Lethal Treatment

by S A Gardner

  I hauled up his muscle-laden, limp arm, rolled up his black sleeve, snapped on a tourniquet around his massive biceps. The ropy vein at his cubital fossa bulged even more, making introduced my catheter a snap. After securing it in place with tape, I ran across the room to my tree hanger. I upended it on the ground, freeing it from the tangled clothes habitually burying it, before I could drag it to Damian’s side.

  Hooking the saline bag on a branch, I injected it with Romazicon, connected the line to his catheter, opened the drip just a tad. Infusion should be real slow, to decrease chances of sudden and very disconcerting recovery. Now to remove the mask and intubate…

  A stifled shriek rang in my ear.

  Eight

  The shriek was mine.

  Damian’s eyes had snapped open in perfect horror-movie tradition, his glare above the mask scarier than a reviving corpse’s.

  Then he was snatching the oxygen mask off.

  “No, leave it on—you need…”

  I didn’t have time to finish. The oxygen mask somersaulted across the room before thunking off the wall.

  Oh, well, at least it was a disposable.

  Damian heaved up to a sitting position, folded forward, bringing his head between his knees. It never stopped to awe me how flexible such a rock-hard juggernaut was.

  “What the hell did you hit me with?”

  Wow, what a change in tone. Now there was the Damian I knew, lusted after and loathed.

  Welcome back, soulless, vindictive creep.

  “V-valium and GHB—I think…”

  Great. Just great. He had me stammering. For this alone, he deserved another hit. A bigger dose this time. It was clear the first one was insufficient.

  “You think?” He straightened, tore the catheter out of his arm, tossed it away, sending the IV swinging in a mad pendulum as he turned to me. Even in the indirect illumination of the flashlight that had fallen from my mouth, his fury pummeled me. “I know how Valium or GHB feel like and this was neither, even mixed.” He snatched a look at his watch. “It’s been twenty minutes since this farce started, about ten since you managed to dump your venom in my bloodstream. I wouldn’t revive this fast if it was either.”

  He was angry? Taking exception to my defensive measures? Rich didn’t even begin to describe it.

  His attitude blasted any remaining traces of agitation right off. Picking up the flashlight, I poked his muscle-padded shoulder hard with its blunt end.

  “Is this your way of weaseling out of begging my forgiveness for breaking into my apartment? I had every right to pump you full of cyanide. To shoot you between your eyes in self-defense, you idiot.”

  “Wasn’t for lack of trying that you didn’t.” He uncoiled to his feet. The room shrank and air disappeared.

  Spectacular. Not him. Though he was. That and way more. Of course. I meant the way he shook off the drug’s effects. Nothing in my drug arsenal was as short acting as that. No one came out from under the effect of any that quickly, that completely. Another proof that he was what I’d always thought him. The next step in human evolution. Into perfect, unfeeling terminators, that was.

  “You have any emergency lights in this dump?”

  This was the second time he’d called my dump a dump. “No. But I can still send you out of here to the emergency room.”

  Was that a tilt upward I saw to his lips? Yeah. That chilling simulation of amusement I’d seen before. There was also an accompanying thread of lethal irony in his bottomless voice. “You can try. This time I won’t hold back, St. James.”

  And we both knew if he didn’t, no one, including me, could stand up to him. I was the best there was. But he was in a league of his own.

  And we were back to St. James, huh? As expected, really. The quiver of disappointment that ran down my spine was proof I’d dropped some IQ points against that headboard.

  “I won’t, either,” I said, not about to concede his superiority in anything. “And yes, I was holding back, too. Seemed I sensed you weren’t in the blow-his-brains-out category.”

  His hands glided over his head, his face, as if tracing my blows, his restless shifting indicating where else he was smarting.

  Then he cocked his head at me. “Just the do-him-permanent-damage one, huh? Seems nothing has changed.”

