The Implosion

by Debra Kayn

  He couldn't send the woman down the mountain and trust her to get a message to one of Avery Falls Motorcycle Club members for him.

  Though, the ATV sitting outside gave him hope. He wouldn't chance going down the mountain on foot. Despite his speed and endurance, he was at a disadvantage to anyone in a car or on two and four wheels.

  He could take the ATV and go to Avery Falls during the night. His enhanced vision would allow him to see through the darkness and navigate down the mountain.

  He'd need to leave the woman here.

  As his plan formulated in his head, he rummaged through the rest of the woman's bags. It was hours until he'd be able to make the trek.

  He pulled out a sweatshirt, tossing it to the side. She'd need that at night. The Bitterroot Mountains grew cold as soon as the sun went down.

  Finding a bra, he rubbed the material between his thumb and index finger. Too stretchy. Too soft.

  At the bottom of the pack, he found a canvas raincoat and pulled it out. Using the sharp stone pounded into the logs on the back wall, he ripped into the material, making several strips.

  The shuffling of her sneakers against the dusty, dirty floor alerted him to her movements. Without stopping, he said, "You can't escape. I've taken the key to the ATV. It's on the bed. You can try to grab it and run, but I'd catch you."

  "What do you want from me."

  He gathered all the strips of material and approached her. She backed away from him until she hit the wall of the cabin.

  "I don't want anything from you." He grabbed her wrist, wrapping the material around her fragile limb, then picked up her other hand. She pulled, trying to jerk away from him, but his much larger hands made it easy to hold her still. "I need to use your ATV."

  "You can have it. Take it. Go." She whimpered, struggling against his hold. "Please, don't tie me up."

  "I can't do that." He pulled her bound wrists, leading her to the bed, and pushed her down until her ass hit the make-shift mattress. Pulling her arms above her head, he tied her to the wood frame. Once he had her stretched out and secured, he moved to the foot of the bed and repeated the knots around her ankles, locking each foot to the frame. "I'll leave once it gets dark and be back after I finish what I need to do."

  "You can't leave me here." She strained against the bindings. "Nobody will find me."

  He glanced down at her. She wasn't one of the participants in the project. He should've put extra clothes on her. She was too frail to survive the extremes. With her hands tied, she wouldn't be able to cover herself with the extra clothes in the pack.

  She continued to beg for her release long after he stalked outside, needing to get away from her. But he couldn't ride off the mountain, yet.

  Chapter Two

  A squirrel chittered outside the cabin. Grace Lambert squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. Crying failed to help her. Fighting against the restraints only hurt her wrists and ankles. Screaming for help had stolen her voice.

  She clung to the hope her sister, Amelia, would call the RV park when Grace's expected check-in call never came, and someone in this God-forsaken town would send out a search party for her.

  Never in her six years of being a professional wildlife photographer had she ever walked into danger.

  Even when the grizzly bear in Northwest Montana circled her for six hours before finally wandering off and leaving her to make it back to her campsite in the dark hadn't scared her as much as stumbling upon a giant naked man in the forest.

  Renewing her fight to get free, she strained against the bindings, putting all her strength behind the effort to escape. Her head pounded, and she collapsed against the bed.

  She was on top of tree branches. Probably bug-infested and a breeding ground for ticks.

  Her skin crawled, sending a shiver down her spine and through her limbs. Closing her eyes again, she fought, wanting to go to sleep. She was exhausted.

  But every time she closed her eyes, she could see the man who'd kidnapped her.

  At first, she thought all those books she poured through each night had her imagining a mountain man. He had longer hair than her, and his beard hung low, covering half of his chest. An extremely broad, solid chest.

  What kind of man lived in the mountains in a falling-down cabin? Naked?

  Unashamed and threatening, he'd walked around the cabin as if he strode in front of strangers naked every day.

  And, he wasn't a normal-sized man.

  At twenty-six years old, she'd seen her share of naked men. Thanks to a three-month excursion to Playa Zipolite in Oaxaca, Mexico, with her sister for a paid gig to photograph the mysterious margay, she'd witnessed many nudists.

  Men came in all sizes and shapes, rarely making her take a second look.

  The man who'd kidnapped her was part...she had no idea what nationality he was, but his cock was humongous. And he'd stayed flaccid. Thank God.

  The squirrel chittered louder. She groaned and yelled, "Oh, my God. Shut up, already."

  One thing she'd discovered early on during her time spent in the Bitterroot Mountains, the noises of nature amplified the farther she got away from civilization.

  Silence once again filled the cabin. Unable to think despite the break from the squirrel, her thoughts beat inside her head, making her nauseous.

  What was she going to do if no one found her? How long would she survive?

  He'd left her bags pressed against the side of her leg. Yet, she couldn't loosen her hands and grab them. There were packages of nuts and water bottles in the duffle she always carried with her if she got lost or delayed. The supplies would nourish her for two days, maybe four.

  But she hadn't planned on staying in the woods. She wanted to go back to her tent.

  She strained against the bindings. She wanted to go home. She wanted her sister. She wanted to get the hell out of Avery Falls.

  Coming here was a mistake.

