He didn’t react. Not just to the sound of my voice or his name, but in general. But as soon as Bucky barked, “On your feet, soldier!” he was up and moving.
I so didn’t like where this was going, the latent panic about what was going on with me suddenly pushed to the very back of my mind.
“Sit down,” I called out, more out of defiance than because I thought it would cause any reaction. There was a slight quiver to Nate’s shoulder, but that was it. Turning to Bucky, I asked, not exactly mild-toned, “What the fuck is in this shit?”
A wry twist came to Hamilton’s mouth, but he mostly ignored me as he turned to the doctor. “You’re keeping notes?”
“Latency is within the normal parameters,” the doctor noted, scribbling something on his pad. “No adverse effects observable.”
My guess was that he meant Nate hadn’t insta-converted yet—and wasn’t that a great option—but I was done with this shit. “What—“
I didn’t get any further, as Bucky ordered in a casual tone, like you’d use to get your latte, “Strangle her. But make it slow. Bitch deserves to suffer for her insolence.”
My brain ground to a halt, trying to make sense of that, but I didn’t get a chance to order my thoughts, or do anything else before Nate was on me, the fingers of his left hand closing down on my throat as he dragged me—one-armed, no less—to my feet and slammed my body against the wall at my back like a rag doll. Pain exploded through my body but the worst was already centered on my lungs and throat. My hands went up to try to pry his fingers away, but they felt like steel rather than bone, muscle, and tendons covered by skin. And he definitely wasn’t pretending, either.
There was no capacity in my brain to debate this matter—like how it would make any sense for them to waste their precious serum on me if they wanted to kill me five minutes later—but even with my instincts all kicking in and sending my body into overdrive, I felt like a helpless kitten as I hung there, trying to scratch and kick and scream, and not accomplishing either. Nate simply had too much reach for me to get to his face, and I lacked the strength for any sort of coordinated kick. The more his grip tightened, the more feeble my protest got, my body pretty much shutting down. I tried to gasp for air but nothing came through, the pressure and pain only increasing. My fingers returned to his, but try as I might, my nails were too short to effectively sink into his skin, my fingers not strong enough to inflict any damage otherwise. Oh, the swollen index finger on my left hand hurt like hell, but that went easily ignored with the increasingly more dire lack of air in my lungs.
Bucky stepped into my narrowing field of vision, gloating at me from behind Nate’s right shoulder. “How do you like our newest invention? It was one of your demands that we do something about that bunch of rejects Alders left us with. Brilliant, wouldn’t you say?”
The only sound that would come out of me was a cut-off mewl—cut-off as the moment Nate noticed that I could still produce any sound, he squeezed harder. Hamilton looked very satisfied with his own congeniality.
“Are you done yet?” the nurse who had injected me asked, her tone holding a sharp note but otherwise bored.
The doctor nodded, still scribbling away, but Hamilton shook his head. “It’s a start, but not conclusive. He’s following orders well enough, but I’m sure there’s a part of him that’s been itching to do this for ages. No, we need something that will go so far against his grain that he’d never, not in a million years, do it. And I think I got just the thing.” He stepped back to give Nate some room to move. “Bend her over that table and hold her down so I can have some fun with her.”
Whatever mind control shit was in that serum, it seemed to leave some room for independent, smart thinking because Nate stopped choking me without needing to be told, not that it was of any relief to me, really. As soon as the command registered, he hauled me across the room and threw me, front first, across the side of the table, the hard metal colliding painfully with my shoulder and hip. I tried to fight but just taking a single, deep, much-needed breath took too much time for me to do anything else before his full weight landed on my back, forcing the air right out of my lungs. It escaped in a gasp as he wrenched my arms back and crossed them over my lower back, at the same time kicking my legs apart and wedging my right leg between the table and his body to immobilize it. My left leg was pretty much useless by then, not needing much attention. From our sparring lessons I knew that he could take me down quickly if he really set his mind to it—usually when I provoked him to, with other things in mind than fighting—but this was surreal. I tried to wrench myself free, mobilizing what little strength there was still left in me, but couldn’t manage more than a slight buck. With one hand keeping my wrists secured and torso painfully bent back while still pressing it toward the table top, Nate had a hand free to effectively grab my head and slam it sideways into the metal, making me go slack for a second as stars exploded across my vision. Rather than let go, he forced my head to turn sideways so my cheek and jaw ended up mashed against the table, and I was forced to look at our gathered audience, getting a prime view of the spectacle. I also had to watch Bucky saunter over, smirking down at me while he scratched his—still covered—crotch.
