Deadly Game

by Christine Feehan

  You don't have to tell me.

  It isn't that. I don't want you running away from me.

  There was the impression of laughter. I'm tied up at the moment.

  He sent her the impression of a groan. Don't say tied up. You know what happens to me the minute you say that. The things I could do to you--the way I could make you feel.

  The laughter in his mind was like a caress, stroking through his body until he felt it everywhere--until he felt it in his soul. Nothing--no one--ever choked him up, but he found himself doing just that. Yes, there's pain, but in a good way. There isn't a lot of sensation as a rule, and when I'm full and ready, the skin stretches so tight pulling that it takes a lot to stimulate me. I'm rough and I have to be. The thing is, Mari . . . He felt like a sick pervert. The last person she needed around her was him.

  Just tell me. I'm not exactly a virgin here, Ken.

  His hand knotted into a hard fist and he thumped the ground beside him. Yes, you are. You don't know the first thing about making love. Someone should be making love to you. Gentle, tender, slow, and easy. A man should treasure every moment with you, savor it and make certain you're screaming with pleasure. He wanted those things for her, desperately wanted them for her, and yet he would never be that man.

  The impression of laughter came again. Like you did.

  Ken frowned. She wasn't getting it. Not exactly like I did. I was too rough, Mari. If you're with me, I would always be rough. I'd want things from you; I'd want you to learn to have the kind of sex I need, and that's not the best thing for you.

  He felt like an idiot trying out each word in his mind before he sent it to her. What the hell could he say? He wanted to make her his sex slave? He did. Ever since he'd touched her skin, he'd wanted to do everything there was to her, bind her to him so no one else would ever do for her. He wouldn't mind tying her down and having her at his mercy. He could love her for hours.

  He shoved his head into the palm of his hand. She was tied to a table, and he was thinking of how he could bring her such pleasure she'd drown in it. Maybe he was as sick as Whitney--or Ekabela.

  Don't be ridiculous. No one is as sick as either of them. And I'd fantasize about what you'd do to me if you had me tied down--or better yet let you tell me yourself--but I'd get all hot and Whitney would know you're here with me. So no sex on the table and no thinking about tying me up. You can do that another time.

  Again her soft laughter swept through him. Tears burned in his eyes and in the back of his throat. Damn her. She was killing him with her acceptance of him. He couldn't accept himself--how could she? He was going to fall in love with her. It was a long, hard fall and scary as hell. It didn't make sense and he didn't want it to happen. What the hell was she going to be getting out of the bargain?

  Mari? It wasn't just sex.

  Her heart accelerated. She knew Whitney would be puzzled over that spike, but Ken made her feel alive again in a way she hadn't in a long time. He gave her hope--and she needed hope right then.

  If it wasn't just sex, what was it? Because I don't know what to think. None of the men paired with any of the women appear to feel emotional about them, other than possessive. They could care less whether or not we derive any pleasure from them touching us. What happened between us seemed more than something Whitney did, or was I reading more into it than there was?

  She waited for his answer, her mouth suddenly dry. She barely felt the doctor's probing fingers as he poked at her. It seemed he spent more time examining the bruises and red marks on her skin than the gun wound or wrist break, but Ken's answer was more important than her modesty. She held her breath--waiting.

  You know damn well it was much more. I'm not hiding anything from you, as much as I want to. Screw Whitney. He doesn't have anything to do with us anymore. Ken rubbed his hand over his face and sighed again. Maybe he did at first. Maybe his manipulation allowed you to accept me sexually when you might have been afraid of me.

  Mari turned it over in her mind. Was that the truth? She'd wanted him--yes--but there was so much more to her feelings than that. The decision had definitely been hers and it hadn't been all about sex. So what was it that drew her emotionally to him? How had they connected so fast and so strong? I don't think so, Ken. I really don't. You're right. Whatever is between us isn't about Whitney.