  Everything from the moment a man paid her in cash, through the mail, to get pictures of the elusive Pekania pennanti, also known as a fisher in the Bitterroot Mountains, and her rugged trip up the mountain, reinstated the fact that she should've turned down the job.

  Usually, Amelia traveled with her if she went to a remote location. But her sister recently had the cast removed after breaking her ankle while on a date with a man who decided to take her white-water rafting. There was no way her sister could've kept up with her, slugging through the forest.

  The cash she'd received, with the promise of doubling that amount if she brought back documentation on the fisher, was too much to turn down. She and Amelia had talked about getting out of the condominium they'd mortgaged together when interest rates were sky high and buying a house within the year now that rates were low. The profits from the condo, if it managed to sell, wouldn't be enough with how much they still owed. They needed more money.

  Wanting to go back to her safe life in Canyon Beach, Oregon, she gathered all her strength and yanked her legs, trying to raise her knees. Her stomach strained, burning from exertion, and a muscle spasm gripped her middle. She cried out, trying not to give up hope of breaking free.

  If she managed to escape, she'd walk down the mountain in the dark, even if it took a week. She had bear mace in her pack.

  God, she should've had the mace in her hand when she stopped at the cabin. She would've sprayed it in the man's face.

  Her gaze went to above the door. The mountain man had left the Personal Location Beacon she'd rented from The Shack. She could get help if she could break free.

  She needed to leave before the man came back. A shiver ran through her, and goosebumps broke out along her arms. He would've scared her fully clothed.

  Naked, he terrified her.

  Chapter Three

  Keenan broke through the surface of the St. Joe River and gazed around in the dark as he floated with the current, getting his bearings. Two hundred yards ahead of him, the bridge at the west end of town darkened the horizon. He let the water take him th
e rest of the distance.

  He could've got out of the river at the RV Park and searched out Hank, one of the originals in the Alpha Bio Project, and his MC brother, but there were too many people around. It was safer to meet with Trip.

  Retirement from the project had distanced Trip from the controller. He no longer had daily contact with the handlers. He'd put his family first in his life and remained a loyal member of Avery Falls Motorcycle Club.

  At least that was what he'd witnessed last year. He hoped Trip was still free.

  Under the bridge, he flipped to his front and swam with strong strokes toward the bank. He reached the rocks underneath the deck, hanging over the river, and stood, navigating through the darkness.

  The cold failed to penetrate his skin. He shook his head, dispelling the water from his hair and beard as he climbed up the bank and pulled himself up and over the railing.

  "Trip, brother, I hope to fuck you can hear me." He fell back into speaking under his breath, knowing if Trip still retained his enhancements, he'd hear him.

  The sliding door off the kitchen opened, and Trip stepped onto the deck. Keenan soaked in someone as familiar to him as himself.

  Trip, along with the other five originals of the AB Project, had been there through every training session, every shock treatment, every drug-induced mind play spanning over two decades.

  Trip kept his distance. "You're supposed to be dead."

  The originals knew the project had enhanced them for the sole purpose of using them as killers in the future. They lived each day under the threat of an upcoming switch—a simple command that would order them to kill, be killed, or take their own life.

  When he'd regained consciousness and found himself alone in the mountains, he believed he was dead and experiencing the afterlife. That's what the controller had drilled into his head. Except, death wasn't like he'd imagined.

  The switch wasn't pain-free.

  He was alert for every criminalizing second.

  For months, he battled with taking his own life to stop the misery happening to him. He found out what kind of man he was before he joined the project. He lived through every experience, every hardship, every painful existence he'd already lived through.

  "I'm alive." His voice broke, still unfamiliar with talking. He'd lived too long on his own, in silence.

  "I have to let the others know." Trip stepped forward, standing in front of Keenan, and put his hand against his chest. "Jesus." He raised his gaze and looked Keenan in the eyes. "How can you be here?"

  "I'll explain later." He grabbed Trip's hand, clutching him. "You can't let the handlers or the controller know I'm still alive or I'm here in Avery Falls."

  "Where are you?"

  "Can I trust you, brother?"

  Trip dipped his chin. "Always."

  "You'll keep this secret?"

  Trip let go of him, glanced behind him. "Bonnie's awake. Let me take care of her so we can talk."

  He slipped back into the shadows of the deck as Trip went inside and shut the door. He could hear everything.

  "What are you doing outside?" said Bonnie.

  "Getting some fresh air."

  "Mm." Bonnie kissed Trip. "Nothing takes you out of my bed but your club."

  "I'm just enjoying the night air. Why don't you hop back in bed? I'll be inside in a minute."

  "Okay." Bonnie paused. "Whichever biker you're talking to, let them know it's the middle of the night. They should be sleeping, too."

  Keenan turned from the house and leaned his elbows against the railing. Trip hadn't told Bonnie he was here but hadn't denied he was talking to someone from the motorcycle club. Obviously, Trip getting up in the middle of the night to deal with club business happened often not to raise Bonnie's alarms.

  He'd missed out on a year of his life. In that time, things could've changed within the club. Not to mention, the town. He had no idea who still lived here or if the tourism business continued to support the club.

