His to Take (35 page)

Now that Joaquin couldn’t do anything active to recover Bailey—he simply had to sit
and wait until he arrived in Iowa—he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin.
He hated feeling helpless and hopeless, wondering again and again if Bailey was suffering
while he couldn’t be there to save her. The only bright spot was that McKeevy had
tranquilized her. She’d be out for hours still. Joaquin had to believe the sick fuck
wouldn’t hurt her until he had a chance to question her.

Suddenly, Kata reached for his hand. He turned to look at her, watching her unconsciously
stroke her belly. Funny, a few days ago he’d had something close to contempt for Hunter
and his sister setting up house and having a baby. Now he envied them like hell. What
would it be like to look at Bailey every day and see her caress the growing baby bump
they’d created together? To kiss her every night, hold their children, grow old together?

“I’m not going to give you platitudes,” Kata said. “You’re freaking out and you have
every reason to. I can see you feel responsible—”

“I love her,” he gasped out.

“I know. I could tell at Thorpe’s party. I’ve never seen you care that much about
anyone, so I’m here to help you save her. She’s good for you, and after almost two
decades, I want my brother back.”

“I can’t help her and it’s killing me. What kind of protector does that make me?”
And what the hell would he do if he couldn’t save her?

“Don’t think the worst,” she advised. “I know that feels impossible. But I had a psycho
put a gun to my head as Hunter watched. I fell two stories out of a window. If that
asshole who threatened me hadn’t unwittingly broken my fall, I’d be dead.”

Joaquin hadn’t known that. Even through his panic for Bailey, the thought disturbed
him. He could have lost his sister several years ago and he hadn’t known it.
Son of a bitch.

“But we got through,” she assured. “We played as smart as we could, and fate smiled
on us. You can’t lose faith.”

“Bailey is unconscious. She’s defenseless.” He heard the alarm in his own voice and
winced.

“But McKeevy is alone and we have every indication that he’s driving. You know his
number one goal right now must be focusing on the road and not getting caught. His
next order of business will be to read whatever is on that disk.”

His head knew that. His heart? He wasn’t sure it would survive.

“I can’t lose her,” he choked out.

“These guys will do everything possible to make sure you won’t. You may not know them
that well, but I do. I promise, they’ll do everything humanly possible—along with
some shit you might not have believed at all doable.”

Joaquin didn’t doubt that. He simply hoped it would be enough.

B
AILEY awoke slowly, in stages. A chill settled over her skin. Her feet felt like blocks
of ice. Because her muscles seemed to weigh a million pounds, moving would take superhuman
effort. The dark blanket of sleep lulled her back, but her bladder protested that
she
had
to get up.

Vaguely, she recalled trying to wake earlier and would have sworn she’d been in the
back of a moving vehicle. She had a vague recollection of a man crouched over her
and a needle pricking her arm . . . then nothing again. Had that been a dream? Or
like everything else, a bad memory?

Mustering her strength, she tried to shift to raise herself up. But her arms wouldn’t
budge. They felt glued to the table. That made no sense.

She opened her eyes wide, taking in her surroundings. What she saw made her gasp in
horror. Dim lighting illuminated the small room everywhere but the dark corners. She
didn’t see a single window. She lay on a cold, hard surface that gleamed like stainless
steel. A surgical table? Yes, and she’d been strapped to it. Plastic covered the floor
beneath. All manner of blades hung on the walls—axes, knives, scalpels, and scissors.
She saw other implements she didn’t have names for, but they terrified her.

Where the hell was she?

The door opened and a vaguely familiar man strode in, wearing a light blue military
uniform she remembered seeing once as a child, the last time she’d seen Viktor. It
didn’t look like one that belonged to any regular branch of the military, but that
garb was indelibly printed on her memory.

He shut the door behind him with an eager smile. “Morning. I’ve been waiting for you.”

With another glance around, Bailey was afraid to ask what for.

She studied his face again, wondering why it looked familiar. Then it hit her. Joaquin
had shown her a picture of this man. As a child, she’d watched him drag her father
from their house for the last time. This was Joseph McKeevy.

Her body turned icy in terror.

“Where is Joaquin?” Her voice shook.

“If you mean the former federal scum you’ve been fucking, he got away. Don’t worry.
I’ll track him down and cap his ass—as soon as I take care of you.”

Bailey didn’t want to know what that entailed. “Where am I?”

“Some place you’ll never escape,” he promised smugly. “Since you’re the one strapped
to the table, I’m the one who asks the questions. So you better shut up unless I ask
you to speak. Women are like kids, better seen and not heard.”

She wanted to tell him what a misogynist he was, but didn’t dare. Instead, she consoled
herself with the notion that he wouldn’t understand her insult anyway.

After a long moment of silence, he smiled. “I’m glad you’re learning your place real
quick. The ones who do feel a lot less pain. Do you need to pee?”

“Yes.” And any chance to be unstrapped from this table might be a chance—no matter
how slim—to escape.