This couldn’t be happening, I kept chanting in my head. But it was, and there was nothing I could do. Just taking the next shallow breath was almost impossible.
Getting into position, Hamilton leaned over me, his warm breath hot against the clammy side of my face. I almost expected him to lick my cheek next, but considering that it was still covered with the traces from my bloody tears and sweat, that was likely not the most appealing aspect.
“This moment in time will stay with you for the rest of your life,” Bucky perfectly cooed into my ear as he slapped my ass, tearing my scrubs pants as he yanked them down. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Never forget that. You’re just an insignificant, helpless, weak cunt.” He paused dramatically, and I could tell he loved the little gasps escaping me as I tried to keep breathing. Leaning closer still until I could feel the warmth of his lips near my ear, he whispered, “Want to know the best part? He’s in there right now, useless, in the passenger seat, incapable of doing anything at all. And he will remember every fucking second even after he gets control back over his meat suit. Isn’t that lovely?”
I didn’t react. With no air left to snarl all the curses at him that were burning on my tongue, I tried one last time to dip deep into my reserves and do… anything really, it didn’t matter. But nothing happened. I couldn’t even keep up the tension in my muscles as I tried to keep from being smothered by my own body weight. Hamilton laughed, without a doubt knowing what was going on with me, having the time of his life—and clearly wasn’t done taunting me yet.
“You know what’s coming next, right? Well, you’re wrong. Because I’m better than this. I’ll do a whole fucking lot for my country, but I won’t ram my dick up your disease-ridden ass. But that doesn’t really matter, now, does it? Because you know that I could have. Maybe it would even be easier in the long run for you if I did, because then you could punch all that self-righteousness into a ball and rebuild your dignity around it. Instead, you will live the rest of your life knowing that the only reason why you weren’t raped is because I simply didn’t want to. How does that make you feel, huh?”
He remained hunkered over me for a moment longer before he stepped away, back to where he’d been hulking next to the doctor.
“I’m satisfied,” he jeered, but a moment later his tone was back to an almost professional clip. “The serum’s working a hundred percent. He could have been pretend-choking her, but he’d never let me violate her. You can go ahead and administer the second dose.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “Although, if you ask me, I wouldn’t. He’ll be much less trouble like this.” The doctor was still taking notes, not reacting to Bucky’s suggestion. Neither of the nurses was moving, making my heart sink further, if that was even possible. To be fair, my mind wasn’t rea
lly capable of rational thought right then, way too concerned with trying to finally get air back into my lungs.
“Let her go,” Bucky ordered, clearly drawing yet more satisfaction from almost forgetting about small details like that. Nate immediately removed his hands from me and stepped back, my body flopping lifelessly off the table and to the floor where I ended up as a crumpled heap of unresponsive limbs.
Two soldiers stepped forward and picked me up. I tried to put up any resistance, but it was futile. It took my lungs three painful, endless attempts until they would fully expand once more, and forcing air through my trachea hurt like hell. I didn’t even get a chance to look back as they dragged me out of the room, leaving me guessing whether the doctor would follow Bucky’s advice, or not.
