Turning Payne

by Chantel Seabrook

  "We'll get Kiera back. I promise you," he said, leaning towards her as if to embrace her.

  "And then what?" Riley spat, shrugging his hand off and moving away from his reach. She glared, seeing the man for who he truly was. "We go back to being one big happy family, while you continue to kill innocent people?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "I know you don't understand what I've been doing here, but I'm still you're father, and—"

  "Father?" A shrill laugh tickled her throat. "The father I knew died in a fire years ago. I wish you'd stayed dead." She took a step towards him and poked her finger at his chest. "Once you fix Kiera, we're gone. I never want to see you again." She ignored the nagging warning at the back of her brain and pushed forward, releasing her anger in a single shove.

  His eyes went wide as he stumbled backwards, before bracing himself and squaring his shoulders. She pushed him again, but this time he didn't budge.

  "You won't get away this time." She beat a fist against his chest, once, twice. Tears blurred her vision and she continued to hit him. "I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life."

  "Enough." He slapped her hard across the cheek. She stumbled backwards. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, his face inches from hers. "This is your home now. I suggest you get used to it."

  She placed her hand over her burning cheek. "Or what? You'll strap me to a table like one of your experiments?"

  His lips curled back in a sneer and he raised his hand. She thought he'd hit her again and she cringed.

  "Come with me. You may feel differently once you see what I have to show you." His expression transformed into a mask of stoicism. He let go of her arm, turned and strode towards the door.

  She hesitated, and glanced back at the lion that lay motionless in the other room. There was nothing her father could show her that would change what he'd done.

  Her father held the door open and waited. With a silent sigh of resignation, she followed him. He led her down a series of halls and doors to a similar observation room and motioned for her to enter. A humorless smile played at the corner of his lips.

  She looked at him suspiciously, before stepping into the dimly lit room.

  In the parallel room, behind the glass wall, a man was stretched out on his side, his arms and legs secured by leather straps to a surgical table. A white sheet was pulled down low, revealing the tightly coiled muscles of his back. His head was turned slightly, his dark hair shadowing his face, but she knew instantly it was Turner.

  Riley inhaled sharply.

  Another man wearing a white coat and surgical mask stood off to the side inspecting medical equipment. He picked up a needle that was nearly double the length of the man's hand.

  Bile rose in her throat. Turner shifted slightly, as if he heard her. His eyes were a dull grey, his face drawn and pale. He licked his dry, cracked lips, seemingly looking straight at her. He knew she was there, she could feel it in her gut.

  Why hadn't he escaped when she'd given him the chance?

  She slammed her fist against the window a second time, then turned on her father. "What have you done to him?"

  "Nothing that he hasn't allowed."

  She hissed out a breath. "Bullshit."

  A howl of pain echoed from the other room. The man had inserted the needle into Turner's spine.

  "You're killing him. If you don't let him go right now, I swear I'll…I'll…"

  Her father rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. It's a simple lumbar puncture. He knows the risk. I gave him the choice. I want to earn your trust again. Make things right between us. Lucky for us, it seems your friend has a soft spot for you."

  "I don't believe you. You don't ask, you take. Why would he allow this?"

  "The antiserum only seems to work when administered with the stem cells of a metamorph. The reason Kiera is responding so well to the treatment is because of his"—he motioned towards Turner with contempt—"natural antibodies."

  "Antibodies can come from blood, or lymphatic fluid, which is far less invasive."

  "Metamorph biology is different." He placed his hands in his pockets and looked down his nose at her. "Stem cells hold the key to Kiera's recovery. That's what you want, isn't it? For Kiera to be human again."

  Panic snaked through her. Turner was trying to help Kiera, but at what cost? Is that why he hadn't left?

  "I want to talk to him."

  "The procedure is almost complete." He nodded towards a second door that she hadn't seen before. "You can say your goodbyes then."

  She shivered at the finality in his tone. "What do you mean?"

  "He's being transferred to another facility tomorrow." He gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But I can promise you that he won't be harmed as long as he continues to cooperate."

  Turner cooperate? That wasn't likely. She had to get him out of there. Tonight. "I want to speak to him alone."

  His jaw tightened and he searched her face.

  She steeled herself, bit her cheek, and said as passively as she could manage, "If you really want to earn my trust, then you have to trust me in return."

  He nodded and flicked his wrist towards the door. "Five minutes."

  When the masked man had left via another door, taking the vial of spinal fluid with him, Riley entered the sterilized room.

  There was a small camera in the far corner of the room, and despite the one-way mirror, she was aware of her father's watchful eyes. She had no clue what she was going to do. Only that she had to do something.

  Turner remained laid out on his side, and Riley winced at the dark bruises in the center of his lower back. She rounded the bed, pulling the sheet over his shoulders to cover his exposed, shivering body.

  "Riley?" His voice was raw. He tried to turn but the bindings held him secure.

  "I'm here." She pulled a stool beside him and sat down, reaching for his bound hands.

  His eyes opened fully and locked on to her. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded and squeezed his fingers. She leaned close to his face and whispered. "I have to get you out of here."

