Deadly Game (11 page)

She studied him, trying to be objective, trying to really see him when the chemicals in her body were reacting and rushing through her bloodstream in wild abandon. Whitney was fond of experiments. He had a way of twisting everything good into something that left a bad taste in one’s mouth. She had been raised with discipline and control, but to her orderly mind, everything Whitney did seemed to be chaotic and wrong—a subtle or not-so-subtle form of torture.

Mari shook her head. “Whitney has no humanity. He’s cruel and callous and hasn’t an ounce of kindness or compassion in him. You aren’t like that.”

“Don’t kid yourself, I’m
exactly
like that.”

“You do kind things.”

Ken shrugged his shoulders. Most of the time he felt nothing at all, but when he did, it was an icy rage that burned so deep it terrified him. Now his emotions were all out of whack and he wished he could go back to the familiar. He did kind things because he had to do them—it was necessary to keep Jack safe. And above all else, Ken wanted Jack in the world, happy and healthy and living his life. One of them had to survive, and Jack was extraordinary.

Ken bent down once more, his breath stirring tendrils of hair from her face, his expression harsh. “It gets results.”

She studied the scars up close. The torture had been recent. She should have been intimidated, but Mari didn’t scare easily. She knew soldiers, and she recognized control when she saw it. Ken had discipline and restraint down to an art. She reached up and brushed his face with her fingertips, needing the tactile experience, the flood of information that could accompany a single touch of skin to skin.

Everything inside Ken went still as her fingers traced the pattern of his scars. She left tiny pinpoints of fire burning on his face, when he couldn’t feel his own touch. He didn’t have sensation on most of his body, yet he could feel her
beneath
his skin, sparking damaged nerve endings to jump and sizzle with electric current. The sensation spread from his face to his chest, a heat so thick it felt like lava pouring through his veins and tissue, gliding like hot silk over muscle to burn him from the inside out. The fire settled in his groin, bringing him to hard, painful life.

He had always been a large man, well endowed, and Ekabela’s men had had a field day with him. One had been a master of torture, and he had inflicted those small, deep cuts in a precise pattern over every inch of Ken’s body. He had lovingly called it art, and the men around him admired and encouraged those neat cuts, cuts designed to inflict the most pain while never allowing the victim to lose consciousness. Cuts designed to ruin a man should he happen to escape. They had skinned his back, but it hadn’t been as bad—
nothing
had been as bad as that knife slicing into his most intimate, private part.

He could still feel agony flooding his body, the urge to beg them to kill him. The need to mete out justice to someone—anyone. He had known when he woke up in the hospital and saw the nurses’ faces that the monster living and breathing inside of him had been revealed. And he had known he would never function as a normal man again. The raised ridges left him with little sensation, and if he wanted to feel again, feel any pleasure at all, stimulation would have to be rough enough to reach beyond the damage.

“Son of a bitch.” He bit the curse out between his teeth, his voice harsh.

His pounding blood flowed hotly to settle in his groin, and he clenched his teeth against the inevitable pain as rigid tissue reluctantly stretched, swelling into a long, thick bulge he hadn’t known still possible. His breath rushed from his lungs and sweat beaded on his forehead. He gripped the edge of the bed and forced himself to breathe through the pain. All the while his gaze never once left hers. She’d done, with one stroke of her fingers
on his face
, what he thought no one could ever do for him again.

“Son of a bitch,” he repeated, fighting for air, fighting not to let the pain and pleasure, now mingling together, become the same.

“Ken?” Mari tried to push herself into a sitting position. “What is it?”

He was hunched over, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed help. She couldn’t sit up; her leg was held tight, and movement threatened her precarious control, so she did the only thing she could think of. “Jack! Jack! Get in here!”

Ken’s hand clapped tightly over her mouth, and he bent closer until his lips were directly over hers, with only his hand separating them. “I don’t need him.”

The sound of the helicopter was loud outside, and she was fairly certain Jack hadn’t heard her call. Ken had been so fast he’d muffled most of what she’d said.

A drop of sweat fell on her face and her eyes widened. She caught his wrist with her one good hand and tugged. When he reluctantly lifted his hand only inches from her mouth, she touched the droplet. “Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“Every now and then I feel a few residuals from my little vacation in the Congo.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing to worry Jack over.”

“You don’t worry Jack much at all, do you?” she guessed.

“There’s no need. Stop squirming around before you hurt yourself.” He tested himself, straightening his body just a little, trying to ignore the way her lips had been so soft against his palm. He could feel sensation with her, every sense heightened beyond normal until he could almost taste her in his mouth. “How well do you know Whitney?”

“No one knows Whitney, not even his friends. He’s like a chameleon; he changes his skin when he feels like it. He presents one face, one personality, one day, and the next he’s totally different. Personally I think he’s a lunatic, drunk on his own power. The government gave him too much authority without anyone to answer to, and he has too much money, so he’s like the number one megalomaniac of the world. And I told him so on several occasions recently.”

“Are you aware he does very accurate profiling? I mean dead-on, Mari.”

She knew he was leading up to something, and she was already there. “He has to have some kind of psychic ability. Otherwise, how could he have managed to choose the right infants in an orphanage? He knew we all had talents. He touched us, or was drawn in some way to us, because of our psychic abilities. That would have been impossible unless he was psychic himself. It’s how he knows things about us.”

Ken swallowed the sudden bile rising in his throat. He’d had a bad feeling, ever since he’d taken Jack’s mission in the Congo and been captured, that it had all been orchestrated. Even down to Jack’s delay in Colombia so he couldn’t lead the rescue team when the senator’s plane went down.

