.

  “Mr. King?” They look at me with concern. I run my finger over my lip, and it gets covered in blood.

  “They got a lucky hit, I guess,” I respond. I remember a man and woman in here but nothing about how they escaped from me. Their faces are a blur. Why can’t I remember them?

  “Dr. Monroe is dead.” One of the guards checks out the poor woman on the floor.

  “They cut out her womb,” I say. “I want Dr. Kingsley and Dr. Chamberlain brought into protection at the compound. If they argue about freedom, tell them they can come of their own free will, or I’ll bring them tied and gagged."

  I look down at my feet. A silver laptop sits there but I notice writing on it in blood.

  “Samara — take this, Archer.”

  I pick it up.

  “Do you want me to take that?” one of the guards asks.

  “No,” I command. “This is mine. I think it might hold clues as to what is going on here.” I rub my head where a headache lingers. It’s time I got to the bottom of what is going on here.

  Chapter 13

  Samara

  "He remembered me, Hunter," I plead once more as we weave our way through the dark streets. He doesn't respond. I know he's angry. There's frustration ebbing from him like a crashing waterfall. It's drenching me in its cold torrent, and I have no way of calming him. His foot is heavy on the gas, and we're speeding wildly toward the cabin we're staying at.

  Sighing, I sit back and watch as the dim streetlights flit by. My mind is still on the man I love. Archer is still in there. I can get through to him, I just need time. He needs to give me something. Just an hour, and I know I can break the shit they've done to him.

  Closing my eyes, I recall the day we saw them with Gabrielle. She was one of the older girls. A beautiful brunette with big hazel eyes. Her tanned skin and full lips were every boy’s wet dream at the time. And when Dr. Monroe found out she had her first period, she was taken in.

  By then, I had just turned sixteen. It was just months before Archer actually left.

  "Listen," Arch whispers in my ear. As we near the door, I hear it. We've been coming down here when one of the kids goes missing in hopes of saving them, but each time we try, we fail. Instead of freeing them from the bed, we only see more horrors than the time before.

  It's not every day that they take one, which only serves to confirm that they plan their operations. There's nothing we can do but watch each time a girl or boy comes down here. There's no hope of them coming back the same way.

  Gabrielle is their latest victim. She's just turned sixteen, my age, but they haven’t brought me in here yet. She's bound to a hospital bed with thick leather straps which are cutting into her flesh because she keeps tugging and pulling at them.

  Monroe is here; she's one of the doctors who oversees the operations they perform on the girls. She's dressed in her standard white coat. Her hair is pinned in a severe bun at the back of her head, pulling the skin on her face taut. It's as if she's made of plastic.

  She doesn't smile. What it looks like is an evil sneer. What you'd probably picture Cruella De Ville to look like if she were a real person.

  "You're such a beautiful young woman," Monroe utters with contempt at our friend. "Girls like you cause trouble in here." Her words seem to drip with jealousy and rage. I don't know what she means. Gabby is one of the sweetest girls.

  "Please, just let me go. I'll behave." Tears blur my vision when I see the fear etched on Gabby’s face as she pleads with the doctor.

  "You will," Monroe confirms with a nod. "When we're done, you'll be able to live in The Factory without any threat from the boys in here. When they lift your pretty dress, they'll be so horrified, they won't come near you again."

  The doctor lifts the silver knife — a scalpel, I think, but longer and more vicious-looking. She slices Gabby's dress from her body. It's only then I notice her curves, her breasts. I've never seen a girl naked like that.

  I cast a glance at Archer, but he's not looking at her hungrily, the way he looks at me. He's as horrified as I am. I turn my gaze back to the scene before me, finding Gabby now completely naked. Her underwear lies on the floor in a heap.

  Just then, another doctor enters. Dr. Kingsley.

  "Monroe. She's a pretty one," he says in a tone that causes ice to run through my veins. He lifts a hand, trailing it over the dips and curves of Gabrielle's body. "You're going to learn girls are made for pleasing the soldiers," he utters. Leaning in, he sneers down at her shaking body, “It was why you were born.”

  My stomach rolls in revulsion. I almost wretch at the sight of his hand between her thighs where no one should ever touch.

  "Take my fingers," he bites out angrily, and his hand moves faster.

  Gabby screams so loud my ears sting with agony at her cries. She's once again pulling and tugging at the restraints, but there's no escape for her.

  "Enough, Kingsley," Dr. Monroe hisses while lifting the scalpel. She continues to press it against the flat plane of Gabby's stomach. Blood spurts from the incision as my friend screeches inhumanely from the pain clearly coursing through her. Dr. Kingsley continues his ministrations with his fingers, and shock reigns through me when I see him pull his zipper down and position himself at her mouth that's wide in horror.