  The controller probably brought in more men, graduating them to the MC after their training.

  The number of people he trusted dwindled until he had only the originals to rely on. To the others that'd come after him, he was the outsider now.

  He grabbed onto the railing, prepared to propel himself over the edge, and slip back into the water. The information he held couldn't escape the safety net around him.

  The glass sliding door opened, stopping him from disappearing into the night.

  "Stay. She'll give us privacy," said Trip.

  He straightened and faced Trip. "I'll need to go back soon. Every second I'm here, I risk the knowledge of my freedom getting back to the controller."

  Trip set a pile of clothes on the rail. "They should fit you."

  Knowing he'd need to swim upstream to where he left the ATV outside of town, he would make better time going naked. But if any of the campers, awake before the sun rose, spotted him, being naked would alert them to something going on. If he were clothed, they'd more than likely shrug off what they seen as an illusion of their drunken night.

  "I'll get you a pair of boots," said Trip.

  "No need. This will do." He pulled on a T-shirt.

  Having material against his skin seemed like a luxury. He'd grown used to being naked. Slipping on the jeans, he tucked his cock in and fastened the waist. He brought his leg up, stretching the fabric, feeling confined and not looking forward to swimming with clothes on.

  "You don't need to leave. You can stay here. You'll be safe." Trip crossed his arms.

  "I'm not safe anywhere. They think I'm dead."

  "Shit has gone down since you've been gone. The project is over. Nobody has been around in over a week. They blew up Sether mountain. The cave is gone."

  Keena cocked his head. "When?"

  "Last week." Trip inhaled deeply. "Today's our first day without our allotment of drugs."

  At the mention of drugs, Keenan's spine stiffened. "I haven't had anything since I've been gone."

  "Eleven months, sixteen days," whispered Trip. "We thought you were dead."

  "I thought the same thing until I became aware I was butt-naked and still breathing." He studied Trip, unsure how much he should say. "I've been close this entire time."

  "You never contacted anyone?" Trip stepped away and leaned against the railing. "What's going on?"

  "You tell me." He joined him at the edge of the deck. "Where are they? You said there was no project, no drugs. Is there training?"

  "Only what the originals continue to do with the members." Trip stared down into the water. "We don't know what the fuck we're doing. Prez is worried about the others and his ability to control the members if we don't receive the drugs. AFMC could have a revolt on their hands. We won't be able to protect the originals if one hundred and twenty members decide to take us out."

  He rubbed his hands over his face, more confused than before he showed up. "They'll remember."

  "Remember what?"

  "Their past." Keenan leaned closer. "Without the drugs, they'll start remembering little snatches of their life before the program."

  Trip faced him. "You remember?"

  Paranoid he'd said too much, he backed up. "I need to get back."

  "You should stay here. Your house. Your bike. Everything is here."

  "Not yet." He hopped over the rail.

  "How are you here? Weren't you switched?" Trip leaned closer. "What do you know?"

  He understood Trip's curiosity. They'd all lived with the knowledge that once switched, it was the end of their life. But more changes were going to come to each of them.

  Keenan clasped Trip's hand. "I want to talk to Prez. Can you bring him to me?"

  "Where?"

  "I'll let you know." He let go and dropped down, landing on the uneven, rocky riverbank below the deck.

  Slipping into the water, he stroked, arm over arm, against the current, keeping to the side of the river. The physical exertion kept his thoughts in line. He'd learne
d enough from Trip to confuse him.

  It'd always been his goal, along with the originals, to lead a strong, loyal motorcycle club.

  He knew by going through the switch on his own that handling a hundred and twenty men going off their schedule of drugs would bring about changes that were impossible to control.

  Remembering his past was more damaging than the act of the switch. He wasn't sure he could trust himself.

  Chapter Four

  The man shoved a piece of meat in her face. Grace leaned back, not wanting anything he gave her.

  He shrugged and set the meat back in a hole in the ground, covering it with a square piece of metal. She rubbed her wrists. There was food in her pack, but she wasn't going to get it out when he was watching her.

  If she were careful, her supplies would last her a few days once she escaped. She refused to share and wouldn't take the chance that he'd steal the food from her.

  She eyed his broad back. To her surprise, he'd returned fully clothed, minus shoes, a couple of hours ago as daylight broke into the cabin and promptly untied her from the bed.

  She moistened her lips, wanting to know when he planned to let her leave but thought better of asking. He shouldn't be making choices for her or holding her prisoner.

  "I'm leaving," she blurted. "You can have the ATV."

  Surely, The Shack had insurance to cover stolen rentals. Hell, she'd pay for the stupid vehicle with the money she received in advance for the job if it meant she could get out of Avery Falls and go home to Canyon Beach.

  "You're staying with me."

  "Why?" She stood, wincing at the soreness in her legs and ankles from struggling to get loose all night. "What do you want from me?"

  "I don't know yet." He held up a bone and tore the meat off with his teeth. "I need to make another trip off the mountain."

  "So, go."

  "Not yet."

  She stopped holding her wrists, deciding that he wasn't keeping her here because he planned to rape her. "Then, when?"