He released the Velcro on the straps around her wrists and ankles with a loud ripping
noise, then he dragged her to her feet. Dizziness swamped her, and Bailey reached
out to steady herself, but found only air. Then McKeevy pushed her toward a door standing
slightly ajar on the far side of the room. When she fell and scraped her knees, he
laughed.

“Some ballerina. You can’t even stand up straight, you stupid bitch. Go on.” He gestured
to the door. “You got two minutes or I come in there and it gets ugly.”

She let herself into the tiny bathroom and flipped on the dingy light. The room didn’t
have a window. The cabinets were empty. Everything looked old. It smelled that way,
too, but she managed to do her business, then shimmy back into her jeans. After quickly
washing her hands, she inched out of the room, to find McKeevy waiting.

“Hop on the table.” He patted the cold, metallic slab.

“Can I stand?”

“Nope.”

His answer sounded more like a growl, but she knew if she simply lay down, he would
kill her. All the implements on the wall were beyond her reach. She couldn’t try to
jump or rush him. She lacked the strength to overpower him, and the element of surprise
wouldn’t be enough to counter that. So now what? Bailey hesitated, her thoughts whirling.

“The longer you stand there, the more you’re pissing me off. The more painful I can
make your last hours.”

So her death wasn’t a matter of “if” but “when” in his head. Still, she didn’t want
to just lie down and die like a good little girl.

“I’m so thirsty. Water?”

“What do you think this is, a hotel?”

“No, I’m just so dry. I’d hoped—”

“Jesus, you’re a pain in my ass.” He sighed and bent to a bar-size fridge under the
wooden tool bench built along one wall. He never took his stare off her as he reached
in and plucked out a bottle, then put it into her hand.

Slowly, Bailey unscrewed the cap, looking at any available option she might have to
escape. He’d placed his big body between her and the main door. Everything else was
walls. As she took a swig of water, she tried to tamp down her frustration. There
had to be
something
she could do to save herself. She clung to the knowledge that if Joaquin was alive,
he’d be looking for her. Until then? She took another sip, still thinking, but came
up empty-handed.

Suddenly, McKeevy grabbed her wrist and seized the bottle from her hand, slamming
it on the counter. “That’s enough.”

Before she could fight, he slung her back on the table and straddled her. She struggled
and writhed, bucking to be free, but he slapped her hard. Bailey’s head reeled and
her cheek throbbed with pain. Since he outweighed her, he easily pinned her to the
cold table. In less than a minute, he had her immobilized again with the straps.

McKeevy laughed at her once more. “Stupid cunt. For that, I’ll make sure the end is
a screaming terrible time for you.”

The chill that swept through Bailey’s blood wasn’t just the low ambient temperature
in the room. His words filled her with savage terror. Joaquin had shown her pictures
of the carnage he was capable of. Even now, he was probably thinking about all the
possibilities and going out of his mind.

She wished she could reassure him or at least say good-bye and tell him that she didn’t
blame him for the way things would likely end. She hoped he wouldn’t crawl deeper
into his self-isolation if the worst happened. If he learned instead that life was
short and love was worth sharing for as many days as he had on this earth, she could
go peacefully. She’d be comforted by the idea that her death could bring him more
life.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she closed them. McKeevy was going to strip her of skin
and bone, blood, heartbeat, and life. She refused to give him her dignity, too.

He didn’t seem to notice or care that she shut him out. Instead, he moved away and
then returned. Bailey cracked one eye open. He held a pair of gardening shears, snapping
them together in his meaty hands.

“Normally, I like to start by taking fingers off one at a time. They’re sensitive
and people start thinking then about the loss of a normal life if they ever get free.
I do the first one slow like, so they really feel it. I take my sweet time getting
around to the second so they have plenty of time to dread it. They’re far more likely
to cough up any information they’ve got then. But I’m going to bet you value your
toes more.”

Bailey’s heart stopped as he slid down the length of her body with an evil grin and
grabbed her left foot. “We’ll start with the little one and work our way up if you
can’t tell me what you know.”

She could barely find her voice through her terror. “You have the research. I was
five when he died. I don’t know anything more.”

“Are there any more copies of this disk anywhere?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t give me another clue to follow or any other indication
of a second hiding place. I know from the news that he gave one copy to Daniel Howe,
who funded his research. Howe destroyed it. Viktor kept the other copy and you have
it. That’s all I know.”

McKeevy ran a hand along the scraggly dusting of hair on his chin. “Who else knew
about this copy of the research?”

“That we found it?” She shook her head. “You took it too quickly for us to inform
anyone.”

“But that former fed you were bedding down with knows people. Who was he talking to
before you found it? Who do you think he’s called since?”

Bailey refused to tell him the truth. She didn’t want to implicate Sean and put him
or Callie at risk, in case he hadn’t made that connection. She was likely going to
lose her toes—and her life—anyway, so what was the difference?

