Sabotaged (The Sundance Series Book 3)

by C. P. Rider

  The next few hours went by in a haze. I drank, I ate, I went to the bathroom at a roadside gas station. I traveled through dust-coated desert and smooth-sloped dunes, past empurpled foothills, and scour-brush scrub. Music played on the radio. It was familiar, but I couldn't have named a single song to save my life.

  Blue Eyes was in the driver's seat of the SUV. I didn't try to spike him again. There was fear in me—my trembling hands and chattering teeth proved that—but it hid beneath a layer of fog and I couldn't seem to connect the emotion to my physical reactions.

  We drove out of California and through Arizona until we reached a spot of vast emptiness. Flat land and hard-packed dirt dotted with bushy scrub as far as I could see. We were still in Arizona, I was sure of that, but it wasn't a part of the state I was familiar with.

  My thoughts were gray and nebulous, and I wasn't sure of anything. A struggle was building inside me, though, deep in the basement of my brain. The problem was that it hadn't burrowed to the forefront yet, and every time Blue Eyes spoke to me, it dropped farther back.

  "Wake up." He pulled onto a gravel road.

  "I wasn't asleep." My voice sounded croaky, the way it did after prickly pear margarita night at the hot springs. Maybe I had been asleep. "What's your name?"

  "It's not important. You can call me Sir."

  Fat chance of that. "I've been calling you Blue Eyes. What are you?"

  He stared through the windshield, ignoring me.

  "You hypnotized me with your weird eyes and now I can't feel anything." I blinked and the voice of reason in the basement took several strides forward. It was so close I almost broke through the fog. "Blue, spooky eyes."

  "They aren't spooky." His shoulders tensed, and he squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles popped. "To answer your question, I'm a trancer."

  "I had a feeling." I rested my head against the cool leather seat.

  "You know about my kind? We're as rare as spikers and I'd never heard of you until a few days ago."

  "How did you find out about me?"

  "Alpha Gold. You killed one of her coyotes."

  "Wrong. I was out cold when it happened. I don't know who killed your coyote." Admittedly, I had my suspicions. "But I'm not shedding any tears over him, either. He shouldn't have come after me. You shouldn't have either."

  Blue Eyes ignored my threat. "So then, how do you know about trancers?"

  "My uncle warned me about you guys. Plus, I was inside your head back at my bakery. You made me forget when you did that spooky stare, but things are starting to come back to me."

  I wished I would stop talking—it was as if my mouth was riding off on its own and leaving my brain in the dust.

  "What else did you see in my mind?" He craned his neck to look me in the eyes, so I shut mine tight. I didn't want him to hypnotize me again.

  Memories of what I'd glimpsed when spiking him flooded into my head. "Your mother died when you were ten and your father abandoned you at age fourteen. Your older sister took care of you for as long as she could, but she was weak when it came to men and you ended up running away when one of them got violent with you." I paused, sucked in a breath. "You're not in the Gold pack the way you said. You're working for Alpha Gold, though. As a …" My eyes rounded. "As a poacher. You work for people who hurt paranormals. You work for a…"

  The fear broke through and hit me then, so hard I gagged. My stomach jump-flipped inside out and my whole body went ice cold.

  "Oh my God, you're taking me to a sanctuary."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sanctuary.

  It was difficult to fathom a less aptly named place.

  "How could you do this? You're a paranormal, too." I pressed my bracelet to my chest, toyed with the padlock charm, wondered if it really did contain a tracker. Maybe Lucas was already on his way to help me. Maybe all I had to do was kill time. Maybe I was deluding myself and the bracelet was only a bracelet.

  "The paranormal world hasn't done shit for me. Why should I do anything for it?" Blue Eyes stared out the windshield, for the first time not meeting my gaze.

  "Because you're one of us? Because this is about the lowest thing you could do? Because poachers rank right up there with human traffickers on the people-who-should-be-dunked-face-first-into-a-dumpster-fire list?" The emotional numbness had returned, but deep-seated terror pushed the fighting part of me closer to the surface.

