by Eden Ashley
Crying out, Davey dropped the gun and covered her ears. She couldn’t take it anymore. The pain was unbearable. Things were shifting in and out of focus as the world folded cruelly in upon her. And then just as abruptly, everything stopped.
Still shaking, Davey slowly uncovered her ears. The ringing had somewhat diminished, sharpening her hearing. Or maybe she sensed the footsteps that paused just outside of the steel door. Closing her fingers around the revolver, she dragged the weapon closer. So far, the door had held but the feeling of dread that crawled through Davey’s belly warned that might soon change.
The sound of twisting metal confirmed her fears, as did the loud pop as the door hinges were shorn in two. Lifting the gun, she expected the worst and was hesitant to believe when it was Ethan who stepped through the doorway.
“Don’t shoot, Daveigh. It’s me.”
His voice was calm, completely undisturbed by what transpired only seconds ago. But serenity belied appearances. Behind him was a scene of carnage, painted red with rivers of blood and pulverized bodies. Even his clothing was soaked by bloodstains, and his boots left scarlet prints wherever he stepped. Kneeling in front of Davey, his cool grey eyes locked onto hers. “Don’t look at them,” he said. “Look at me.”
“Is my brother okay?”
Ethan nodded. “He’s fine.” His anxious gaze drifted over the ruins of her body. “We need to get you to a hospital. Can you stand?”
Davey started to shake her head but stopped before pain could remind her exactly how bad of an idea that was. Ethan seemed to be on the verge of panic, so she mustered more strength to her voice than she actually felt. “If you help me,” she said.
Ethan’s mouth pressed into a hard line, but without a word, he scooped her into his arms and held her against his chest.
He had instructed her not to look at the bloodshed, but her gaze was drawn to the slaughter. “What happened?”
At first, he didn’t answer. Eventually, he looked at her, allowing a glimpse of the shame in his haunted eyes. “When I got back to the warehouse, I realized you were hurt and got angry.” Swallowing, he turned his face away again, and it was a good thing because Davey was unable to hide her shock. Mouth agape, she stared down at the corpse Ethan had just stepped over. The man’s arms appeared as if they had been torn from his shoulders. For someone to do that to another person would take an incredible amount of strength…more strength than any human possessed.
“Ethan,” she said softly, regretting the tremble in her voice but powerless to change it. “Are you okay?”
His footsteps halted. “How can you ask that?”
“I’m sorry.” Davey shook her head, taken aback by the sudden sharpness of his tone. “I was just worried about you.”
“And for that I will always be grateful,” he said. His spine was completely rigid as he lifted her higher in his arms and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Every moment we shared was worth it. I would change nothing.”
Utterly confused, she stuttered to reply. “W-why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”
Instead of answering, he only held her tighter. Jaw clenched, he stared straight ahead at the warehouse door—now riddled with bullet holes that made portals for the late afternoon light—but didn’t take another step forward. Gradually, she became aware of what Ethan already had. Heavy boots and lots of them were moving outside. The sound came from all directions, surrounding them. She tried not be frightened, but it was impossible. There was no way Ethan could face so many, especially with her injured and sure to hold him back. She could ask him to go, but knew he would refuse and possibly hate her for it. So, Davey remained silent. Grabbing his hand, she clutched his fingers as tightly as she could.
The warehouse door slowly opened, and only one man stepped through. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a jawline even more defined than Ethan’s. The black fabric of his t-shirt stretched across his muscular chest, also unsuccessful at hiding the definition in his abdominal area. Even his thighs were chiseled, muscles clearly showcased through the dark cargos pulled high on his waist. This guy was the perfect specimen of a fitness model. He was also the man who Ethan feared enough to spend his life running away from him. Now, Davey too was afraid.
With a wide and ready stance, the man glowered from the doorway. “Set the girl down, Ethan,” he ordered, fueling enough authority into his voice to command the entire U.S Army.
Davey didn’t know how much resolve doing so took, but Ethan didn’t waver. “She needs a hospital.”
“You’ve caused enough trouble over this girl. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”
“Do whatever you have to,” Ethan said. “But I have to get her help.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Please let me help her.”
Something in the big man softened—just barely. “I’ll make sure the girl is taken care of. Now are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?”
Ethan and the big man faced off for an intense moment, both of their bodies held in severe attention, waiting for whatever would come next. Davey just hoped it wouldn’t be more gunfire. “It’s okay, Ethan.” She knew neither of them had much choice in the matter. Ethan had barely survived the last encounter with the soldiers at the cabin, and now there were so many more. The last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt again. He had done enough to save her. “Don’t fight them,” she said.
His expression was utterly broken as he lowered her from his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as her feet reached the concrete floor. With a brief and tender touch, he pressed his palm against her cheek. “I didn’t want this for either of us.”
She met his sad gaze, trying to decipher the words not said, but before the question could form on her lips, two soldiers slipped from the shadows and grabbed her arms, subduing resistance before it could begin. A sharp sting of pain stabbed through her neck, followed by an even sharper burn that coursed across her skin before plunging deep into tired muscles. Then the pain dulled as suddenly as it began, receding like low tide and taking the light with it. Her vision blurred and dimmed, fading to nothing as Davey was stripped of all thought and action. As the creeping darkness took over, Ethan’s tears were the last thing she would see for a long time.
