Strange Case, an Urban Fantasy (Hyde Book III)

by Lauren Stewart

  “How was it?” Whittley asked calmly.

  “How was what?”

  “You reek of sex.”

  Yeah, that was one of the best parts—a little reminder. “It was fantastic, thanks for asking. Plan on doing it again as soon as we finish talking.”

  “It’s making me nauseous.”

  “I felt the same way as soon as I saw you.” Mitch pulled the chain to close the door almost all the way. It was dark, but he could see what he needed to. And he knew Whittley could as well…or better.

  When the truck started moving, Mitch braced himself with both hands. Since Whittley was tied to the chair and the chair was tottering back and forth with every bump, Mitch considered helping him out. By the time he made a decision about it, Whittley was already on his side on the floor. Which was fine because Mitch’s decision was not to help.

  “Ooh. That looked like it hurt.”

  “What do you want?” Whittley snapped.

  “Just checking in.” He moved so that he could see the bastard’s face, tilting his head so they were at the same angle. “Making sure she hasn’t killed you yet.”

  “She won’t kill me.”

  “You sound awfully confident for a guy chained to a chair.”

  “You would know.”

  “Yeah. Thanks to you and the rest of the gang, I know all about it.”

  “She’s not going to kill me because I have all the answers.”

  Mitch laughed. “Except how to get out of that chair.”

  “I have all the answers she wants.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Whittley chuckled. “You sound awfully confident for a guy who has no idea what he really is. All of these years and you still can’t control him. Not even a little bit. Your thinking is flawed, Turner—your understanding of what you are…and what he is.”

  Maybe Whittley hit his head harder than Mitch had thought because his tone was seriously arrogant, as if he was sharing the secrets of the universe. As if Mitch should be honored to hear his bullshit.

  So maybe it wasn’t bullshit.

  So Mitch would let him talk.

  “Your Hyde has power that you should be embracing, not fearing. Embracing. Accepting. You think you know him, but you don’t. You think he’s a part of you, but is apart from you. He’s not. You are him. And he is you. Good and evil don’t exist without the other. Until you understand that, your life will be just another science experiment.”

  Mitch took a moment to tuck all of that away so he could think about it later—figure out what was just arrogance and what might be based in truth.

  But before he could deal with the existential shit, he needed to deal with the lying-on-the-floor-in-front-of-him shit. “I’m sure you’re right, Whittley, but riddles give me a headache. So let’s bare bones it, shall we?” He moved closer. “The woman driving this bus is fine. She’s integrated or whatever word you guys use, so she can walk away whenever she feels like it. Leaving behind however many bodies she wants to.”

  “But she doesn’t want to leave your body behind, as screwed up as it is. You standing here breathing is all the leverage I need. How long until the J-0026 wears off, Turner? An hour? Two? Are you sure you want to spend that time with me? Maybe you should spend it convincing your girlfriend to be smart.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I should do a bunch of other things. Like laundry or grocery shopping or taking a tour of the city on a double-decker bus. And I’d kill someone for a shower. But instead of doing any of those enjoyable things, I’m here with you.” He reached into his pocket and took out the syringe. “And I have this.”

  Whittley laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m on the floor and it’s a little dark in here. So whatever you pulled out of your pocket is still a mystery to me.”

  “But you know I pulled something out of my pocket.”

  Whittley blew out a loud breath of hot air. “You didn’t have anything in your hands when you came in—it was a natural assumption.”

  “Natural for whom?” After a moment with no reply, Mitch leaned down and held the syringe two inches away from Whittley’s face. “Can you see it now?”

  “So you seize, give yourself over to him, and he kills me before I tell you anything. That’s a great plan. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. The party’s next week. Feel free to drop by if you’re still alive.” He rolled the syringe between his fingers. “But the thing is…it isn’t for me.”

  Whittley swallowed—a hard, dry, audible swallow. “What do you mean?” There was fear in his voice. Not a lot, but it was there. And it was encouraging as hell.

