Rook and Ronin Company Box Set: Books 6-9 (JA Huss Box Set Series Order Book 2)

by JA Huss

  She’s very dark. Illegitimate daughter of a US senator. Hidden away, either to keep her safe or to keep Channing safe. Or maybe she’s just always been a pawn? Isn’t that why the illegitimate ones go missing? To use them later? By either side. I have to admit, I have not thought about the Company in a very long time. I know Channing was a part of that secret organization set up to run the global economy. And I know that makes Sydney a Company kid, even if Channing was never married to her mother. And I know all that shit with Sasha eight years ago was Company business too. Hell, if Sash wasn’t on my side, I’d take her out as well. What she knows, what she can do—that shit is scary as fuck. But we took care of them. You can’t shut down a global organization with one attack, we knew that, but we took out the highest people in the organization.

  But people got away. Not everyone died that night. James had a brother who was not at all interested in leaving his prime position in the Company. They had a father too. Still alive as far as I know.

  Harper had a brother as well. And I’m sure nothing that happened to him since that day has been easy. Not in a you’re-my-prisoner-and-I-own-you kind of way, like I have going here with Sydney. But in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for way that turns a perfect hostage situation into a Die Hard action film.

  And Sasha. We killed her uncle that night, but he was inconsequential. The last of her real family died the year before. But there are others. Low-level scum existing around the frayed edges of the organization.

  So no. We didn’t get them all. Some of them got away. And some of them have agendas, I’m sure. But Sydney is part of something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet. I need more time. Because I know I’m on to something. I know I’m getting close to something. But most of all, I know I’m missing something.

  And isn’t that ironic? I ask myself as I look across the flames to her perfect naked body. It glows a warm shade of gold from the low fire. Isn’t it ironic that this girl and I have something in common?

  Things are missing.

  She lets out a long breath and turns over on her stomach, inching a little too close to the fire for my liking. I don’t need her rolling over into the flames while she sleeps. And I’m too damn tired to stay awake and babysit her.

  So I push the button on the wall and the metal plate slides back down. It makes a little noise as it hits the stone that it didn’t make when it went up, and I wonder if that woke her.

  I listen for a noise on the other side of the fireplace, but there’s nothing. So I go back over to the couch and pull the bearskin rug over top of me.

  Something is not right about this.

  Something is very, very wrong.

  Later I wake. The fire is down and it’s cold in here. I get up and throw a few logs on, then go piss in the bathroom.

  I bet that bitch needs to pee. Probably shit too. I zip up my fly and walk over to the door that leads to the utility room that leads to the prisoner’s room. I knock.

  “What?” she says from the other side of the door.

  “I know you untied yourself. Move away from the door, to the far corner. Then call out once you’re sitting down so I know where you’re at.”

  I half expect an argument. Surely she must be thinking she has the upper hand right now. She got out of her bindings and there were no immediate consequences.

  But that’s not because I’m going soft. It’s because those consequences are about to upend her world. My words will ruin her life.

  And I can’t wait.

  “Ready,” she calls.

  I open the door and flick the switch on the wall since I don’t have my night vision on. She throws up a hand to cover her face, blinded.

  “Stand up, walk over here, and get on your knees in front of me.”

  “I can’t see,” she says.

  “You’ll manage.”

  She crawls over instead, looking down at the floor to keep the light out of her eyes. Her long hair sways across the concrete, picking up bits of dust as she goes. When she gets to my feet she kneels and sits back on her butt. But she never lifts her eyes.

  Her breasts are a nice size. Not too big, but certainly not small. Somehow she has positioned her hair so that once again it drapes over her nipples, shielding herself from me. She clasps her hands in her lap and bows her head as she waits.

  It’s not what I expected. I expected more of a fighter, to be honest. Company kids, even the hidden ones, tend to be violent when pushed. But if what I think about her situation is true, then it might all make sense.

  “Do you remember what happened last night?”

  “You raped my mouth,” she says back without emotion.

  “No,” I laugh. “That’s absolutely not what happened.”

  “I was under duress.” And now she does lift her head. And she doesn’t even squint as the light hits her eyes. They are not as dark as I thought. In fact, they are a lot like mine. She blinks as I stare at her. Mine might be more yellow than green, but hers are more green than yellow. “And I know more about you than you know about me. I know you’re a genius. Recruited to computer science at Stanford at sixteen. You turned them down. MIT at seventeen for robotics. Turned them down. And at your high-school graduation in Boston, no fewer than sixteen colleges and universities from around the world showed up to offer you a spot. And you turned them all down to join the army as an enlisted man.”

  I smirk at her. “Someone in this room has a stalker, Sydney. But it’s not me.”

  “Ha. Ha,” she says back. “My point is, I know you’re a smart man, Merric Case, AKA Merc. AKA Number… wait, what number did they give you again? Oh, yeah, you never really had one. They lied. You were only on the job so they could keep tabs on you and get you to kill off as many Company kids as—”

  I slap her across the face and she goes reeling. She hits the floor so hard for a moment I think I cracked her teeth. “Get to the point, bitch.”