  I tried to pull a little power. He'd forced me to release what I'd taken from him earlier and I was running on empty, except for my own energy, and that wouldn't be enough to fight someone like him.

  "I'm not a trafficker."

  "Yes, you are. You know what they do to people like us in those places—especially females."

  He stared straight ahead as we bumped down a rough road.

  "Nothing, huh?" I let out a trembling breath. "Spend your blood money now, poacher, because you're going to burn for eternity."

  He let out a rough laugh. "You believe in hell? You spiked two people dead on your street today."

  In self-defense, but that wasn't the point, so I didn't address it. "It doesn't matter what I believe. It matters what you believe."

  Blue Eyes laughed again. This one sounded tinny and fake. "Why would you think I believe in hell?"

  "Because your mother did, and you loved her." My voice dropped into a whisper. "Margarita would be so ashamed of you, Sampson Ibarra. She is ashamed of you. She's looking down from heaven and wondering why you would shame her like this."

  Shame was a trigger word for him. I'd seen it in his brain.

  "Shut your mouth." Blue Eyes, Sampson, slammed on the brakes. My seatbelt locked painfully across my chest. He reached out, gripped my face in both hands, and forced me to look at him. Used his thumbs to peel back my eyelids. "Forget what you saw in my brain, spiker. Forget my real name. Forget it all."

  The words were hypnotic, and had I been capable of forgetting, I likely would have done so. But once I read a brain, I never forgot what I saw in it. A blessing or a curse, I wasn't sure which.

  "Shame," I whispered, and he shoved me away from him and slammed his fist on the storage console between us, denting the lid.

  "Do you know what it means to be a trancer?" Sampson asked from between gritted teeth. He returned both hands to the steering wheel but didn't put the SUV back into gear. "Do you understand exactly what I do?"

  "Hypnotize people into obeying you?"

  "That's only part of it. And it doesn't work unless the participant is willing to hand over control on some level. You wanted someone to take you over, to make your choices. There's weakness in you and I was able to exploit it. You're conflicted, flip-flopping between two worlds. That's how I got in."

  "I'm not conflicted about wanting you dead," I snapped. "I wasn't conflicted about taking out your men back at my bakery, either."

  "Yes, you are, and yes, you were. If you'd been resolute in your decision, I could never have taken hold of you so completely."

  I struggled against the mental grip he had on me, against the idea he was right, that I had acted weak—no, not acted, that I was weak.

  "No sense trying to break away now, spiker. We both know you don't want to be free. You like it when others make your choices for you. That way you can ease your guilt and still satisfy that dark side of yours." He set his arresting blue gaze on my face. "You do realize that if you had killed all of us when I first threatened you, the girl never would have been in danger and you probably wouldn't be here with me right now." He shook his head. "But you hesitated. You put everyone around you in danger because you wanted to look like a nice person, a harmless and sweet kitty cat handing out cookies to children. How does that feel? A little shameful?"

  It stung like hell, and although I was still emotionally buried, I was close enough to the surface to strike back at him. "Yes. But at least I can say that I still have my soul, conflicted though it may be. How your mother must cry with disappointment when she looks down on you, littl
e Sammy."

  "Mouth shut. Now." He stared into my eyes and made it a command, and I had no choice but to do as he said.

  With a furious grunt, he turned off the engine, got out of the SUV, and circled around to my side, where he wrenched open the passenger door and jerked me out of my seat. One hand squeezed the back of my neck as he hauled me to the gate of a seven-foot tall chain-link security fence I only now noticed—a huge oversight on my part, not only considering how enormous the thing was, but also because I was about to be put on the wrong side of it.

  The security fence ran in a very large rectangle around a darkly lit single floor building about a quarter mile from the gate. The fence might have been electrified. I knew next to nothing about security fences. If Chandra was here with me, she'd be able to tell me what gauge the barbwire was. But she wasn't here, and neither was Lucas, and the second I thought of them I felt the loss of their presences like a physical blow.

  There were two green khaki-uniformed guards in a box at the front gate, a white male and a Latin-American female. Both were human. Both were armed. I didn't like the way the male eyed my bracelet.