  “It brings a Hyde out, right? Any Hyde.” He sensed the panic bloom in Whittley. “Your Hyde.”

  If it wasn’t so dark, Mitch knew he’d see a faceful of ‘oh-fuck’. Damn, he’d really like to have an 8x10 of that. Signed, maybe. In blood.

  “How did you know?” he asked slowly.

  “What good is it to experiment on people if it holds no direct benefit to you? I’m surprised you can’t feel the push-pull thing between us. My Hyde, of course, is more sensitive to it than I am. I would’ve guessed you were just an asshole who gave off bad vibes, but he and I are closer nowadays. Eden felt it too.” But she’d taken it as some kind of twisted sexual chemistry. “I might ask your Hyde why he doesn’t like you enough to share this kind of info.”

  “He wouldn’t give you any more information than I will.”

  “That’s a theory, sure. Another theory, based on everything I know about my Hyde, is that he would do exactly the opposite of what you want him to. The bastards are really contrary, aren’t they?”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “I don’t bluff. It’s too fucking tiresome. And frankly, I’d love to meet your other half. Your better half. How long has it been since he’s come out to play, Ry?”

  Whittley turned his head away, but said nothing.

  “That’s not really fair, is it? So, we have two options. Option one: You tell me what I want to know and in a few more hours, I shove the needle into my own arm. But you might have to share your chains with him. Option two: I shoot you up now and watch you transform. Hurts like a bitch to do it awake, but it’ll be worth it. Well, he and I will think so.”

  “You can’t just pop on over to the pharmacy and get that stuff.” It wasn’t the lack of light that made Whittley squint, it was fury. The calm starting to crack. “How much do you have left? My guess is not much. Maybe even just what’s in that syringe. But even if you do have more, you’d be smart to hold onto it. Because when you seize without it, you die.”

  “Yep.” That one word held a thousand others—that Mitch was fine with whatever happened to him, that he just didn’t care anymore, that he would happily give up everything he’d regained for truth, justice, and the American way.

  Who the fuck was he kidding? He’d do it for her.

  “What do you want, Turner?”

  “You stop hunting us. You let her and the others go with as much serum as they can carry and recipes of how to make more.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Fuck no. You start by answering every question I have about your organization.” And if it lined up with what Alex told him, he’d finally have a little something to believe in.

  “I’ll let her and the others walk, but I’m not in the mood to chat.”

  “You answer my questions and I may be able to convince my girlfriend not to kill you.”

  “I thought you didn’t bluff.”

  “No bluff. What you know is the only thing that’s kept you alive this long. If you’re not going to share, then we gain nothing by keeping you alive. But the bonus of you being in the ground is that she’ll have one less obstacle to get through. One less force pushing back. And with me gone, she’ll have no reason to stick around. So it’s actually a win-win.” He shook his head. “Nah, I take that back. It’s singular. One win. For her. Because no matter what, it’s a lose-lose for us, my friend.”


  “I’m not your friend.”

  “Truer words were never spoken…by you. So what’ll it be?”

  Whittley didn’t move, not even to blink. Mitch let him stare. He let those wicked plans that were undoubtedly trying to find root in Whittley’s mind swirl for a bit. Because they wouldn’t find anything to hold onto to. Because there was no other way out. For either of them.

  If it was the last thing he did, Mitch would get some goddamn answers. This shit had gone on way too long. It was like a piece of coal squeezed so hard and so long that if Mitch didn’t end up with a diamond in his hand pretty soon, he would be bulk shopping for body bags.

  “I’m not sure how much you know about me,” Mitch said, “or how organized Jolie was with her filing. But the thing is, I am insanely impatient. Sometimes it gets so bad I eat the pizza when it’s still frozen. It’s a terrible thing, a burden I have to deal with. And unfortunately, right now you do too. So what’ll it be?”

  Nothing but silence.

