Run to Me (16 page)

The woman twisted around, her eyes big with fear, and caught sight of Ethan. “Help me! She’s trying to kill me!”

Jolene.
The volunteer who’d scared Shea a few days ago. Why was she even here at this time of night?

Ethan flew down the stairs, grabbed Shea’s arms, and pulled. “Dammit, Shea, let her go.”

“No!” Shea’s wild shout held a strong edge of hysteria as her arms locked tighter around Jolene.

“Shea. Let go.” Knowing he was bruising her skin but seeing no other way, Ethan gripped her arms and pried them open.

At last, with Ethan’s help, the woman wrenched away from Shea. Eyes wild with horror, Jolene backed away from them. “I can’t work here anymore. She’s a lunatic.”

Ethan scooped a softly crying Shea into his arms and snapped at the volunteer, “Follow me.”

Dread flooded him as questions pounded. What could have caused Shea’s loss of control? Was this a new symptom? Was she becoming dangerous to others? Had a nightmare triggered another flashback? Did this woman resemble someone from Rosemount’s camp? Could that be why Shea seemed to have such a violent reaction to this particular person?

He kicked the door open and deposited Shea on the bed. Without turning, he asked the other woman, “What happened?”

No answer.

Ethan turned. Jolene had apparently been too terrified to come back to the room. He’d question her later. The most important thing was to find out why Shea had attacked an unarmed woman.

Wincing at the scratches and bruises already standing out against her creamy skin, Ethan brushed her hair from her face. Silent tears slid from beneath her closed lids. “Shea, what happened?”

No answer.

Ethan shook her gently. “Come on, talk to me, sweetheart. Did you have another nightmare? Why did you—”

Her eyes flew open. A dazed, blank-eyed stranger stared up at him.

Holy God.

Grabbing the phone, he punched a button. “A woman in a volunteer’s uniform is trying to leave the grounds. Detain her and get Dr. Norton in here. Now!”

His hands cupped Shea’s face, shook her lightly. “Shea, can you hear me?”

No emotion. No expression. Her beautiful green eyes were dilated and glassy. Shea had returned to hell. The woman she’d feared was going to inject her with something had been given a second chance and had succeeded. Because Ethan had believed her instead of Shea.

“Shea, baby, look at me. We’ll get you some help. I won’t let you go again.”

“Ethan, what’s wrong?” Dr. Norton asked.

Without taking his eyes from Shea, he snarled, “That bitch drugged her.”

Dr. Norton took one look at Shea and picked up the phone. “Get a nurse in here.” He slammed the phone down. Nudging Ethan aside, he grasped Shea’s face and tapped her cheek. “Shea, it’s Lawrence Norton … can you hear me?”

Still that blank-eyed stare. If Ethan hadn’t seen her chest moving when she breathed, he wouldn’t be sure she was alive.

A nurse rushed in. While Dr. Norton and the nurse drew blood for a tox screen, Ethan stood over her. He’d told her she would be safe here. Had dismissed her fears. Even insinuated that he couldn’t trust her because of what she’d been forced to do for Rosemount.

“I don’t think she gave Shea much of the drug,” Dr. Norton said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Her pupils are already responding. My only concern now is what this will do to her recovery. She was just getting those drugs out of her system.”

Ethan shoved his fingers through his hair. “How the hell did that bitch get in here as a worker?”

Dr. Norton’s mouth flattened in a grim line. “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

Standing beside the bed, Ethan ran a finger down Shea’s pale, delicate cheek. “I’ll stay with her.”

Patting Ethan’s arm as if he were a child, the doctor gave Shea one last worried look and walked out the door.

Ethan cursed himself, knowing he had failed her again. But, dammit, this was the last time. When she was well enough, he would take her home with him. He didn’t care if he had to battle Noah and every LCR operative in existence. Never would Shea be left vulnerable, as she had been here. If he had to stay awake twenty-four/seven, he’d damned well do it. No matter what, Shea would never be threatened again. He’d kill anyone who got in his way.

With a roar of fury, Donald threw the phone handset at the wall of his office. The whiny, simpering voice continued from the speaker at his desk. “It’s not my fault. She was too strong for me.”