  The reminder made blood froth up to my face. In Sudan, he’d sustained an injury that could have given him a disability. It would have anyone else. That he seemed to be suffering from no residual weakness or limitation of movement had to be thanks to a combination of his uncanny healing capacity and indomitable will.

  “And as always, when you have an opening, you still go for my balls first.”

  His change in tone and direction made me cough a surprised laugh.

  Balls wasn’t high on the bleep-worthy scale, but coming from him, it was a level of explicitness he’d never used with me. Even while flaying me to achieve impossibilities better and faster, or allowing me verbal battles on equal ground, he’d always kept up that intangible barrier of decorum and distance. Seemed now I was no longer his apprentice he saw fit to drop it.

  Trying to adjust to the new status, I shook my head. “My first attack targeted your perfect teeth and nose.”

  “Only because I made sure that was your only possible move. Given a choice, you always choose these.”

  He pointed towards his crotch and the proportionate to his overall magnificence package it contained. Not that I’d ever seen it, or even fully felt it. The whole upheaval of the situation had deprived me of getting a good estimate. And I’d pulled back before I’d gone after one.

  Forcing myself to look away before he noticed my condition even in the dimness, I bent and retrieved an oversized teeshirt, pulled it over my semi-nakedness. I also pulled on the first pair of shorts I encountered. Skimpy still but better than risking having my arousal running down my legs.

  The clench of my inner muscles alerted me to his approach. I stumbled to the bed and sat down before I started squirming.

  “It’s reassuring to know you’re still the same,” he drawled, making the emptiness in my core start to throb. “Calista St. James, ball-crusher extraordinaire.”

  This time when I laughed, what surprised me was how unfettered it was.

  God, I’d missed him.

  Not that I’d admitted it to myself even once in the past four years, but I had. Gnawingly. Apart from the simmering lust I’d thought I’d managed to quash, there were other things I’d never found with anyone else. Not like that. That specific wit of his that could sometimes turn annihilating. The no-holds-barred duels I’d only ever had with him. The sheer freedom of going all out, knowing he could match anything I dished out and more, dragging and prodding me to new heights while at it.

  “So what is it with you and kicking me in the nuts?” He prowled over to me, almost came to stand between my legs. “A symbolic emasculating gesture? Or is it an attempt?”

  Struggling not to slump back on the bed, and drag him on top of me again, I smirked. “Ha. I don’t consider a crippling breast blow e-feminizing. Not that such a term exists. It’s only robbing a man of his vaunted ‘masculinity’ that’s such a big deal.”

  “Always the feminist, huh?”

  “Always the chauvinist, huh?”

  One of those daunting eyebrows rose. “Chauvinist? When I picked you and five other women in my top ten recruits for GCA’s prototype Combat Doctors Project? When almost half my team are women? You know damn well I only consider potential, not gender.”

  He was right. Damn him. Not that it had been any easier admitting it then, either.

  During that initial interview, I’d been a touchy, immature twenty-one-year old, and burning to enter the program. And he’d been the one who would grant or deny me my life’s most coveted ambition. I’d wanted to impress him as much as I’d resented him.

  Then he’d interrogated me, ruthlessly, stressing my so-called limitations, and my opinion of him as a sexist bastard had soli
dified. After a full hour, he’d risen to dismiss me and I’d forced myself to extend a hand in goodbye. He’d stared at it for a long moment before he’d taken it. Then I’d found myself in a stranglehold, my back to his front.

  I’d been crushed by disappointment. Not only because I’d thought this meant an end to my hopes of joining the program, but because I’d somehow judged him to be the last man who’d stoop to something like that. My instincts had told me Damian De Luna was a predator of the highest order, but never a sexual one.

  As my mind had burned rubber considering my next action, he’d whispered in my ear, “Show me how you’d break free.”

  I’d shown him alright. Left him wiping blood from his split lip, checking that no teeth had come loose from my explosive head ram, his eyes blazing with a dozen indecipherable things.