  “That’s too bad. I was actually starting to like you.” He laughed. “I’m just kidding.” He whistled for effect as he went to the door to let a little more light in, but not a big enough space for the asshole and his chair to fall through. Then he dragged the chair closer to the chains attached through the floor, flipped Whittley from his side to his back, and put the big-boy cuffs around his wrists.

  The guy still looked confident, still thought he could call a bluff that didn’t exist. When Mitch closed the cuffs, he did it especially hard. So Whittley could feel the vibration, hear the horrific sound of metal on metal, of freedom and hope disappearing. He flinched, his head smacking the floor under him, his breath getting faster.

  Making sure the syringe was in a ray of sunshine, Mitch popped off the needle cover as if he were opening a bottle of beer. Whittley swallowed audibly, his face contorting in fear. Ugly. Since his arms were already bound, that puppy slipped in without any trouble at all.

  “Stop! Okay, okay,” Whittley said. “Take it out. Take it out! Please.” The last word seemed painful to even utter, as if it were tied to a lung or something, and releasing it meant losing the organ along with it.

  As much as Mitch would enjoy hearing the guy beg and beg and beg, he wanted to know why. Yeah, transforming sucked and was a real buzz-kill, but something more was going on.

  “You went from stupidly-cocky to oddly-terrified. What gives? Are you afraid of needles?”

  “I can’t… I can’t turn into him.”

  “Come on, he can’t possibly be more of an asshole than you are.”

  “It’s different for me, more dangerous. The last time I transformed, it almost— I can’t.”

  Until now, Mitch thought the guy was on the same meds Jolie had been dosing him with. But that was a stupid assumption—Whittley wouldn’t waste the good shit on someone like Mitch. The suspicion traveled down Mitch’s spine and spread into every cell of his body.

  “How long has it been, Ry?”

  It took a while, but eventually he answered. “Years.”

  Well now, that was as unexpected as it was promising. But happy reactions should be kept under wraps when negotiating with assholes. “What’s your secret? How do you stay looking so fresh and, you know, unbeastly?”

  Whittley didn’t say anything, but he looked nervous as fuck. No matter how much Eden beat him, he’d stayed calm because he knew he’d heal. But now the guy was scared to death. And death was a tough thing to come back from.

  Mitch shrugged. “No problem. I’ll ask him.” He shoved the needle a bit deeper, a reminder of where they were in the negotiations and that Whittley was losing. Badly.

  “Stop! Please. I wasn’t going to kill you.”

  “Well, duh. Of course you weren’t—you’d have gotten your suit messed up. That’s what less important people are for.”

  “Please. Take it out.” Every word was stiff, awkward, scared shitless—something Mitch really wanted Eden to hear. It was proof that things might be turning around for them soon. But he wasn’t going to start counting chickens yet.

  “Only one way to make it come out,” Mitch said. “Your call.” He waited for…nothing. “You can stay in here for another day and a half if you want to, but—”

  “How long have I been here?” he asked so quickly his words blended together. “How long was that bitch beating me?”

  Mitch slapped his own legs and hung onto his jeans to immobilize his hands. If he couldn’t handle a little name-calling, he’d lose the ground he had. He was too close to the inside of this asshole’s head to have a bad reaction blow it apart. He needed to wait a while before that could happen.

  “Jesus, Ry, when you say things like that, it makes me think you don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “How long?”

  Would anything be lost by telling the truth? Mitch didn’t think so. When you’re fucking with someone, you stick to the truth as much as possible. That way there are fewer opportunities for your opponent to figure out you’re lying, and the more likely he’ll be to trust all the things you’re actually lying about.

  “It’s been about three hours since you called me. What were you telling me before Eden took you down? Something about getting her into bed in five minutes, right? Boy, were you off on that one. You got both the timing and the activity completely wrong.”

  “That’s not…I can’t.” Whittley’s self-destruct button had just been pressed, but Mitch had no idea how he’d done it. “I need to—” His exhalation shook his entire body, hopefully a sign that he was about to give up. “The stuff I take, it’s…it’s not a cure.” His fear was encompassing—a control freak dealing with something uncontrollable. At least not here.