Chapter 24
The soldiers deposited me—none too gently—on the slab of the MRI machine. Might have been my fault to a point as the second my body had enough oxygen to function—as much as it would—I tried to wrench myself free, and failing that, kicked and flailed at them as much as possible. My efforts likely resembled that of a small child rather than a fully grown woman. The back of my head hit the slab hard enough to stun me for a few seconds, and they were well out of my reach by the time I managed to blink away the stars.
I didn’t try to get up, but when Raynor appeared by my side she still put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. “Lie still, or else this will take a lot longer than it needs to—and you’re not exactly in a position to waste any more time.” While she was clearly addressing me, she didn’t glance anywhere near where she could have accidentally made eye contact, instead zeroing in on my throat. The sigh she gave as she gingerly pressed on what I was sure was a nice set of bruises forming was pure vexation. “Really, that on top of everything else?” she muttered, this time more to herself than me.
“Not my idea,” I croaked out, surprised that I could even speak that much. Raynor’s gaze caught mine for a second, but rather than answer, she whipped out one of those mini lamp things and forced my left eye to open wide. The brightness seared right through my retina—or so it felt—leaving me groaning as I feebly tried to bat her away. She wouldn’t have any of that, checking my other eye as well.
“No after effects from hypoxia, but that’s not very promising,” she told someone out of my once again very limited field of vision. “Put that on the list as well.” Me, she asked, “Since when have you had issues with your vision?” Rather than try a verbal answer, I poked the massive scar tissue on my hip. Even covered by my partly ripped scrubs pants, I knew she was aware of that. “The infection?” she guessed. I nodded. She pursed her lips but didn’t volunteer another word about that.
“We’re ready to start the scan,” a female voice came from the speakers—my nurse, I belatedly realized.
Raynor gave a curt nod and turned away. “Don’t move,” she repeated, already stepping toward the door as the slab I was lying on started moving into the tube of the MRI machine.
Exhaling forcefully, I made myself relax, one taut muscle group at a time. I knew what was coming but still jumped when the incessant clamor of the machine started up. I’d never been good about tight spaces and this wasn’t an exception, but rather than skyrocket, my heartbeat slowed to a deceptively normal range. I could feel it, pulsing, in several aching spots all around my throat, a constant reminder that I could have done without. It was too loud for me to be able to think clearly, but not enough of a distraction to shut off my mind. I could have really used a Xanax right then, or ten. But there was nothing I could do now, and I’d be damned if I gave that bastard even a second of wanting to curl up into a fetal position and rock in the corner.
I was going to get through this. I was going to survive. And then I was going to recover, even if it was going to be one hell of a fucked-up journey. Not tomorrow, not the day after, but one day in the not so distant future I was going to come after Bucky Hamilton, and I would make him suffer to his very last breath. I wouldn’t let anything come between me and that sweet, sweet revenge, and I wouldn’t give him the chance to get out easily like Taggard had. Up until this, I could have somehow coexisted with him in the same world, preferably on different ends, as long as I’d never have to see that fucking smirk of his again. But enough was enough.
Nate had been right when he’d had that plan to go out and get rid of him once and for all. Just thinking of him made my heart seize up, but I swallowed that with all the doubt and other misgivings piling up inside of my mind. It didn’t matter, I told myself over and over again, hoping that, one day, I’d come to believe it. Whether I did that with him at my side or without him, that didn’t change a thing.
Whether he’d wanted to or not, Bucky had given me something to hold on to, to use to get through what I knew were going to be the worst hours of my life. It would be his people who saved me, and it would be their help that was his downfall. I just had to get through this. I had to survive. And then, sweet revenge later.
My mind didn’t exactly quiet down as much as I felt myself go numb. Whether it was shock or just a natural protective instinct, I couldn’t say, but it took forever until the machine shut off around me. I felt like I took my first real breath once I was out of it, but that cut off the moment the door opened and a group of soldiers piled in. Call me paranoid, but my first reaction was to want to run—or, at the very least, grab one of the few chairs in the room and bash at anything that might bleed if hit. I didn’t recognize any of them, and felt myself calm down a little when Raynor pushed through them, looking even more annoyed at their presence than she’d been before.