  She looks up at me again, blood coming out of her mouth. “You raped me. You know you raped me. And I’ll sit here and lie to you all you want. Tell you everything you want to hear. But you raped me.”

  “You said yes. You said, ‘Fuck me.’”

  “I said, ‘Fuck me then. Or kill me. I don’t really care. Do whatever you want.’”

  I reach down and grab her arm, then pull her up to her feet, making her stand naked before me in the light. If she’s embarrassed, she doesn’t show it. “Then you shouldn’t have said it, wildcat. Because I take everyone at their word.”

  She wants to growl at me for using that word, I can tell. But she can’t. And I know why she can’t. Maybe she knows too, or maybe she doesn’t know. No difference. I’m about to find out one way or another. “Hush,” I say. She stares up at me and her scowl softens. “Do you know what that means?”

  “It means shut up.”

  “Hush,” I say again. And this time she squints her eyes in confusion. “How about now?” She puts one hand over her stomach, like she feels sick, while the other one comes up to push against her temple. I have syringes in my pocket—low-dosage sedation to keep her calm, but not put her out. More than one, just in case the dose is too low or I need more time.

  “Wildcat,” I say. She blinks and appears confused. I check her compliance. “Give me your arm.”

  She looks up at me, still fighting, but she’s losing. She’s lost, actually. “Hush,” I say one more time, and there it is. She presents me with her arm like a gift. I grab hold of her bicep and squeeze tighter than is probably necessary. She holds still this time. But I’m not convinced this isn’t all an act. I jab her with the needle and push the plunger until the drugs empty into her muscle.

  It’s gonna take a while. So I lead her over to the fireplace and lay her down. She does not move.

  I walk back outside the room, flip open the fireplace partition, and then return, turning off the light and closing the door behind me. She’s still on the rug, facing the flames. “Does it feel good?” I ask her.

  S
he doesn’t answer. I tug my shirt over my head and lie down on the rug next to her, pulling her into my arms and holding her close. She sighs.

  Fucking women are so easy. So weak when it comes to men. I’ve always had this advantage. I’ve yet to have a woman turn me down for a good hard fuck.

  I’m dangerous. I’m big in every way that counts. And I’ve got moves that will make them beg me for more while cursing my name.

  I palm Sydney’s breast. It’s firm, but squishy. Not fake. But they are near perfect in my eyes. How she got away with never sleeping with that husband-to-be of hers is beyond me. If she was mine, I’d just take her ass. Literally and figuratively.

  “Let’s start at the beginning, Sydney. OK?”

  She nods against my chest.

  “Only this time, cowgirl, I’m gonna tell you what happened and you’re going to listen. OK?”

  “OK,” she says back.

  Chapter Thirteen - Sydney

  “Compassion sends mixed signals. If it’s real, it can lead to survival. Just be damn sure it’s real.”- Sydney

  Am I awake?

  “Are you awake?” he asks me back. Only I didn’t think I was talking.

  Do you read minds?

  “Do you read minds?”

  I blink as I stare at the fire. Am I alone?

  “You’re not alone, Sydney. I’m right here. Feel me?” He takes my hand and tugs my arm at a weird angle behind my back until I feel skin. But not my skin. “I asked you a question, Sydney. Do you feel me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He leans into my neck. I’m on the floor. No. A rug. In front of a fire. I stare at the dancing flames. He’s behind me and we’re naked. No. He’s got jeans on. “Do you know where you are?”

  I do.

  “Sydney. I’m not going to ask every question twice, so answer me the first time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the hush.” Wait. What?

  “What’s the hush?”

  That’s a good question.

  His hand wraps around my throat and squeezes until I cough. “No second chances, Sydney. Pay close attention to me. Tell me what the hush is.”

  “The quiet place. That’s where I meet him.”

  “Who?” His tone has changed. It’s more urgent now. He squeezes my throat again, only this time he doesn’t stop until my head falls forward and I’m gasping for air instead of coughing.

  “Garrett,” I say, taking a long draw of air. “My neck is burning.” I try to reach up and massage it, but Case grabs my hand tightly and puts it back on his stomach, still at that weird angle that stretches my shoulder enough to make it painful because of the wound that hasn’t healed yet.

  “Your neck is burning because I choked the breath out of you. It’s a way to keep you focused. How did Garrett keep you focused?”

  “Fishing,” I say. “And camping.”

  “No, Sydney. That’s not how he did it.”

  “He made me so happy.”

  Case draws in a long breath behind me, blowing it out over my neck. It feels good. “I’m gonna tell you what Garrett really did, Sydney. And you’re going to listen very carefully as I explain. And then you’re gonna tell me if I’m right. Do you understand?”

  “You killed him. You took him away from me.”

  “I wish.” Case laughs. And that laugh scares me. My legs begin to tremble and my shoulder is on fire. “That night at the cabin when I said I owned you. Do you remember that night?”

  “Yes. Garrett saved me from you.” Case mumbles out some words behind me, but I don’t catch them. “What?”

  “He didn’t save you. The helicopter did. And if my friend hadn’t been in trouble I’d have finished. There was no saving you that night, let’s just get that straight right now. Because this is what happened, Sydney. He drugged you. He took you somewhere far away from other people. And he brainwashed you.”