  “Okay.” Mitch knew how badly transforming sucked, how sickening it felt to know it was coming but there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. He waited for more. “This is getting old, so if that’s all you got…”

  “It’s the same thing that Eden’s handler was giving her—J-0026. But I inject it and the dose is higher because Hydes work a little differently. Injected every four days, just before he’s due. My Hyde. Just before my Hyde is due.” He looked like he was forcing down eggs he knew were rotten.

  “Nice try, asshole. But I already tried a larger dose and all it did was give Hyde a four-to-twenty-four hour break and give me a seizure. Which is why I carry”—he wiggled the needle around—“this shit around with me.”

  “What you took was wrong. The dose has to be exactly right or it does more harm than good.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.”

  “And there’s more to it than just the drug. For us. For Hydes.”

  “Like what?”

  He didn’t answer right away which gave Mitch the impression that whatever he said next would either be an outright lie or incredibly misleading.

  “I don’t even know if it will work for you. You’re past the point most of us have ever been.”

  “Okay, then when I try it, I’ll make sure my fingers are crossed.” Holy shit. Was this it? The answer? Fifteen years of transformations. Fifteen years of being drugged with something that only reduced them to every five weeks. But to never transform again, to never be in another cage or be cuffed, to never fear what your own body might do...

  Mitch was speechless for a moment, overwhelmed for another.

  You don’t have fuck-all yet, asshole. Stop counting the goddamn chickens. “Dosage?”

  “It has to be exact, which is why I don’t mix it myself. So I can’t give you numbers.” It made sense—Whittley was the kind of man who saw himself as a thinker and saw other people as lower beings who were there to do everything for him. It must take a lot of time and focus to concoct evil plans and figure out ways to screw with people.

  “Who made it for you?”

  “Lou Bradford.”

  “You know he’s dead, right? And I believe that was your fault.”

  “Not mine, but it doesn’t matter.” His eyes never left the syringe
sticking out of his arm. “I have some left. Not a lot but some. The rest was…lost. I’m working on another source, but I have to be alive to do that.”

  “Who’s the other source?”

  “No one you know. She doesn’t even know anything about it yet, and it will take her some time to get up to speed.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with the promotion. But back to your current supply—how are you about sharing?”

  “Normally, not good. But if you take out the needle and let me go, I’ll give you a full syringe.”

  Sure, he would. Place your bets now, people. Would it be a syringeful of Drano or something even less pleasant?

  “Thing is,” Mitch said, “in addition to the patience problem, I have trust issues. I’m working on it, but these things take time. And until then, I can’t help thinking that you’re setting me up for something worse than you’ve already set me up for. So…I’m going to have to keep you here for a bit longer.”

  “You can’t. I need it.”

  “Said every junkie ever.”

  “I need to inject myself in about four hours, or I’ll turn.”

  “Dang, that sucks…for you. Thankfully, I’ve made my peace with it.”

  “I’ll give you the drug. Take me to my office, and I’ll inject myself in front of you so you’ll know it isn’t poison. You can leave with the rest of the vial. You took some of the J-0026 from Florida, right? With a sample, any good chemist can figure out the ratio and duplicate it. Then everyone’s happy.”

  Happy. Not exactly the word he would use. “Maybe.”

  “‘Maybe’ isn’t good enough.”

  “Neither is any answer you’ve given me. Tell you what, I need a few hours to think about it. No more than five though.”

  “I’ll tell you where your friend is.”

  “Thanks, but I know where my friends are.” Because there weren’t that many to keep track of.

  “How is your ex-detective-friend about answering his phone?”

  Mitch shoved back, leaving the syringe sticking out of Whittley’s arm. “If he doesn’t pick up, you have just made things ten times worse for yourself, asshole.” He yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed Landon’s number.