“I don’t know. A fed. He never used names. He didn’t trust me. I was just his hostage.”

“Yeah.” He scoffed. “One who put out a lot. I took the hotel room next to yours last
night. I heard all that screaming.”

Horror screeched through her veins. He’d
listened
to them making love? Bailey didn’t know what to say exactly. “I . . .”

“Save the excuse. Muñoz seems to like you well enough. I’m not buying that you don’t
know anything about who he’s talking to. I’ll give you one more shot. Tell me what
his plans were once you found the disk. Who was he going to give it to? And before
you lie again, remember that I can skip ahead and start removing organs while you’re
still alive. That always makes for an agonizing, scream-filled death. I know which
ones to remove first to make you beg for the end. I’ve had lots of practice. So, what’s
your answer?”

She bit her lip. The moment she opened her mouth and spit out her next lie, he was
going to carve her up. “You have to understand. I met him when he drugged me and took
me from my house in the middle of the night.”

“The fucker beat me there by a few hours. I had a plan, and he fucked it up. I knew
then you had to be Tatiana Aslanov.”

“I don’t know anything. I’d hoped that sex would appease him.”

“You didn’t offer me any,” McKeevy snarled.

Bailey couldn’t tell him that psychos with stained teeth and body odor issues weren’t
her thing. That wouldn’t end well for her. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to offer
her body to McKeevy. It would only postpone her execution, not stay it. And for her
short time left, she’d end up hating herself.

“He had sex with me unprotected. I don’t know if he has any diseases . . .” It was
weak, but all she had.

He scoffed, then shook his head. “If we had more time, I’d demand a damn blow job,
but I know he’s going to come for you. And he’s going to bring feds. Besides, I don’t
want his leftovers. Start talking.”

“I swear that I don’t know anything. I can’t tell you information I don’t know. Please . . .”
She hoped begging would appease him. He seemed like the sort who enjoyed preying on
the weaker.

He dragged the sharp edge of the gardening shears up her foot, drawing a thin line
of blood. “Are you sure?”

It stung. Bailey sucked in a breath, trying to keep a lid on her panic. “I swear.”

“And you don’t know anything about Aslanov’s research, how to read his notes, what
the formulas meant?”

“I was five.” She tried not to cry, but the terror was beginning to swallow her whole.

“We captured a few research subjects in South America. I’ve got one jailed in the
mine below the compound. We need to understand your father’s notes to continue our
tests. But if you can’t help me . . .”

McKeevy reached behind him and ditched the gardening shears for a scalpel off the
wall. He set the sharp edge right against her breastbone and began to press. Bailey
didn’t dare thrash for fear he’d cut her deeper. Instead, she whimpered, wishing she
could go out with more grace. God, if she could just get one more opportunity to be
uncuffed and fight back, she’d make the most of it.

Suddenly, someone banged on the door. “Joe!”

“I’m working the prisoner here.” He sounded annoyed, his scalpel hand shaking.

Blood pooled between her breasts.

“We’ve got a big fucking problem. Klein is gathering all the officers.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He slammed his implement on the table just above her head, then
sneered down at her. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Then he turned and left. The second the door closed behind him, Bailey dragged in
a sharp, ragged breath. Relief spilled through her, leaving her trembling. She knew
this reprieve was only momentary, but she’d take it. She wanted nothing more than
to close her eyes and mentally escape, but she had to keep her wits about her and
find a way out of here.

She jerked her gaze all over the room and thrashed as hard as she could to see if
there was any give in her bonds, but she was irrevocably tied down and had no means
of escape.

As she reached that terrible conclusion, the door creaked open again. She craned her
head around to see if McKeevy had come back to finish up her terrible death. Instead,
a very young pregnant girl entered the room. Bailey figured she was probably sixteen
and at least six months pregnant.

“Don’t ask questions. Just listen. Otter Klein, the leader of LOSS, just found out
the feds have the compound surrounded and that they’ve obtained a search warrant from
a judge. Otter, Joe, and the rest, they won’t go down without a fight.”

Bailey welcomed the news that help was on the way, but wondered why this girl was
telling her—and if that help would come too late. Or was this girl setting a trap?
Maybe, but Bailey didn’t see that she had much choice except to listen.

As she waited for more, she realized the girl was loosening the strap around her wrist
as quietly as possible. Bailey began wiggling her hand to speed up the process, fighting
to be free. Moments later, she pulled her left hand from the bindings and reached
across her body to release the right. The girl moved to her ankles.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

Her rescuer turned sad blue eyes on her. “I ran away from home at fourteen after I
got in a fight with my momma. Joe picked me up off the street, promising me a ride
to a friend’s. Instead, he brought me here and raped me. This will be the second baby
he’s put up in me, so I can’t go nowhere. I won’t leave my boy with him. But if you
get out, will you tell my momma that I’m still alive? Here’s her name and address.”
The girl teared up as she pressed a piece of paper into Bailey’s hand.