24
Davey awoke slowly. Her entire body was sore and stiff, every muscle crying out when she attempted anything beyond a twitch of movement. Thirst had clawed her throat raw while she slept and left behind a blistering pain even an oasis couldn’t cure. As her surroundings slowly came into focus, she recognized none of it. Stark white walls and a shiny tiled floor absorbed none of the light, reflecting every fluorescent ray into eyes that had grown quite used to darkness.
The bed she lay on was soft enough. Clean white sheets draped her with warmth in a room chilled by a single air conditioning unit, ancient in appearance and whose labored hum suggested it had little time left to lumber on in its purpose. She gave an explorative tug at a piece of thin, clear tubing attached to the back of her hand, but the ensuing pain banished her curiosity. Something about the room was all wrong. Or maybe it was just a feeling, but Davey knew without a doubt that she was not in a hospital.
Becoming aware of the dull ache in her side, she forced herself upright and slung her feet to the floor. The urge to pee became all-consuming and Davey struggled to stand, but her legs were unprepared for the undertaking and buckled beneath her weight. As she crumpled to the floor, the impact jarred loose the reservoir within her bladder. She closed her eyes, waiting for humiliation to spill down her legs. In a few seconds, the thin gown that barely covered her would be soaked and rank with urine. Looking down, Davey was surprised when it didn’t happen. She had definitely felt release as her body involuntarily voided the painful buildup of fluid, but the shameful evidence wasn’t there. And then she saw the other tube. This one wrapped around her ankle and snaked up her leg to rest against her thigh. With trembling fingers, she reached down followed the cold plastic, confirming its path d
id end inside of her. Davey didn’t know why this discovery scared her so badly, but it did.
Attached to the tube’s other end was a large bag, filled with straw-colored urine. Fumbling with the sack, she unhooked it from the bed frame and climbed to her feet. After a few shaking first steps, walking got easier, and by the time Davey reached the room’s only door, she was almost moving like a normal human being.
Turning the knob yielded nothing except disappointment. The door was locked, but Davey should not have been surprised. If this was a compound and not a hospital, security would be a priority for the men who took Ethan. And leaving her so-called prison door unlocked would have been immensely careless. With that thought in mind, she lifted and searched the most obvious places for the camera recording her every move. Spotting the rectangular box, Davey raised her free hand and extended her middle finger. Then she went and sat on the bed to wait.
It wasn’t long before the muffled sound of heavy footsteps reached the hall and stopped just outside of her door. Adjusting her clothing for maximum coverage, she pulled the thin gown past her knees and tucked the ends beneath her thighs. She had barely settled when the door opened and two men stepped inside.
Immediately, she recognized the tall, muscular man from the warehouse. He wore the same dark shirt and cargos. Simple, efficient—it was the regalia of a soldier. By comparison, his companion was much smaller and definitely not of the same profession. His uniform was a white lab coat with thick glasses, a mess of red hair and permanently slouched posture from too many hours spent hunched over a computer screen or even a microscope.
Davey eyed them both warily. At least in the movies, with these scenarios it was difficult to tell who should be feared most—the scientist or the militant enforcer. Biting her tongue, she waited for the answer to reveal itself.
Lab Coat spoke first. “Mrs. Little, it’s good to see you’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”
For some reason, she glanced at the big guy before answering. He didn’t look happy. Arms folded, his face was frozen in a scowl, and his dark glower bore down on her as she spoke. “I’m okay.”
Lab Coat watched her shrewdly. “You suffered a terrible beating.”
Davey shrugged. “You should see the other guy.”
“Ah yes.” Lab Coat fidgeted with his glasses, sliding them up the bridge of his nose and then down again. “I heard about him.” Clearing his throat, he looked at the scowling man. Noticing Lab Coat’s uncertainty, Davey decided Scowling Man really was the one to worry about.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
Lab Coat cleared his throat again. “The injuries you sustained required immediate and persistent medical attention. You remain here for recovery.”
“Well I feel better. So now what? Am I free to go?”
Lab Coat opened his mouth but seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. Folding his hands together, he bowed his head ever so slightly and remained silent. Scowling Man’s jaw finally unclenched, and he uttered his first word since entering the room. “No.”
Davey expected some sort of an explanation to follow, but of course, none came. Instead, he only stood there, towering over her and letting the ominous silence stretch into infinity. If his intent was to scare her, it was working. She fought against it but could feel the fear creeping in, threading through her veins and tightening around her heart. Licking her lips, Davey spoke and was surprised when her voice didn’t quiver. “Why can’t I leave?”
“I need you,” he answered simply.
“For what?”
It was likely for his own amusement that he bothered answering any of her questions. Davey’s gut also insisted that her current predicament was no less dangerous than when she was in the hands of Marx. And now this guy—an even more capable killer—could grow bored at any moment and snuff out her life by using one thumb.
Scowling Man’s voice held no hint of emotion when he answered. “Ethan is proving to be more difficult this time around.”