  He ached to hold her in his arms. I'm not a good man--I'm never going to be. You have to know that going into this. I wouldn't give you up once you belonged to me.

  What does that mean, Ken? You don't know if you would be happy with me. Neither of us has any idea what the future would be like. I can't conceive of being out of this place. The idea is frightening. I wouldn't know the first thing about living in the real world. How can you possibly know what you would or wouldn't do if we were together.

  Because you represent hope, Mari. I gave up my life a long time ago and everything that entailed, including sex. You handed it all back to me and I'm just not man enough to walk away from temptation.

  Hope. Mari liked the word. And she liked the idea of being someone's hope. Maybe that's what their strange relationship was all about. Mari had never had hope--not even when she went out with her team to talk to the senator. Peter Whitney seemed so invincible. No one could ever defeat him, especially not Senator Freeman. He'd never bested Whitney in an argument. But Ken had somehow made her feel different. He'd given her a taste of freedom.

  Ken swore in her ear. I'd never give you freedom. Mari, think about this, think about what I am. I'd be possessive and jealous and want you in my sight every minute of every day. I'd be terrified of losing you. And I'd want to touch you, eat you alive, kiss you endlessly, and take you whenever I wanted, which, by the way, would be all the time.

  I told you not to talk that way. You'll get me hot. She tried not to flinch as the doctor touched her breast, supposedly to get a better angle with the camera, but his fingers lingered.

  Ken froze, anger bursting through him like a volcano spilling lava. He could make it inside past all the security. He could make it inside and slit the doctor's throat and then go after Whitney. He was a GhostWalker and few could detect them, let alone stop them.

  No. Calm down. Seriously, Ken, it's no big deal. Mari was lying. She hated this humiliation, but she tried to breathe through it and concentrate solely on him. As long as she was talking to him, she wasn't thinking about what they were doing to her. And if she didn't think about it, neither would he. Keep talking to me. I don't want you cutting throats. You're so violent.

  He was a violent man. Didn't she understand that? He almost groaned in frustration. He couldn't change what or who he was--not even for her. He barely hung on to his sanity at times. His ugly childhood had shaped him, and his father had given him a dark legacy of jealousy coupled with a strong sex drive. Ekabela had added layers to the darkness and rage, so that it grew until it threatened to consume him. He had hidden it well, even from Jack, but it was there, crouching like a beast, waiting to destroy him and anyone who dared to love him.

  And how could she really love him? He could tie her to him with sex, he knew he could, but how could she look at his face every day of her life and love him? How could she know what he was and still feel anything but fear and contempt for him?

  Even my children would run from me, Mari, and I couldn't blame them. Was he actually feeling sorry for himself? Was he that pitiful when she was stretched out on an exam table? Damn him to hell for his selfishness. He wanted her with her laughter and her acceptance. He wanted her to love him in spite of the scars on his soul that showed so clearly on his body.

  Now you're just being silly. A child would love you, Ken. You only think you don't show tenderness, but I feel it every time I touch your mind. You've shown me more respect and given me so much more than I ever had, and you can't know how much that means. If I don't get out, I'll never regret being with you. Whitney can take a lot of things away from me, but he can't take what you gave me.

  Okay. He was go
ing to hell. That's all there was to it. Because he wasn't going to be noble and give her up. No way. How could the universe hand him someone so perfect and then expect him to give her back? She had enough tolerance and compassion, and enough courage, for both of them.

  She knew how to love. How had she learned to love when it was never given to her? Briefly, he'd had his mother and always he'd had Jack, but Mari's twin had been taken from her and Mari had been raised without her sister in cold, stark, laboratory conditions. She humbled him with her ability to give such unconditional acceptance.

  He felt her mind jerk away from his, suddenly aware of the doctor probing her most intimate parts. He could feel the disgust and humiliation rising, the utter distaste as the man probed deeper and moved his hand inside of her. Abruptly she tried to cut Ken off, doing her best to shield him from what was happening to her. Bile rose in his throat. The one person he should be able to protect--and he had to lie still covered in leaves and twigs, and let them torture her. He gave her the only thing he could, although it cost him a great deal of what was left of his pride.