  Sampson caught my gaze, speaking softly with intent behind his voice. "Control your emotions. You don't want to set these two off unless you're sure you're ready to take them down."

  The command sank into my brain as we approached the gate.

  "I go in with this one," my trancer escort announced.

  The male guard shook his head. He was in his mid-twenties and had the swagger of a small-minded person with a gun and an ounce of authority. "No paranormals past this point. Except in chains."

  Sampson cursed. "What are you talking about? Fiera works inside the holding center."

  "She's a special case. No unauthorized paranormals behind the gates, and that includes paranormal poachers." The guard took out his gun. "We have our orders. I'll escort the kitty inside." Now the male looked at me in a way that I didn't like.

  "Unless you're turning yourself in?" the female guard asked Sampson. She spoke in Portuguese-accented English and petted the gun in her hands like a cat. "After all, it's where your kind belong."

  If memory served, the gun she held was an AK-47. A couple weeks ago, I had invited Chandra and Earp over to my place for dinner and a documentary, and she'd chosen one on assault rifles. Earp had selected one on the Sonoran Desert, while mine was on Mr. Rogers. So we all "compromised" and watched the assault rifle one because Chandra was scary.

  Sampson looked down at me. "Feel free to spike her. She'd kill you in a minute."

  I pursed my lips like a duck to remind him that he'd commanded me not to speak. Slow-blinked at him.

  "You may speak and move freely."

  I exercised my renewed ability to speak freely by saying, "If I'm spiking anyone, trancer, it'll be you."

  The male guard chuckled creepily. "Aww, come on now, honey. You're not going to hurt anyone. What you'll do is walk inside like a good little freak."

  Sampson didn't look happy about the freak remark. I'd heard it before—though admittedly, not from a human.

  When I didn't move, the guard marched up to me and shoved his face so close to mine I could smell the cheap aftershave on his neck and the mint gum in his mouth. He slid a pistol out of the holster at his hip and jammed the muzzle into the underside of my chin.

  "Unless," he said, "you'd like to be euthanized."

  "Neely. Control." Sampson's tone carried a warning, but he said nothing to stop me from talking or acting and he could have because I'd stupidly looked at him when he said my name. He didn't even make the word "control" a command. Either he was stupid or up to something. My money was on the latter.

  "What's it going to be?" The guard smiled. I got the feeling he was hoping I'd choose death.

  I stared into the dark distance beyond the gate, where the building stood coldly, its harsh outline silhouetted against a backdrop of overhead floodlights. Deep within me, fear stacked on top of fear on top of more fear, breaking through the trancer's earlier command. My chest squeezed until the vibrations of my heartbeats thumped inside my brain.

  "I don't want to go in there," I whispered.

  "Aww, look," the female guard said with a laugh, "it's scared."

  The male guard pushed harder on the gun. The cold tip ground against the bone of my jaw. "It had better move its pretty ass or it'll be dead."

  I'd only spiked a couple of humans, one when I was a kid. On the plus side, this sort of spike didn't feed my addiction, so I had better overall control—which I would need, because they were easy to accidentally kill. On the minus side, I had to tap into my own paranormal energy, or that of the paranormals around me, because humans had little to none of their own.

  "You can move freely," Sampson whispered, "that includes moving your brain."

  "Back away, poacher." The guard glared at Sampson. "I'll kill you, too."

  As Sampson took a step back and made a conciliatory gesture with his hands, I glossed over the guard's brain. He meant what he was saying. He had no compunction about killing me and was, in fact, kind of looking forward to a little bloodshed to break up the monotony of a long, boring shift.

  "She's valuable to your boss. He wants her alive," Sampson warned the guards. "I suggest you tread carefully."

  "I'm sure he could find another." Killing me would be nothing to this guy. Like shooting a rat. He'd done it to other paranormals many times before.

  Calmly, Sampson said, "He's going to kill you, Neely."

  He was. And I was done with hesitating.

  I locked onto the male guard's brain and spiked.