He cleared his throat. “You said Whitney wasn’t exactly friends with the senator. Did Whitney know the senator’s plane had been shot down in the Congo by the rebels a few months back?”

“Yes. We were told.”

“And did you know the first rescue mission was successful but that a man was left behind? Did Whitney know?”

“I overheard Sean telling him the news.”

“And how did Whitney react?” His chest hurt. His lungs burned for air.

“He seemed excited. I thought he was excited the senator was rescued, but then he said something about it being too bad that Freeman had to survive.”

Ken kept his face carefully blank as his world crashed around him. He should have known. Dr. Peter Whitney found great joy in using human beings in his experiments. He went to extraordinary lengths to manipulate people into position so he could record the events and trigger reactions he had predicted. He had done so with Jack and Briony, and now, Ken was certain, he was doing so by sending out Mari to guard the senator.

“Who gave the order for you to protect Senator Freeman?”

Mari hesitated, but it was clear to her that Ken was on to something—and it was entirely possible that they were on the same side. What could it hurt? As he probed her for information, she was collecting data of her own. “I was no longer part of the protection team. I’d been moved over to another program. Whitney was gone, and with a little help from some others, I convinced my old team to let me go so I could get the opportunity to speak to the senator on another matter.”

Ken inhaled sharply. “Is Whitney enhanced?”

She shook her head. She had loyalty to her unit, but certainly not to Whitney, and if this was a trap set by Whitney, he already knew her views on him and his despicable experiments. “I tested him a couple of times, just to see. His bodyguards had to pull me off of him. I’m sure he isn’t. Probably too chicken.”

“You attacked him?”

“I was hoping I’d get lucky and break his neck, but he has one guard, Sean, who is really, really good.”

The admiration in her voice triggered something vicious and ugly deep inside of him that he always took great pains to keep hidden. He turned away from her abruptly, keeping his back to her until he could bring himself back under control. His fingers curled into two tight fists and his gut clenched hard. A black shadow moved in his mind.

“How did he react when you attacked him?”

“He smiled. He likes to smile just before he does something really nasty. That’s when I was pulled off of my unit and moved to another program.”

“His breeding program.”

She forced herself to maintain control, neither flinching nor looking away. “He sent Brett to me.”

Ken’s gut knotted and the shadow in his mind grew larger. He could hear the thud of his heart pounding in his ears like the roar of a wounded animal. “And just what did Brett do?”

“Brett is part of his new breeding program, and he’s paired with me.”

The roaring reached a crescendo. His sight went to heat imaging, glowing shades of yellow and red, flashing like a warning signal as he spun back to her, his hand spanning her throat. “What exactly did Brett do you? Touch you like this?” His palm slid from her throat to the swell of her breasts, stroking caresses. He shoved the blanket back, exposing her body, the smooth firm lines and the lush curves. “This?” He bent his head to flick her nipple with his tongue.

Mari went rigid as sensations burst through her. She should be screaming, fighting, doing anything but what she wanted to do. She knew what this was. She knew he was taking advantage of her injuries and that he was deliberately using sex against her, but she had never felt the bright burst of pleasure that the mere touch of his tongue had brought her. Her fingers fisted in his hair, but instead of jerking him away, she held him to her, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of his tongue, his teeth, the heat of his mouth as he suckled.

He wasn’t gentle; she could feel that the scrape of his teeth and his mouth was more ruthless than sensual, as if he was angry with her, but her body reacted with such urgency she nearly sobbed. One of his hands traveled across her stomach, slid lower, stroking once, twice, and then his finger was deep inside her welcoming body, her muscles clenching around it, wanting to hold him to her. Her body threatened to implode, the orgasm rushing over her when there was no reason for it other than that one single plunge of his finger. She cried out as the sensations overtook her, shaking her, shaking her faith in herself and her ability to resist anything he did to her.

“Fuck.” Ken spat the word at her, jerking his finger from her body, his hand wrapping around her throat a second time. “Did he make you feel like this? Did you get wet for him? Did you come for him like that? Damn you, did he make you come apart for him?”

“Ken! What the fuck are you doing?” Jack demanded.

Ken went rigid, his face going completely white, eyes wide with shock and horror. He stumbled away from her, looking helplessly at his twin, one hand reaching out to him. There was utter and complete despair on his face, in the bleakness of his eyes, in the way he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if her taste disgusted him.

Jack took a step toward his brother, shaking his head.

Time slowed. Mari knew. She saw it all happening in her head as if somehow, that brief moment of connection had left part of her inside of Ken to read his mind. She knew exactly, as if the entire scene had been rehearsed.

Ken pulled his weapon in one smooth movement and turned to her. “I’m sorry, Mari,” he said quietly and put the gun to his head.

CHAPTER 5

The thunder in Ken’s head grew louder. He would never get Mari’s taste or scent out of his mind; he would never stop needing to reach for her, touch her,
own
her. Eventually, as surely as he lived and breathed, he would go to her, take her, make her his own. And once that happened, both of them would be lost. He had shown her—and himself—he could not be trusted. He would destroy her the way his father had destroyed his mother. First the jealousy and then the punishments, and finally madness would overcome love, and murder would be swift and brutal. And then Jack would be forced to hunt and kill him.

He sent his brother a small, sad smile and lifted his other hand to shield Mari’s eyes.
I’ve always loved you, Jack. I don’t want you to have to do this.
His finger tightened on the trigger.

“No!” There was fear, agony, in Jack’s voice. “Damn you, no, Ken!” He leapt forward, a hundred years too late; even with his enhanced strength and speed, he could never get there in time.