“This won’t be necessary,” she told them in her no-nonsense tone.
“Ma’am, we have orders—“ one of them valiantly tried to say, but she had none of that.
“I’m sure you do. But this is my ward, and what I say happens. Do I make myself clear?” The soldiers were quick to nod, not just the one who’d spoken up. “Good. Then march your useless arses out of here and stop being a bloody nuisance.”
The soldier tried to protest once more. “But she’s dangerous—“
One of Raynor’s perfectly plucked brows went up. “I sincerely doubt that at the moment. Does it alleviate your fear if I tell you, so am I? Out. Now.” She waited until the last one of them had left the room. “Come with me,” she said—not much milder—and turned toward a different door. I hesitated—not just because I didn’t particularly like being barked at—but then swung my legs over the side of the slab and let myself glide into as much of a stance as I could muster. My left thigh protested, but somehow I managed to limp after her. She was graciously waiting for me, holding the door open, and did a surprisingly good job ignoring how weak I was.
The next room was tiled ceiling, walls, and floor, the entire back of it sectioned off with glass. Apprehension gripped me as my eyes fell on the setup; it was too reminiscent of the cell I’d spent almost a week in at Taggard’s tender care. But then I realized that it was something different entirely. “Decontamination shower?” I croaked out.
I got a bland look from Raynor for that guess. “What else? You reek so much that even without the bacteria eating up your body I would not want to touch you. And I insist on keeping conditions as sterile as possible.” Her eyes briefly skipped down to my leg. “That will hurt like hell, but I need the entire surface area of your body as clean as I can make it. Just throw the scrubs and booties into the bin over there and grab the protective goggles and mask. I’ll fetch you in fifteen minutes if you’re still alive.”
The way she waited for my reaction, I figured she meant that as another joke. That woman had a sense of humor to beat someone to death with. Rather than pretend to laugh, I went about the laborious procedure of undressing once more, hating that part of me was irrationally glad that it was just her and me in here. She left the room as soon as I’d managed to hobble into the shower.
Raynor hadn’t been kidding. The open, oozing wound on my thigh wasn’t the only thing that s
tung like hell, but was by far the worst. At least I didn’t have to scrub myself as the jets of the shower sprayed me from top to bottom, hard enough to make even the few parts of my body ache that had so far remained moderately unblemished. It was a real decontamination shower, not unlike what I was used to from my time working at the hot lab. Thinking of that of course made me remember the last time I’d donned one of those positive-pressure suits—and, more importantly, in who’s company. Rather than scream at the top of my lungs as I really wanted to, I forced myself to go still and just let the chemicals sluice down my body.
Don’t think. Just don’t think at all.
The shower finally shut off. I remained leaning against the ice cold tile wall until someone pulled the door open. It was the nurse from before, holding out a white towel to me. I only used it to barely pat myself down, trying hard to ignore how white soon became red and brown. Some of that was the color from my hair that hadn’t survived the bleach and whatever else had been in the liquid they’d doused me with. Once I was done, I dropped the towel and pulled the protective gear off, accepting the antibacterial wipes she handed me to take care of the area previously covered. I was sure that the fumes I’d inhaled even with the mask would easily strip a decade from my life expectancy, but right then that thought wasn’t really disconcerting.
At her gesture, I followed her out of the room and into the next one over, where Raynor had disappeared to before.
The operating room looked like something right out of a TV show set, only it smelled way too strongly of disinfectant. It was a lot more crowded than I had expected, concerning both people and equipment. The operating table and bank of lights overhead barely took up a tenth of the space, a team of no less than fourteen people, all scrubbed in and ready, waiting. The way they all stared at me made me more than just passingly uncomfortable—not because I was buck naked, but because it was obvious that they didn’t regard me as a human, but just a subject to get to work on. But if that dispassionate attitude would save me, I’d take it.
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 3 | Books 7-9 Page 32
