Tangled Fates (9 page)

and she smacked at it.

There was a low chuckle, and a male voice said, “If that’s the way you want it to be.”

Then a palm connected with her face, jerking her head to the side.

Her Warrior instincts took over, and she jumped to her feet as best she could manage

with her injury. She landed two solid punches, then heard an alarm. Within seconds, the sounds

of the door opening rang through the room and suddenly she was pushed on the bed with very

strong arms holding her down. Whether they were male or female, she didn’t know. How strong

were humans anyway?

Shadows began to shimmer before her eyes, and a moment later she was able to see. Two

large men held her down. The stark, white room with the harsh lighting came into focus.

Straining her neck, she tried to see around one of the men. A man with brown hair and an

unremarkable face came into her line of vision. He held a cloth to his bleeding nose, and she felt

satisfaction roll through her.

He smiled grimly. “I’m Dr. Davis,” he said in a flat voice. “We’ll be meeting again

later.”

He turned on his heel and left, and she had been given another shot.

And that’s where the nightmare, or the reliving of events, began.

It was always the same. She was strapped to a cold, steel table, naked and shackled at her

hands and her feet. A strap over her forehead held her head down. She stared at the fluorescent

lights above her, knowing what was coming, but hoping this time would be different.

The click of the door opening and closing signaled the arrival of the doctor.

He never met her eyes, but looked over her body with intensity. His hand would caress

her neck, then her breast, moving down to her stomach, to her hip, and down her leg to her foot.

To her surprise, her feet were clasped in some sort of stirrup, and with a click and a push, her

knees were up in the air, exposing her most intimate flesh.

Without a word the doctor ran his finger down her center, and she heard another click.

The table beneath her bottom disappeared, her legs suspended in the stirrups.

She strained to see what was happening, but she couldn’t move her head due to the

constraints. She heard something that sounded like a zipper and froze. Was the doctor taking out

his sexual organ?

Then she heard something that sounded . . . wet. The doctor hovered over her and said,

“This is for science. So we understand you better.”

Searing pain ripped through her as he pushed his hips toward her again and again. She

refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream, clamping her jaw tight at the brutal

invasion.

That had been the first time.

It didn’t get any better the many times afterward.

It had taken only one session with the male who called himself a doctor, or a healer, for

her to realize that he had no intentions of healing anything. In fact, he’d seemed hell-bent on

destroying anything good within her.

Annis looked around the Great Room and got her bearings. She ran her hand over the

lovely leather dark-brown couch, and looked up into the glow of the lamp that had a copper base

of a cactus. The room was done in desert reds, greens, and browns, and she pulled a cream throw

pillow on her lap, loving the feeling of the soft satin beneath her fingers.

The present was so much more pleasant than the past. In her ten months with the Saviors,

she had been provided her own quarters, a luxurious bed to sleep in, adequate clothing for both

training and everyday living, good meals . . . yet the nightmare haunted her almost every night. If

she were to be honest with herself, she would admit her exhaustion was from lack of sleep.

However, she had a spirit of a true Warrior. That was her past, and she wouldn’t allow it

to dictate her future. She looked forward to the day when she hopefully would be properly mated

to someone worthy of her strong spirit and body. Someone who could make her body sing, as

Liberty described it, someone who wanted to cherish her, not hurt her. She held on to that hope,

as she couldn’t imagine going through life alone any longer. In her deepest, darkest hours, she

lamented the fact that she had always been alone.

She stood from the sofa and went to the bar.

Looking at the many bottles, she decided to go with the whiskey that Liberty had

recommended. Annis found that she actually preferred a Chardonnay wine to the whiskey, but

she didn’t see any lined up among the many choices.

She carried the glass back over to the couch, took a long sip, and closed her eyes as a

feeling of warmth and relaxation seeped into her bones.

A moment later, she felt another presence before she saw it. Her eyes flew open, her calm

evaporated. Cohen walked into the room, but didn’t see her or the golden glow of her eyes. She

didn’t close them, but stared at him boldly. He wore only a pair of sweatpants, and the muscles

on his back heaved beneath his skin as he walked, as if he were carrying an extra burden on his

shoulders.

He went to the bar and grabbed a glass from the shelf, mumbling something, but she

couldn’t understand what he said. Turning, he finally noticed her, and their stares met, hers

golden, his eyes a violent purple.

Her heart fluttered as she took in his broad frame standing behind the mahogany bar, his

dark hair a mess, and the shadow on his chin.

His gaze intensified as he stared at her, as it always did.

“Hello, Cohen.”

He didn’t answer.

After a long pause, she said, “It seems that we are both up at odd hours. Perhaps we can

sit and make peace.”

He again didn’t answer, but his eyes brutalized her as she sat in her simple black

nightshirt.

Taking a long sip of whiskey, she stood, ready to take on the verbal onslaught that might

be the result of her pushing a stick into the hornets’ nest that was Cohen.

“Cohen, it is apparent to me and everyone in this house that you have a deep-seated

hatred for me, and I would like to know why, as I have done nothing but tried to be kind to you.”

He stared at her a minute more, then slammed down his glass, the shards flying up as the

tumbler hit the bar. As he approached her, she could see the anger vibrating within him, and she

tapped down the fear that began to rise within her. Thoughts about ways to take him down, if it

came to that. First she would throw the whiskey in his face, then an uppercut—

He stopped inches from her, his fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy. It was

then she realized that it had not been his first trip to the bar, as she smelled the alcohol on him

with each heavy exhale. Perhaps her idea of a little chat, the clearing of the air, would be more

appropriate at another time.