  I’d walked out of that office, sure he’d exclude me. A week later, I’d been floored to find myself at the top of his shortlist. I’d remained there, for the two years’ torture program, the one he’d driven way harder than anyone, would never cut any slack. I’d wanted none. I’d wanted to be all he could make me, wanted him to pulverize my limitations. He had, until for a while, I’d felt I had none.

  Then he’d decided that creating me had been a mistake, and had gone all out to erase it—and me.

  Shaking away the memories, I stood up, leaving bitterness behind on the bed. He didn’t budge, a head above me, his chest to my shoulder, his thighs to my hips, those eyes that always seemed to shine from within brooding down over me.

  Though there’d never been anything sexual between us, there’d been tension thick enough to suffocate me every time I’d seen him, to enervate me every time he’d touched me. I’d thought that something that powerful couldn’t have been only from my side, had to have been generated among the both of us. But I’d also known that even if I was right, nothing could ever come of it. For there’d been Mel. And it had been just a year since I’d lost Jake. And Dad. And Damian had been the mentor who’d never taken one breath outside of his role.

  Then I’d literally blown everything up.

  Now, standing against him, after that kiss…And he did remember it. The memory buzzed in his bunched muscles, in his hesitant glance.

  Hesitant? De Luna? That’d be the day.

  But he was. Sort of undecided. Was he debating the wisdom of an encore now his faculties were back online?

  Oh, yes—just one more kiss, to see how it would be when he was all there, when he meant it for real…

  No, moron.

  The whole thing wasn’t real. Whatever I craved, it had always been in my mind, and it should remain there. He’d been under the effect, and so had I. The effect of coming up against each other this way, the darkness, the danger, the deluge of memories, today’s climactic discoveries…

  And I didn’t even know why he was here.

  I turned away to fetch a bunch of candles from my nightstand, then walked out. Better take this where there was no bed in sight.

  I felt him following me, his presence a huge static charge at my back that had every hair follicle on my body standing on end. Time for some light to dissipate dark and disturbing nonsense.

  After distributing the dozen candles on my sole coffee-cum-dining table, I straightened to go fetch matches. He tossed a lighter at me.

  “Taken up smoking?” I quipped as I caught it.

  One eyebrow rose in that Vulcan way of his. Yeah, right. As if he’d do anything to abuse his health. He was just the ultimate in preparedness. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a spare tire on him. At least, the means to fix one. It was one of the hundred skills he’d taught me.

  As soon as I finished lighting the candles, I realized my mistake. Damian by candlelight was a whole new level of danger. And far worse to be around in my state.

  Sagging down on the couch, I exhaled. “So, to what do I owe this invasion?”

  “I didn’t invade you,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I was sitting on the stairs that lead to the roof, waiting for you. When you finally appeared, I talked to you as you opened your door. When you didn’t even acknowledge my presence, I thought you were ignoring me.” I snorted. He shrugged. “I decided to let it go until we got inside. I assumed you were inviting me in, since you didn’t shut the door behind you.”

  “I only did because it closes on its own.” Malfunctioning hinges.

  “I submit that there was no way I could have known that. So I followed you to your room, intending to end this silly avoidance game you were engaging in. But when you went for the sleep mask I thought you were taking it too far. Before I could do or say anything, you were out to kill me.”

  “I was out to defend myself against the Incredible Hulk in my bedroom. I didn’t realize you were there until then. I had earplugs that are guaranteed to make me sleep through the end of the world.”

  “So I gathered—belatedly.”

  “So, all’s well that doesn’t end with someone in a body bag…”

  I bit my tongue. Shouldn’t have said that. Should put a lid on macabre humor, or someone could get hurt. Probably me. Danger was radiating from Damian as he morphed from gorgeous to grim. He clearly found my quip both crass and callous. And it was, considering the body bags that had been filled on my account.

  To hell with it. Get it over with.

  “De Luna, why are you here?”

  “We need to talk.” Expression seeped out of him as he came to tower over me again.