Pulling out the stress ball he kept inside his drawer, Donald squeezed hard, pretending it was this woman’s neck. He had to keep his cool until he got what he could from her. “How much of the drug did she get?”

“Not even half of it … not nearly enough to incapacitate her.”

“No one can trace you, right? And you left no incriminating evidence? Such as the drug?”

“No, I still have it. No one can find me.”

A smug smile curved his mouth. That wasn’t true, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

“I know you’re disappointed, but I did my best,” she said.

Revulsion surged, threatened to spill bile from his mouth. How he despised the wheedling tone of a weak woman. Her lack of accountability would only make her suffering more severe and his retribution and punishment all the more pleasurable.

“You did what you could. That’s all anyone could ask.”

“I’m still going to get paid half, though … right?”

“Of course—that was our agreement. I’ll leave the money where we originally agreed.”

“I still don’t see why you can’t just wire the funds to a temporary account.”

“We’ve already discussed this, my dear. I can’t risk having something like that traced to me. Believe me, this is much safer for us all.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll go to the bus station tomorrow at ten.”

“And your payment will be there. Never fear.”

“Thank you.”

Donald punched a button to end the call, no longer able to keep the hatred out of his voice. Not only had the bitch failed to get his woman, she’d left part of the drug in her bloodstream. They would be able to take her blood and determine the compounds… . His magic potion might be discovered, and even worse, drugs could be developed to counteract it. All his wonderful work could be lost forever.

Sniffling, Donald stood and trudged to the corner of his office to retrieve the phone. Loneliness washed over him. With a sobbing sigh, he plopped down on the floor. His glasses fogging up, he pulled them off, then pressed his forehead against his knees and allowed the tears to flow. Nothing had gone right since she had been taken from him. He had no one to talk to, no one who understood him.

A buzz at his desk alerted him of an incoming call. Taking deep breaths to calm his shattered nerves, he pulled himself up, trudged back to his desk, and pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Still want me to pick up the woman at the bus station?”

“Absolutely.”

Anticipation washed over him, and a hefty dose of optimism replaced his grief. He had an execution, Rosemount-style, to set up. That always made him feel better. Then he would begin new plans to go after his female.

All was not lost. Donald Rosemount was not a loser!

*  *  *

As he marched toward the main house from the barracks, his mind struggled with unfamiliar indecision. Yesterday, a woman had been brought in for a reprimand. Soldiers had rushed into the building at the master’s command. In the excitement, the man responsible for administering his vitamin shot had forgotten. Last night, he’d lain alone in his bed, battling monsters and demons. Today, though he was still strong, his mind felt fractured, blurred with confusion.

The master didn’t like him to speak unless he was asked a direct question. So he wasn’t sure if he should mention that he’d hadn’t received his shot. If that made the master angry, he would be punished. He had been punished in the past by having his shot delayed. While he suffered the effects of this, the master had ordered the other men to throw him into the training cages for torture. Though it wasn’t his place to question the master’s orders, he wanted to avoid punishment if possible.

Knocking on the door to one of the main labs, he entered as the master’s voice snapped, “Come.”

Two men stood beside the master. They held a dark-haired, middle-aged woman between them. She was nude, her body bruised and bloody from beatings. His senses picked up the scent of semen. The master’s men had used her … she had been punished. He had no idea why. It wasn’t his place to ask. If the master chose to punish, the right was his.

Another man stood several feet away, holding a camera. That was normal. All punishments were recorded, so that everyone could see how the master’s will should always prevail and, when it didn’t, how punishment was meted out.

The woman’s eyes were swollen from the multiple blows she’d taken. She looked up at him and something inside him snapped, piercing the confusion. The woman was suffering, hurting. That wasn’t a good thing. No one should hurt like this. No one should be treated so cruelly. He blinked as more uncertainty fogged his mind.

Fingers snapped to get his attention. His gaze shifted to the master, who looked more animated than he’d ever seen him. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip; his eyes, behind his thick glasses, glittered with excitement; and his small body vibrated with energy.

Pointing at the woman, the master ordered, “Snap her neck.”