  "Take it, bitch," he grunts, shutting her up with his thick erection.

  This time, I do feel bile racing up my throat. Turning, I race from the basement with Archer behind me. I make it into the large gardens before puking up the breakfast we had only a couple hours ago.

  My body convulses painfully. The burning in my throat brings tears to my eyes, and Archer holds my hair back as I throw up my guts on the lush, green grass.

  "We'll get out of here," he promises me again. "I'll kill them all, Dollface. I swear on my life." I want to believe him. I do. But somehow, I can't. There's nothing Archer has promised me that he hasn't co
me through with. Nothing. Sadly, this time I can't put my faith in him. Not because I don't believe him. It's because this hell is inescapable.

  Once you're taken to the basement, there's no coming back from that. It doesn't matter if you survive. You'll never be the same. There’s no way you can return as a whole person. They take from you. They steal, they rob, and they enjoy it.

  No one should live like that.

  But we have no choice.

  "He's not going to change, Sam," Hunter insists as we pull up to the cabin, pulling me from the memory of what we'd gone through.

  "He can. I believe in him, Hunter. Didn't you change? Your past is littered with shit too," I implore him. I want him to understand. To see Archer is a good man under all that mind control they've done to him.

  "And what if he doesn't? What if he remembers you and one day, out of the blue, he decides you have to die? He could've killed you tonight."

  I understand what he's saying. It's true; Archer could've indeed taken me out. I was so hellbent on making him see me I forgot I'm trained to kill. To fend off the bad guys. But Archer isn't one of them. He may act like it now, but I believe he can fight it if he just realizes there's a reason to fight.

  "Buttercup," Hunter coos, pulling me over the seat, planting me on his lap. His big, calloused hands cup my cheeks. "All I want is for you to be safe. Is that so wrong?"

  Tears fill my eyes, making Hunter blurry in my vision. "No," I croak out, emotion thick in my tone. My throat closing with all the sadness that's threatening to choke me. A snake, wrapping itself around my neck, squeezing out the air.

  "I wanted to say this under different circumstances, Sam, but—"

  "Don't. Please," I beg. I know what he's going to say. It's written all over his face, and the emotion swims in his beautiful, hazel green eyes.

  "I can't help it. I do."

  Nodding, I pull away from him, needing to breathe. Can you love two people at the same time? What I'm doing is wrong. I'm hurting Hunter, Archer, and myself. This thing between Hunt and I should stop. Right here and now. But when his hands trail my body, squeezing my ass, I can't stop the movement of my hips rocking against him.

  "Let me show you," he murmurs as he controls my hips. Moving me over his hardness. It presses against my pussy, just where I need it. I've done this for so long it's second nature. Fuck to forget. But when my head drops back and I close my eyes, I'm met with those dark orbs that have haunted me for years.

  "I can't." Pushing away from Hunter, I see the pain in his gaze. It tightens a fist around my heart. I exit the car quickly, making my way into the cabin hastily, not needing him to follow me, but he does. He always does.

  "Sam," he calls to me, but I ignore him. Shoving my way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me, I slide down the wooden surface till I land on my ass. On the floor, I finally fall apart. I cry.

  Hunter bangs on the door, but I can't let him in. There's no way that if I open this door he won’t storm in, pick me up, and show me just how much he loves me. Because that's what he does. All the years we've been together, he's always given me that solace. Taken away my pain by showing me pleasure.

  But this time, he can't.

  Nothing can steal the agony that's clawing its way through my chest. My heart bleeds as I recall the emptiness in Archer's gaze. When he looked at me, he didn't even recognize me. It was as if he's an empty vessel, filled with anger and hatred and the need to kill.

  It took me a while to break through his walls, that barrier they've made him put up. I know I can do it again. But Hunter's right. What if the next time I come face to face with Archer, he kills me before I have the chance to make him see?

  Chapter 14

  Archer

  “How could you let them get away? You walked in on them killing one of our doctors, and they escaped?” Rebekah angrily stomps her high-heeled foot while I sit sewing the cut over my eye. All soldiers are trained to take care of themselves medically. You can’t always rely on a doctor being available when you get shot, stabbed, or beaten. “You’re supposed to be a trained soldier.”

  “Well, it would seem that your training failed on this occasion.” I dig the needle into my flesh, pull it to the jagged edge on the other side of the cut, and bring the thread through.

  “Don’t be facetious, Archer. This is not a joke. There are killers after our doctors. You had them in your hands and let them go.”