  “I won’t be able to if my neck snaps. Sit down, will you?”

  “This won’t take long.” He still came around the table and sat down inches from me.

  Maybe it hadn’t been such a hot idea. I’d take a crick in the neck over a stitch in the heart any day.

  He got to his point, as he always did, concise and uncompromising. “Let’s be clear here and now about who’s in charge. Me. You’ll follow my orders to the letter, no matter how wrong you think they are. There’ll be no insubordination, no improvisations, no daredevil tricks.”

  Okay. He’d lost me. “De Luna, you still hallucinating under the mystery drug’s effect? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Just as the question was out, I got it. Oh. No.

  “You know exactly what. I’m your mission leader.”

  Nine

  “I know no such thing!”

  Damian looked up when I sprang to my feet as if he’d stung me, his expression dripping with finality. “Then know it. PACT is in charge, and I’m in charge of the PACT team.”

  “Then you’re in charge of a different mission, buddy. The mission I’d go on, my team would be in charge and I’m in charge of my team. I gave the big boys my conditions.”

  Which I knew they’d reject. It was why I’d made them impossible to fulfill. Then I’d get my hands on their info and stage my own operation.

  “I heard of your ‘conditions.’” He sighed, a long-suffering sound. “You’ve finally realized your full sociopathic potential, haven’t you, St. James? Coercion, extortion—tell me, what will you do with twenty-five million dollars?”

  “I’ll redecorate this ‘dump.’”

  His contemplative eyes left my sarcastic ones, panned around the miserable space. “Touché. But seriously, how will you use them?”

  “As if they’d belch them up.”

  “They are.” They are? “Why are you pretending you don’t know they’ve agreed to all your demands?”

  “Because I don’t. I turned off my cell phone.”

  After Dad texted me that he’d phone me tomorrow, I hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone else till then. Apparently, I’d amassed a decent number of missed calls meanwhile.

  And they’d agreed. To all the overkill I’d demanded. I couldn’t believe it. But Damian wouldn’t prank me about this. Or anything else.

  Extending his legs, he crossed them at the ankles, threw his head back on the couch. He might be holding it all in, as usual, but he must still be struggling to shake off the drug.r />
  He turned his face toward me, his eyes growing heavy. “Let me state for the record that this is all against my will and judgment. Again.” How heartwarming. “I don’t know what they’re thinking, not only bowing to your demands, but deploying you in the first place.”

  “Like a nuclear missile, huh?”

  “You have comparative hazard value, St. James. Last time you caused an international incident, it was in a Third World country. This time, we’re talking Russia. Sir Ashton has really flexed some big-time muscle to get you in on this. But since it’s a fait accompli, I’m willing to make the best out of it. If you are.”

  “And the best is me bowing to your every command?”

  “Last time I checked, that’s what being the leader meant.”

  “Yes. And that’s me. The doctor. Ever heard of a black-ops agent leading an aid mission?

  “I’m also a logistician.” He was? Wonder what else I didn’t know about him. But then, my lack of relevant info on him was almost total. “And logisticians lead aid missions all the time. Anyway, that’s just our cover. The real mission…”

  “Is also something I and my team can handle. As proved by all we’ve achieved in the past four years…”

  He sat up. Shadows shifted over his face, exposing the demon he shared his body with. What he kept on a tight leash, and hidden behind the perfect, perfectly-in-control mask of the man.

  “You’re amateurs who function on a gamble and a prayer.”

  Whoa. The very quietness of his wrath said I’d really touched a raw spot.

  “They must be a hell of both then,” I scoffed. “Since we’ve been functioning at escalating efficiency. And before you say that running our Sanctuaries is nothing like hostage retrieval, we’re also old hands at that. We got people out of militant-controlled regions, and are keeping a steady supply of aid materials reaching segregated populations all over the world. But you don’t know that, do you? PACT lost track of me after that first year, didn’t you?”