Bastard. Davey didn’t know how, but she would have to find a way to stop this maniac from hurting Ethan ever again. “Are you his brother?”
For a brief second, surprise replaced the permanent scowl. “He talked about me.” It was a statement, not a question, but Davey nodded anyway. “Yeah. He did.”
“And what did he say, Ms. Little?”
“He remembers you and knew it was you who sent those soldiers after him. Ethan is the bravest person I’ve ever met but somehow he’s afraid of you. What kind of monster are you? And how could you be so cruel to your own brother?”
Scowling Man actually flinched at Davey’s words. Regret or anger reddened his features, but he didn’t speak.
“Commander,” Lab Coat began hesitantly. “Perhaps you should take her to see him.”
Scowling Man’s reprimand was instant and sharp. “Jordan, we will leave this room when I’m goddamn ready.”
“Of course,” the smaller man replied, and seemed to visibly shrink deeper into his lab coat.
Turning back to Davey, the commander worked his jaw. Before then, she would have denied any familial resemblance between him and Ethan, but in that moment, Davey was shocked by the sudden similarities. Perhaps even more startling was the realization of when darkness crossed Ethan’s gaze, she feared no harm from him. The same could not be said, however, of the man standing before her now. The commander wouldn’t hesitate if hurting her served some greater purpose.
“Since Jordan here did such a piss poor job of acquiring your status, I’m only going to this ask one time, Ms. Little. How do you really feel? Think before you answer.”
Davey frowned. Her initial stiffness had worn off pretty quickly as she stumbled from the hospital bed. So when she had told Lab Coat—Jordan—that she felt fine, the response hadn’t been a lie. Only now, Davey realized she actually felt better than fine…a lot better. No part of her body hurt at all. Where fading bruises should have been, there were none. Davey wasn’t much of a runner, but right then she felt as if she could haul ass for five miles and not break a sweat. How long was I out?
She must have been unconscious long enough for all of her injuries to have healed. It was the only answer that made sense…or at least it was the only answer Davey wanted to consider. The past couple of weeks had brought her face to face with several inexplicable things that could only be explained by some pretty mad science. What if her miraculous recovery was due to a freakish experiment at the hands of the commander and his white trench-coated henchman? Davey swallowed. “I feel really strong. It’s like I was never hurt at all.” Wringing her hands, she looked away from the commander’s piercing stare. “How long have I been here?”
He didn’t blink. “Three days,” he said.
Davey felt sick. Three days was definitely not enough time for a concussion or broken ribs to heal. “Did you do something to me?”
The commander smirked. “Me personally…no. But I may have given the order.”
“Why?” she whispered hoarsely.
“You were going to die, Ms. Little. And as I said before—I need you.”
She shifted her horrified stare to Jordan. “What did you do?”
If Jordan had actually intended to answer, the commander cut in before the scientist could do so. “Would you like to keep asking questions? Or would you like to see Ethan one last time?”
She responded without a shred of indecision. “I want to see Ethan.”
“Then you need stop asking questions and start answering mine.”
Biting her lip, Davey nodded.
“Did he ever say my name?”
She racked her brain. She didn’t think that Ethan ever specifically mentioned the commander’s actual name, but she had to be sure so as to answer honestly. Davey had an uncanny suspicion that the commander would know if she uttered anything less than the absolute truth. “He never said your name,” she finally said. “He only remembered your face.”
The commander’s lips pressed into
a thin line, and he abruptly turned away. His next words were spoken in a tone sharp enough to chip concrete. “I’ve heard enough.” And then with two long strides he reached the door. Tossing a look of remorse at Davey, Jordan followed after a brief hesitation.
The commander had pretty much forbidden her from asking any more questions, but Davey just couldn’t let them leave without knowing what would happen next. When could she see Ethan? Biting her lip, she called out to the commander. “Please,” was all she whispered.
He halted in the doorway, squaring the imposing width of his shoulders, making the muscles bunch and twitch beneath the dark fabric of his t-shirt. “Follow me, Miss Little.”
25
From a distance, Ethan seemed okay. No evidence of torture manifested itself in the form of blood, open wounds, or bruises of any sort. But no doubt professionals like the commander could be resourceful with their methods, causing extreme physical or psychological damage without ever leaving a visible sign of what horrors had befallen a captive. Through a one-way mirror and standing next to a young soldier under orders to remain by her side at all times, Davey was allowed to see inside the room where Ethan’s interrogation continued. She was no expert, but it seemed as if the restraints used on him were a bit overkill. Instead of handcuffs to bind his wrists together, thick metal bands encircled the entire length of Ethan’s forearms and secured him to an equally resilient-looking metal chair. The chair was in turn bolted to the floor. More metal straps bound the lower halves of his legs and two more extended from the back of the chair to wrap around his chest. No way was Ethan going anywhere unless the commander wanted him to.
Davey was able to hear nothing of what was being said on the other side of the glass. She could easily see the commander wasn’t happy—but when was he ever? Ethan’s stoicism was equally evident and unchanging as the commander fired off question after question, circling his younger brother like a ravenous predator on the hunt for hapless prey.