“Cohen, I would like to talk to you about what bothers you, what I have done to deserve

such hatred, but perhaps this isn’t the best time.”

She moved to step around him, but he grabbed her upper arm. She looked at his hand

circling her bicep, then up at him.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” he growled.

Annis said nothing, just stared at him.

“You think we need to get together and sing Kumbaya or some shit. Bring out the peace

pipe and smoke to our newfound friendship because we’re of the same species. Well, that’s not

going to fucking happen, Pocahontas.”

Annis didn’t know what Kumbaya meant or who Pocahontas was, but her anger was

rising at the tightness of his grip. She was also uncertain on what to do. He seemed as though he

had enjoyed a little too much of the liquor, so she felt that she should go easy. However, she

didn’t appreciate being manhandled in this fashion.

Not. At. All.

“Cohen, I would suggest you let go of me, and we can discuss things, or I can just leave

you be.”

Instead, his grip tightened, and he caught her off guard. In a few steps he had her sitting

on the couch while he hovered above her. Oddly enough, she still wasn’t frightened, but more

curious than anything. This was the most contact and conversation she had ever had with Cohen,

and she had a feeling that the beans were about to be spilled, so to speak.

“See, you don’t know jack-shit about me, Annis.” He leaned closer, his face inches from

hers. “But I know all about you,” he whispered. He brought his hand up and traced a finger down

her face. “The beautiful Annis whose body had been brutalized, the Annis who can still laugh

even after all she’s suffered through.” After a beat of silence, he said, “Or maybe you didn’t

suffer. Maybe you liked it.”

Annis gasped, feeling as though she was going to choke on his sour breath. She had never

told anyone what she had been through. It wasn’t like the rapes left scars on the outside; all the

damage had been done to her internally and to her very soul. Having been alone for so long, she

was used to keeping her struggles to herself, and she had told no one of what the doctor had done

to her. How did he know?

“The healings, Annis. I put my energy in you. I know everything that’s been done to

you.”

Of course. She should have known. However, anger boiled within her at his words, and

before she knew what she was doing, she clenched her fist and hit Cohen squarely in the jaw,

causing his head to jerk and for him to step back. She lifted her chin, refusing to feel guilt or

shame for what had occurred to her body. Her Warrior spirit had not been broken.

“But you . . . you know nothing!” he yelled as he backed off.

Annis stood up and walked toward him. He backed away, and she kept going until he was

against the bar. “Oh, but I do, Cohen. I know that you lost your
lovren
. I know that according to

others in this household, you have been a different male since the day you found out. And I do

believe at this moment you are trying to hurt me by bringing up terrible things of my past. I,

however, will not play your immature game and try to hurt you with my words.”

She turned to leave, and Cohen grabbed her arm again. Annis spun and met him face to

face. The pain she saw there almost made her anger evaporate, and she felt an ache of sadness for

him. She realized that no matter how she tried to forget the past, both her and Cohen were two

very traumatized people. If they were any shade of normal, they wouldn’t be standing in the

Great Room at four in the morning drinking alcohol, but instead they would be snuggled in their

respective beds.

“How? How do you do it? How do you go on? How does it not eat you up inside?” His

voice was raw and intense, as if he were choking on emotion.

Annis was about to question him on what exactly he meant when she heard hurried

footsteps coming toward the room. Cohen released her arm and both turned toward the doorway.

Liberty and Jovan rushed in.

“What’s going on in here?” Liberty said, coming to Annis’s side. “Jovan and I both felt

the anger. It was so strong . . .”

Jovan walked up to Cohen and lightly pushed his chest, backing him away from Annis

and Liberty. “What’s going on, my man?”

Cohen said nothing, but his gaze darted from Jovan back to Annis, then over her

shoulder, as if someone else was in the room. She turned around and saw nothing.

It was an excellent question—what exactly was going on between her and Cohen? The

pain she had seen in his face before was now gone and replaced by the anger again.

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on, Jovan,” Cohen sneered, turning back to the bar.

“I think it’s time for you to go back to bed, my friend,” Jovan said.

“I haven’t even been to bed, Jovan. Just please, leave me alone.”

“Come, Annis,” Liberty said, taking her hand. “Let’s leave.”

“No,” Annis said, wanting to see what played out.

“Get out,” Cohen mumbled, as he poured more amber liquid into a glass with shaky

hands.

Annis didn’t move.

“Get out!” he shouted at her.

She turned and left as she heard Jovan say, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Chapter 11

Cohen had managed to avoid Annis all day. It wasn’t easy, but he got out of meetings he

knew she would be present by claiming a stomach bug, which was a half-truth. He felt like hell

from what he did, and the amount of alcohol he had been consuming didn’t exactly put him in

the healthy department either.

He pushed a fifty-pound barbell up with his left hand, then did the same with his right.

He had come down to the gym with the thought of working the booze out of his body, but he

barely had the energy to double-knot his sneakers. The fifty-pound barbells should have been

one hundred fifty pounds, and the old-school Van Halen’s—David, not Sammy—“Hot for

Teacher” blasting through the speakers should be motivating him, not making his head feel like

someone was hitting it with an ice pick.

Sweet Jesus, he was sick of feeling like a sack of shit run over by a tank.

He sat up and gave himself the standard pep talk he had been saying for the past six

months: He needed to cut back on the alcohol, it was necessary for him to work out more, and he

had to get focused.

In the beginning, he was determined to honor the vows he gave to his dead mate, Mia, but

after a few months, Annis had started to steal his attention away. He needed to keep on track

with the course of his existence that he had laid out for himself. He needed to atone for his sins