  “Maybe they’re better trained than we are,” I bite back and tie the ends of the surgical thread together. “Besides, the doctors are killing themselves with their constant disregard of the rules I’ve put in place. They think they’re invincible but are finally being shown that they aren't. If the last two want to survive the next week, then I want them brought into the main compound and put under twenty-four-hour guard.”

  “Nobody is better trained than the team I’ve put together.” She puts her hands on her curvy hips and pouts at me.

  “Arrogance is a downfall, Rebekah.”

  “And a soldier who doesn’t do his job will be one as well. You have five days to get their dead bodies in front of me. If you don’t, there will be dire consequences for you.” Rebekah spits her venom at me and leaves with a vibrating slam of the door.

  I groan while checking my sewing handiwork in the mirror. I take an antiseptic wipe and clean off the congealed blood from the cut in my lip. The wounds will heal and leave me with another scar on my body. Another indicator of a memory I’ve long since forgotten. This time, however, I’m not going to forget. Pushing to my feet, I make my way over to my safe and enter the code. It’s six numbers which I’m sure should mean something to me, but I’ve no idea what. One, zero, two, nine, nine, three. The door clicks, and I open it. The laptop rests inside on a pile of papers that are probably important, but at the moment, the only thing I’m interested in reading is what’s on this laptop I decided to take.

  I tuck it under my arm and leave the bedroom. My butler instantly appears. It’s like he materializes out of thin air whenever I leave my room.

  “Do you need anything, sir?”

  “No,” I snap in response and go straight to my computer room. I slam the door behind me, so he knows I don’t want him to enter with yet another cup of tea. Damn British and their tea. Since I returned from Dr. Monroe’s, he’s forced two cups of the disgusting stuff on me. When will he learn I like coffee, black and strong, enough to send me into a hyperactive fit?

  I throw the laptop onto my desk, slump down into my chair, and swipe the mouse for my own computer to turn it on. I bring up Dr. Monroe’s files. She’s known as the butcher of women. A nasty piece of work with absolutely no morals. I locate what I’m looking for, the password to her laptop, and swivel my chair around to open Monroe’s laptop.

  Computer technology is new to my arsenal of weapons. I like it. Having picked up superior techniques quickly, it’s like it was programmed into me. I mainly use it for surveillance on The Factory, but intelligence on my enemies is also extremely beneficial in my position. A few taps on the keys and I’m into the laptop. The file in front of me takes my breath away.

  “Samara Eldrige”

  That’s the name I’d written on the laptop. I spin back to my computer and set up a search on that name. While it’s running, I turn back to the file on Samara. I scan the document, reading the notes about her being a resident of The Factory until the age of seventeen when she disappeared. There are arguments between different doctors as to whether she should be a soldier or a whore for them. I can’t find any decision being made, but there are notes to say that Dr. Monroe took her womb.

  That would explain the woman cutting out the good doctor’s.

  There are further notes explaining that her virginity was taken by Dr. Hickson to ensure that she was not a temptress to the male occupants of The Factory. I scroll quickly over the lengthy account of the process that seems to have been written. I don’t know why, but I can’t face reading it. I slam the scanning to a halt
, though, when I see my name written.

  “It seems that Miss Eldrige has developed a relationship with Mr. King. They have not consummated it that we can tell, but it would be dangerous to allow it to develop any further. Both have been in trouble of late for disobeying the rules, escaping to see each other when they should be sleeping or training. Mr. King was beaten by the enforcer two days prior for what seems to be him taking the blame for them both being out. He would not name Miss Eldrige, and as a result, received thirty lashes of the cane. Miss Eldrige was made to watch the punishment but did not comment or try to stop it. The connection between the two of them was obvious during that time. I recommend that Mr. King be taken as soon as possible for advanced training. Miss Eldrige’s future is still uncertain at the moment, but I suggest time spent within the department with our soldiers offering them comfort would be advisable.” Signed: Dr. Holland

  I reread the passage. I had a relationship with Samara? I knew her, and judging by the fact that they separated us as quickly as possible, I was fond of her.

  Why can’t I remember this?

  I smash my fist into the desk, and everything on it shakes. Dr. Holland left recently, and I suspect he is dead, so I can’t ask him anything about what’s happening. I wonder if Samara had anything to do with his disappearance?

  My computer dings. The search on “Samara Eldrige” has finished. I glance at the screen. Nothing. She’s a ghost and doesn’t exist anywhere in the world. There must be more information on this laptop. I open several other files on the computer. There are nothing but medical reports on various procedures and medications that she had. It’s all in a language I don’t understand, so I dismiss it for now.