  I'm already halfway in love with you, Mari. Maybe more way more than halfway, and it's damned hard to admit. I want to do right by you, not take you out of the sun and bring you down to an entirely new level, but I'm not man enough to get you out of there and then just walk away. I'm damn well going to take you with me.

  She was weeping inside. Weeping. He could feel it like a knife going through his heart. He rested his head on his arm. He was a few feet from a guard, and the man hadn't moved in the last half hour. He was sitting on a rock reading a book. He hadn't looked up or around him and had no idea that Ken lay within striking distance and that right now, every emotion was slowly being driven out of Ken so he would feeling nothing at all when he went after his prey.

  I want to go with you. I'm just being a baby, so don't get upset. I can feel you pulling away from me. Women are emotional at times, that's all.

  That's not fucking all, Mari. That bastard has his hand inside of you and he isn't going to live out the day. Who the hell does Whitney think he is, subjecting you to this kind of crap? And what kind of man is your friend Sean to allow it to go on?

  Sean used to always stand with us. He helped me get out to see the senator, but now he seems different. I don't know how he is, or why, but he's doing and saying things that aren't him.

  Whitney somehow got to him. Don't trust him, Mari.

  I don't. Are you okay now?

  Don't fucking ask me if I'm okay when that bastard is touching you. I should be asking you, but I don't have to--I know you're not.

  He's touching me in a completely impersonal, medical way. Mari tried to soothe him by lying, biting down on her lip, hoping the doctor would hurry his examination. Prauder was a pervert. He always took great delight in touching the women as intimately as possible, of photographing them in the worst positions, knowing there was nothing they could do about it. They all tried to pretend it was impersonal, because it was the only way they could live through it.

  Ken, you have to be close to the laboratory for us to be able to communicate and that means you're near guards. You can't get upset and blow this. I'm counting on you.

  Ken took a breath and willed a higher power to give him strength and control to hold out. If she could stand it--then so could he. There was sweat on his brow, and he allowed it to trickle down his face rather than move. Ants crawled over him. He stayed still and just let the air move in and out of his lungs. Night was falling, and always--always--the night belonged to the GhostWalkers.

  Ken?

  I'm here with you, baby. I had a brief meltdown but I'm back on track. Does the doctor live in the compound?

  Everyone here does. Most of the soldiers live in the outer barracks. Whitney's men have their own section. It's closest to the small cottages. Whitney's staff live in those houses, separate from the rest of us.

  And where are you, Mari?

  We used to have our own barracks, but with the new program we've been moved to the center of the laboratory underground, where he has bars on the doors. We're always on lockdown and they try to keep us apart.

  Do all of the women have telepathy?

  I'm strong and so is Cami. We can build and hold a bridge between all the women, so we plan when we're locked in our rooms.

  How many have to get out?

  There are five of us, but we have a plan. We can get rid of the bars on the doors, we think. We haven't dared to test yet, but if we can, we'll go out through the south-facing doors. It's easier to move through the laboratory; there's a little less security because the cameras are angled wrong. Once we make it to the surface we can head for the electric fence that's about two miles from us. The woods are dense and there's water. They have dogs, but a couple of the women can control them. Don't do anything until we're ready. I won't leave anyone behind.

  Well you make certain they're ready to go, because when I come to get you, you'll be coming out with me one way or another.

  Mari opened her eyes and stared up at the bright light, trying not to smile again. He had that edgy command in his voice, the one that brooked no argument, the one that said he was the boss and she'd better damn well fall in line. He made her heart beat faster and her blood rush through her veins. Her temperature went up a couple of degrees every time he pulled the caveman routine. She liked him worried and edgy and ready to tear down the laboratory to get to her--and that told how far gone she was.