  The guard crumpled, the gun tumbling out of his hands, his eyes rolling up until only the whites were visible. He splatted in the dirt like a wet bag of meat, which is all he was by then. His mouth dropped open and he urinated on himself. It would have been comical if it hadn't been homicide—justifiable, but still… homicide.

  "What did you do?" The female screamed, then fired her weapon at me without waiting for an answer. Thankfully, her hands were shaking and it threw off her aim. A couple of stray bullets grazed Sampson in the forearm, and he cursed.

  I grabbed onto her brainwaves, rode them into her head. Spiked.

  As with the male guard, I let her die quicker than she deserved.

  Sampson frowned at the wound on his arm. "I can't believe she shot me. Never liked that guard."

  Now it was his turn.

  My power was depleted after taking care of the guards and I couldn't seem to grab anything from Sampson. Although my strength was limited, I managed to grab hold of his brain energy and spike but didn't make it very far into his head before I was thrown out. It was like driving into a brick wall, shocking and painful.

  "Bastard."

  "You can't read or spike me anymore." He continued examining his bullet wounds as he spoke. "I figured out how you got into my head and patched up the hole. Plus—" He jerked his head up, eyes glowing white-blue. Words drifted into my head on a hypnotic melody that dragged me under his spell. "—Do not spike me. Calm yourself and control your emotions."

  I fought the suggestion, but it was too late. He had me again. My fury and fear hazed over in a gray blur.

  Six security people rushed the gate then, guns up, and aimed at the two of us. "Looks like the welcome wagon has arrived." He put his hands up in surrender and gestured for me to do the same.

  It was oddly freeing, not being mentally attached to my fear. I knew I was afraid—could see the outward signs—heart beating too fast, lungs pumping, hands shaking as I raised them—but it played like an experience in the past or the future. Sampson's command had dulled my senses. Fear rode in the back seat of my consciousness along with my natural sense of guilt and any remaining vestiges of ingrained morality.

  "Don't be afraid and don't spike these guys out here. They know what they're doing with their weapons. They won't miss like this dumb shit." He kicked the female guard's body. Her name was Frieda. Had been Frieda. I didn'
t know the male guard's name. I hadn't bothered to look.

  Another guard jogged up to us, stuck his assault weapon in my face. White male, brown hair and eyes. A badge clipped to his shirt told me his name was Carl. He looked as if he could be the father of the guard I'd spiked.

  "What the fuck happened here?" he demanded.

  I shrugged. "No idea. We walked up and they died peacefully in their sleep."

  "Maybe I pushed too hard," Sampson muttered. "You should be a little afraid, Neely."

  I ignored him and spoke to Guard Carl. "Be sure to send someone to Frieda's place. She had a cat. Mr. Wiggles will need to be fed."

  "What did you do?" Carl flipped the automatic rifle in his hands, holding up the butt end as if to smash my head with it.

  I should have been afraid. I wasn't. "Spiked her dead."

  Guard Carl's face flushed. His eyes narrowed. "I'll kill you for this."

  "No, you won't." Sampson dropped his hands and stepped between the guard and me. "We both know your boss won't be happy if you do that. He's waited a long time for someone like her."

  "She killed two humans."

  "They were expendable. She's valuable." Sampson sounded bored. "Do your job."

  His lips pressed into a thin, white line, the man lowered his weapon. "One wrong move and I won't worry what the boss says. I'll kill you."

  Chapter Sixteen

  He hit me.

  Not with the butt of his gun, with the back of his hand. Got me right above my eyes. It didn't hurt much, but it bled a lot because Guard Carl wore a wedding ring.

  "Move," Sampson whispered, and because he looked me in the eye and commanded me to do it, I moved.

  The holding center was set farther back from the front gate than I'd first thought. Sampson, Carl, another guard, and I piled into a golf cart and drove to a hulking box of a building with rolling doors and no windows, a flat roof with a guard stationed on top, and gray concrete outer walls. Not good. I experienced telepathy interference with thick walls. Although I hadn't tested it, I imagined spiking would be a problem, too.