  Use your thoughts, Riley. The words floated through her head like a warm wind.

  Can you walk? She started to unbuckle the ties that held his hands. Once she started to project her thoughts, it seemed easier than speaking, as if somehow their brains were connected. My father is waiting with a guard on the other side of the door, but if we can get you—

  He gripped her hand to stop her. Even if I had the strength. There are too many guards. I'll never be able to fight them all.

  Riley faltered, her gaze roaming the room, from the camera, to the mirror, to the steel tray that held an array of medical tools. The fluorescent light reflected off a scalpel, and Riley knew what she had to do.

  With slow, subtle movements, she started untying his restraints again. There is a tray of tools behind you. When you're free, I want you to grab the scalpel.

  His brows furrowed and she knew he understood what she wanted him to do.

  I won't put you at risk.

  Her chest tightened with the knowledge that he was still trying to protect her. My father won't let you harm me.

  Turner's expression didn't change, but his gaze grew more intense. You're willing to leave Kiera?

  "Thank you for helping my sister," she said, keeping her voice and gaze steady, knowing her father was listening. She removed the last clasp on his hands and stood. "She's going to be all right because of you."

  She walked to the end of the bed, her back to the mirror, to her father, and rested her hands on his ankles.

  Turner watched her with narrowed eyes. You're sure you want to do this?

  He won't hurt Kiera, but he will hurt you. She unfastened the first buckle and then the second. A sound behind her made her heart skip a beat. She quickly unfastened the last two buckles and turned to face her father's furious glare.

  Her father looked down at the unfastened restraints and bellowed, "What are you
doing?"

  Turner moved off the bed in a fumbling, lethargic movement, sending the metal tray and its contents flying.

  Her father reached for his holstered pistol and aimed it at Turner's back.

  Riley screamed. Without thinking, she grasped a pair of elongated scissors that lay still spinning on the floor by her feet. With the scissors fisted in her hand, she rushed at her father. She brought the scissors down with a sharp thrust, embedding them deep in the side of his neck.

  He dropped his weapon and stumbled onto his knees. He grasped the scissors and pulled them out, throwing them on the floor. A gasp caught in his throat and his face tensed. He held his palm against the wound, but blood seeped through his fingers. His teeth clenched and then parted in a cry that resonated off the tiled walls. He fell on his side, his mouth opening and closing.

  Turner staggered to Riley, and pulled her against his chest.

  "Wha-what di-did you do?" Her father's eyes were wide with fear and betrayal.

  Blood pooled around him, turning the tiles red. He exhaled one last time.

  Acid burned her mouth and continued down her lungs. She teetered forward and fumbled to feel for a pulse. Nothing. She pulled her hand away as if burned, her fingers stained with his blood.

  "I killed him."

  "Riley." Turner pulled her away by the shoulders. Her name sounded broken on his lips. He forced her to look away from the body, holding her tight against his chest. She shook in his arms. "There will be guards here soon. We have to move."

  Her body had gone numb. She pressed her palm to her chest, where a sharp pain seemed to pierce her heart shattering it into a million pieces. That much pain shouldn't be possible without an open wound. "I-I killed him," she repeated, unsteadily.

  "I know, sweetheart." He pulled her tighter, stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. "Thank you for protecting me."

  She clung to him, her body shaking. Her father had tortured, killed and destroyed more lives than Riley could count, but she had never imagined that it would be her own hand that would end his life.

  Turner stiffened as if acutely aware of danger approaching. "There are guards in the hall. Are you ready for this?"

  She nodded and he released her, moving to pick up her father's discarded weapon. They would no longer be able to use her as leverage, not after she'd killed the one man who had kept her alive. They would have to fight their way out.

  "Fuck," Turner's gaze seesawed between the two doors. "Get behind me."

  Both doors flew open and multiple gunmen filed in. Turner kept his weapon raised, but there was no way he could fight them all off. Their backs were to the wall, her father's body a hedge between them and the guards.

  "Put your weapon down." It was an older man that spoke, his voice grizzly, eyes sharp and pointed on Turner.

  Turner growled. "Step aside and drop your weapons, unless you want to see your entrails hanging from the fucking ceiling."

  Pure terror washed over Riley, not for herself, but for Turner. She knew without a doubt that he would fight to his very last breath to protect her, and there was no way in hell he would win this fight.

  The scientist who had administered Turner's lumbar puncture stepped into the room and addressed the senior guard. "Circe wants to speak to"—he nodded at Turner—"him."

  The guard's brows drew down in a deep frown. He glanced back at Turner and scowled. "Put your weapon down now."

  "Get out of our way." Turner's voice rumbled with a growl. His words were laced with enough primal power that she saw the guards hesitate and shift uncomfortably, but their weapons remained trained on him.

  Riley placed her hand on his back, and swore she could feel the lion vibrating underneath his skin. "You can't win this."

  "She's right, son." The guards parted, allowing a middle-aged woman to enter the room. She wore a black pantsuit and her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her silvery blue eyes glanced briefly at the lifeless body, then locked on Turner.