His heart thudded against his chest. For the first time ever, he did not want to follow orders. This woman, whatever she had done, didn’t deserve to be treated this way. How could he tell the master this? He wasn’t allowed to speak. Words trembled in his brain, on his lips. Words of refusal … denial.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I said kill her.”

Now the master’s eyes bulged with fury. Indecision and dread made his heart pound even faster. Disappointing the master, having his anger directed toward him, filled him with terror and sorrow. He had to do what the master ordered. It was his place, his only reason for existence … he had to follow his orders.

He moved closer to the woman. His big hands encircled her throat.

“Please … no, don’t kill me. Please. I beg you.”

The one eye that wasn’t swollen shut was filled with tears. She was begging him not to kill her.

His hands tightened against her throat … he had to obey … the master demanded his obedience… . Pain sliced through his brain. Myriad images filled his mind … blurry, unformed. A soft, female voice whispered words he didn’t understand, emerged from a memory he no longer possessed.

Loosening his hands, he stepped away from the woman.

“What’s wrong with you, you idiot?”

The master stood in front of him, glaring up at him. Purple veins bulged in his forehead. His face crimson with rage, he spat, “Kill her or suffer the consequences.”

A word, wrenched from somewhere deep inside him, burst from his mouth: “No.”

Shocked silence filled the room. The only sound was the pitiful weeping of the woman in front of him.

The master whirled toward the woman, raised his gun, and shot her in the head. Brain matter and blood splattered the men who held her. They dropped her and jumped back. The woman thudded to the floor. Blood spread like a slow, dark stain across the creamy white tile.

He stared at the stark image. The thick, dark liquid crept closer to his boots. His mind screamed. Under a roar of increasing panic and pain, he heard the master’s words: “Punish him.”

Terror filled him; he knew what was coming. His mouth opened on a bellow of anguish as four men jumped him, wrestled him to the floor. He kicked them, bit them, screaming with fear. Fists pounded into his face, pummeled his stomach. Under the roar of pain, he heard the master shout, “Harder … hit him harder!”

Booted feet kicked his ribs, his back. Fists thudded into the side of his head, stunning him, abruptly stopping his struggles. Dazed and winded, on the edge of consciousness, he lay prostrate on the floor.

In a vague, otherworldly way, he felt the burn on his body as he was pulled across the floor, into another room. Hands picked him up and slammed him face-first against a wall. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth. His hands and feet were bound to ties on the wall. Pain reeked through every pore. When he heard the distinctive whoosh and snap of the whip, his muscles locked. Someone ripped the shirt from his back. From deep in his soul came the tortured cry of an animal in torment. The thin blade of a whip sliced into his back.

Agony roared.

Shea shot up in bed, her eyes popping open as a scene of horror flashed through her mind.

“Shea?”

Ethan’s gravelly voice brought her head around. He sat in the chair beside the bed. From the look of him, he’d spent the night there. His hair was wild around his face, as if he’d combed his fingers through it a thousand times.

“Go back to your room, Ethan. I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.”

She pulled herself up in bed, wincing at her sore muscles. Though she didn’t exactly feel fortunate, she knew she was. The drug the woman had given her had been much less powerful than what Rosemount had fed her on a daily basis. Dr. Norton had given her a shot, reversing the effects almost immediately. But not soon enough. For the last two days, she’d drifted between unconsciousness and wild, screaming demons of memories. She remembered. Sweet heaven, she remembered. Not a lot, but too much.

“Are you okay?”

Throwing her feet to the floor, Shea stood. Her voice hoarse from crying, she winced as she snarled, “If I had a dime for every time someone’s asked me that question in the last two days, I’d be able to hire my own army to kill Rosemount.”

“I know you’re angry … you have every right—”

Shea whirled, then caught herself when the world kept turning. She grabbed the back of a chair, waving off Ethan’s attempt to help her. “Angry? Why should I be angry? You told me I’d be safe here. You wouldn’t let me leave the building. You said this was the only place he couldn’t get to me. That woman tried to attack me before … tried to take me back to Rosemount. But you didn’t believe me. Now, why the hell would I be angry?”