  I stare at the flames and think about this.

  “Do you know what he did in the army, Sydney?”

  “Garrett was in the army?” I try to picture Garrett as a patriot, but that just makes me laugh.

  The hand is around my throat again, but I struggle against Case this time. I wiggle free of his grasp and lean my head into the rug as I catch my breath again. “Stop it,” I say.

  “Pay attention. And answer my question.”

  I nod my head, but it’s very heavy. My head is spinning, but it’s weird. Not the same as before. “I don’t know what he did in the army.”

  “He was a PSYOP specialist, Sydney. Do you know what they do?”

  “No.” I answer quickly now. I get it. Case has got something to say and he just wants to talk. My job is to listen and answer his questions.

  I can do that.

  “They fuck with people’s heads. They learn lots of ways to influence people into doing what they want. Some call it torture. Some call it interrogation. I did this too, Sydney. That’s how I have you in this cabin right now. That’s how I’ve managed to kill more people than I can even count. That’s how I get away when others get caught.”

  I don’t have anything to say to this, so I stay silent.

  “Garrett’s been working you since that day he took you from the cabin eight years ago. Maybe before that too. He drugged you. Took you away, fucked with your head, and made you into his little slave.”

  My mind spins again and I try to get up. But Case’s arms are all the way around me now, hugging me to his chest tightly. “Hush,” he says.

  I do hush. I quiet right down.

  “That’s your trigger word. And wildcat wasn’t a nickname, was it?”

  “No.”

  “What does it mean, Sydney? That word wildcat?”

  My eyes close as I think. Wildcat.

  Garrett is laughing as I kneel. He’s fisting my hair, yanking me down in front of him. My eyes never leave him. I couldn’t rip my gaze away even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.

  Because I know what happens.

  “That’s not it.”

  “What’s not it, Sydney?”

  My head clears a little and I take a deep, deep breath.

  “Sydney,” Case says, almost whispering it in my ear. “Tell me.” His hand slips away from my neck and falls to my breast. He doesn’t squeeze, he caresses it. Softly. Like that feather he had. It’s soft.

  His lips flutter against my cheek and I realize he’s kissing me. I turn into it and kiss him back. His face is scratchy. Not a beard, but not clean-shaven either. He turns my whole body until I’m facing him.

  “Syd,” he says.

  “Don’t call me that,” I whisper back, lifting my eyes a little so I can see his. The fire is dancing inside them, mesmerizing me for a moment. Case furrows his brow, like I’m confusing him. “He called me that.”

  “Garrett?”

  “No.”

  “Who?”

  “The man in my head.”

  He smiles at me. And it comes so easy. “You wanna fish today, Syd?”

  “Sydney,” Case says, drawing me back. “Who’s in your head?”

  “Garrett,” I whisper. “But not the mean one.”

  “You made that guy up, Sydney. You made him up to replace the monster.”

  I turn away from Case again, but he stops me and turns me back. “I’m tired.”

  “We’re all tired. You don’t get to quit because you’re tired. You were brainwashed. And I know he did terrible things, so we’re not gonna go there right now. But I need to know when you saw him last, Sydney. Think hard.”

  “The night before my wedding.”

  “Goddammit. No!” Case says this in an angry voice. “That was me, Sydney. I was the one you saw that night. You crashed your truck and I came and got you. Brought you here. That was not—”

  “I saw Garrett too. He was at the hotel.”

  “What?” Case sits up behind me. “What?” He grabs my chin with his hand and turns it until I have t
o pay attention to him.

  “He was there. I saw him. He came to my door and—”

  I stare at the monster in the hallway, the fear taking over. But that word he says, that stops me. It stops me. He says it again, and again. And each time, I become smaller. My world gets darker. Things shrink and I float.

  “Then what happened, Sydney?”

  “Come with me.”

  I take his hand and follow him down the hallway to a door marked for employees. We go inside and it’s dark.

  “What did he say, Sydney?”

  “You’re a good girl.” It makes me sick and I lean over and throw up.

  “Goddammit,” Case says. He gets up and it’s only then that I realize I actually did throw up. All over the rug in front of the fireplace.

  He picks me up, holding me in his arms as he kicks the rug out of the way. And then he’s still for a moment. Like he’s thinking. He spins and so does my head. I have to close my eyes to stop my stomach from churning.

  “I’m gonna be sick again,” I say. And then I puke all over myself and pass out.

  The next thing I know, I’m in a bathroom. The lights are so bright I have to close my eyes. I’ve been in the dark too long. The water is running and I’m sitting on Case’s lap on the rim of the tub. He’s wiping me down with a towel and when he’s done with that he places me in the water.

  It’s hot. But it feels so damn good after all those days and nights in the cold. Every part of my body is finally warm. He positions me so I’m leaning forward, my arms resting on my knees, my head resting on my arms.

  He washes me. The soapy washcloth drags up and down my back. He pours water over my head, making me gasp and struggle for air. I can’t tell if this is torture or kindness.

  I go with kindness. Because I’ve had enough torture in my life. But I know it’s a lie. Just like all the other lies I’ve been telling myself. “My whole life is a lie.”