  Riley's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the woman from the picture in Turner's living room. A shiver raced across Riley's flesh.

  "Put the gun down, Turner," the woman said softly, dangerously.

  Turner lowered his gun slowly as his mouth dropped open and he shivered visibly. "Mother?"

  The woman's smile was a cruel shadow of motherly affection. "It's good to see you again, son."

  Chapter 20

  Turner reached for Riley's hand, tightening his grip when he felt his own confusion and fear mirrored in her thoughts. As much as he wanted to comfort her, he couldn't stop his own body from shaking. What the fuck was going on?

  The woman who wore his mother's face took a small step forward. "I'm sorry that I had to come to you like this, but when my men alerted me about what happened"—she looked down at Boyd's body and gave a sympathetic shake of her head—"I knew I could no longer prolong our reunion."

  Turner opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say? He pulled Riley closer.

  His mother raised her hand. "Lower your weapons gentlemen. My son poses no threat." Her blue eyes locked securely on Turner. It was more of a question than a statement.

  He gave a brief nod and the guards lowered their weapons. Chills raced over his skin, his muscles tightened, and he fought back the emotions building in his chest. His mother was alive. But not just alive, she was somehow connected to the man he had been hunting down for years. The man Turner believed had abducted and killed her.

  "What are you doing here?" The question fell from his lips before he could stop it, his fingers tightening on the weapon in his hand.

  For a brief moment, her expression turned fierce, then softened once again. "There will be time for questions and answers later. Come," she held her hand out to Riley, her countenance almost motherly, but the mechanical tone in her voice made the hairs on the back of Turner's neck stand on end. "You poor thing. You must be beside yourself with grief. Let us clean you up and then we can get better acquainted."

  A faint whimper sounded in Riley's throat. She glanced up at him, her eyes large and glassy. What's going on?

  I have no fucking clue. And he didn't, but he knew he had to get Riley out of the room and away from her father's body. He could feel her fading fast and was surprised her knees hadn't given out on her already.

  Keeping Riley secured to his side, he allowed his mother to guide them out of the room. A million questions raced through his mind, but he couldn't think of one logical explanation that would explain what his mother was doing with Boyd.

  Circe. The guards had called her by the alias. An alias that suggested that she was somehow responsible for the recent random shiftings. It wasn't possible. Was it? He glanced sideways at the woman he had called mother, and an ache started in his chest.

  She was older than he remembered. There were lines around her eyes and mouth, and her dark hair was laced with threads of silver, but it was the same face that had comforted him as a child, and yet there was a darkness behind her eyes he had never noticed before—maybe it had always been there and he'd just never wanted to see it.

  "Here we are." His mother placed a manicured hand on Riley's arm as one of the guards opened the door to a large bedroom suite. "Go rest. We'll talk more at dinner."

  Riley looked up at him, her face tight with grief and indecision.

  "I'm staying with her," Turner said.

  He could see the disapproval in the woman's eyes, but she merely smiled and tilted her head. "I'll have someone come for you when dinner is ready."

  Turner shivered at the weight of her stare. "Thank you."

  A thin smile stretched across her face, she nodded then turned, leaving behind two men to guard the door.

  Riley let go of his hand and moved silently into the room, leaving him staring after his mother's retreating form. There was a small piece of him that wanted to trail after her. After so many years, he didn't want to lose sight of her, in cas
e she disappeared again. But Riley needed him, and he was honest with himself that he needed her too. His mother was right, there would be time for answers—he'd make sure of it.

  Turner snarled at the guards, satisfaction forming in his chest as he sensed their fear and the faint scent of urine as he passed by. He slammed the door, shoved the deadbolt into place, and let out a harsh breath.

  Despite the intensity of his own emotions, he was keenly aware of the despair and fear that raged inside Riley. She sat crumpled on the edge of the bed. He placed the weapon he carried on a side table and strode towards her. The desire to protect her, to soothe her pain, overriding his own needs.

  In one swift movement, he scooped her up, and carried her to the bathroom. He'd get his answers, but first he needed to take care of his mate.

  Chapter 21

  "What are you doing?" Riley's body was limp against his, her voice a shell of what it normally was.

  Turner kissed her forehead, and focused on using what little energy he had left to wrap her in a cocoon of warmth. She moaned against his chest, burying her face in his shirt.

  "Getting you cleaned up, sweetheart." He turned on the shower and let the water warm as he undressed her. He watched her face, and spoke softly as he discarded his own clothes. It didn't matter the words he spoke, just that he continued to connect with her so that she didn't shut down completely.

  He lifted her into the oversized shower, and she let out a soft whimper as the warm spray of water cascaded over their bodies. Turner scrubbed the dried blood from her hands and arms and the water at their feet turned pink.

  Despite the heat, she shivered against him. She looked up at him, green eyes haunted, and he felt his chest tighten. He brushed the damp, red hair away from her face. She still hadn't cried, and it scared the shit out of him.

  "You can let go now," he said softly, running his thumb along her cheek. "I've got you."

  She closed her eyes and let out a long, quivering sigh. "He's really dead."

  Turner nodded.