  "Very good, Mari," Dr. Prauder said. "We're finished." He signaled Sean, and the guard came forward and removed the straps from her arms and legs and handed her the gown.

  She refused to look at him. They're taking me back to my room. Thank you, Ken. I don't know what I would have done without you to distract me.

  Ken wiped the sweat from his face. She would have endured. She knew it and he knew it--because when you were in the hands of a madman, you resisted as little as possible and waited for that one moment to strike or run. Endurance was all you had.

  What is the doctor's name and what does he look like? Even as he lay under cover of bushes and grass, he'd seen half a dozen men in lab coats walking in and out of the facility.

  Prauder. He's Whitney's chief doctor. The man's a worm. I'm not entirely certain he's human. He acts more like a robot. Mari pulled her gown around her and went back toward the alcove.

  "What are you doing?" Sean asked.

  "Getting dressed. I don't feel like parading through the halls with this hospital gown on. I need my clothes."

  Sean glanced at Whitney and then shook his head. "We need to sweep them for tracking devices."

  She wanted Ken's shirt. It was stupid, but she wanted it. She didn't even glance at the alcove or at Sean. "I'm not walking down the hall in this stupid getup."

  I want a description of Prauder. Ken's voice was insistent.

  Mari was proud of herself for using telepathic communication without Whitney or Sean realizing it, both right there where they should have been able to detect it. But now that she was sitting up, facing them, she was afraid she might make a mistake. She took a breath and let it out. He's short and skinny, balding with a small goatee. She kept it short and succinct.

  Ken could feel her nervousness and her reluctance to continue their conversation. All right, baby, do whatever you have to do and contact me when you're alone again.

  Mari didn't reply, but she was grateful that he let her know he was going to be within her mind's reach. She snapped her fingers. "At least get me another gown, Sean. I'm not walking in front of you half-naked."

  Sean muttered something under his breath, but jerked another gown from a shelf under the table and tossed it to her.

  Mari caught it and shrugged into it, wrapping it around her back. She never once glanced up at Whitney, but she could feel him there, watching every move she made. She made herself walk out of the room with her shoulders straight and her chin up. Whitney hadn't broken her, thanks to Ken, not even when she'd b
een at her most vulnerable. She resisted throwing Whitney a triumphant smirk, because he'd retaliate with something else and she didn't have the time to devote to their usual battle. Let him put her lack of resistance down to being shot.

  She would have given anything to be able to read his mind. Did he think being a prisoner had been a terrible experience? Did he think Ken had forced himself on her? The evidence on her body certainly might substantiate that theory. Whitney knew Ken was paired with her--that she would be sexually attracted to him--but that didn't mean she necessarily had given in to the temptation.

  She knew Whitney. The question would eat away at him. If he even had any doubt at all, he wouldn't be able to let go of it until he knew the answer. It was one of his greatest weaknesses and she often used it against him. He needed answers. If she could pose a simple question, it would drive him insane until he figured out the answer. And he would want to know--no, need to know--if Ken had forced himself on her.

  Sean paced along behind her and she could feel his temper smoldering. He had seen every mark on her body. She kept walking, back ramrod straight, until she reached her own room. It was small, a cell really, with a heavy steel door.

  "Did he hurt you?" Sean glanced at the camera in the hallway and turned, so that when he spoke, it was impossible to see his mouth move.

  "I'm not going to discuss it with you, Sean. You weren't concerned before; there's no need to be now," she said, deliberately stiff, standing in the doorway. She hoped Whitney was listening or watching. If he'd primed Sean to get information, she wasn't giving anything away.

  "I know you're angry with me . . ."

  "You think? You've been an ass. What's wrong with you anyway?"

  A buzzer sounded and Sean grimaced. "We'll have to talk about this later. You need to get in your room. It's lockdown."

  She stood there, hating that he had turned on them all. He'd been one of them, trained with them, been a good friend. "What did Whitney do to you? What's he doing to the other men? It's him, isn't it? He's still experimenting and using you all as guinea pigs too."