by Jenika Snow
“You’re a monster.” She threw his documents toward him and a frown crossed his features. “So what, you plan on injecting people with the experimental drug, using them as guinea pigs as you harvest my blood? You truly are a sick man.” Disgust dripped from her voice as she stood.
“Sit down!” He all but shouted the command, and she sat, fear spiking within her at the rage reflected in his features. His face was red, the muscle under his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his fists on the desk. “You will not undermine my work. I have worked decades on this, and there you sit, calling me a monster when everything I am doing is to better this world.”
“Better this world?" Stupefaction laced her voice as she stared at him with disbelief. “You’re testing your drugs on innocent people, using their lives like they were nothing. I will not participate in this.”
He suddenly became calm as he steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Neeka. You will help me and give me what I need, or I’ll dispose of everyone and everything you hold dear.”
She covered her mouth, tears threatening to spill free at his admission. “Why are you doing this?” Even though he had explained his motives, she still found what he said hard to believe.
“You don’t get it, do you? I am creating super humans. Men who can fight in war, be injured, but heal instantaneously. Warriors who can’t be affected by biochemicals used by terrorists.” He smiled triumphantly. “I will be the most powerful man in the world. I’ve already succeeded in creating the first indestructible killing machine. I have plans on making your genetics continue on, so it’s no problem.”
She clenched her teeth, not knowing what to do. She felt defeated. She glanced back down at the photo of the man, his dark hair brushing along his shoulders, his chest bare, his back marked with scars. Who was he really? Did he have a family somewhere? She put her head in her hands and breathed out. How would her father ever find her? She would never see him again. She couldn’t help but cry, her anger mounting more and more. Sorrow also filled her at the thought of the lives that would soon be used and discarded with no thought or consideration.
She didn’t doubt that Dr. Rye Vincent was a genius. The very idea of men being able to heal on the battlefield would benefit many people, but the way he was going on about it was all wrong. He was hurting people, keeping them as prisoners, and experimenting on them as if they were lab rats. She knew that even though this looked like a dead end for her, she wouldn’t let herself break. She would keep fighting until she drew her last breath.
Chapter Three
Gage had ended up finding out about Kevin Kraybold, the man who had been driving the van Neeka was abducted in. When he had entered the license plate number into Alpha One’s database, Kraybold’s photo had instantly popped up. It hadn’t been hard to find him. All it took was a few handouts to some of the local street junkies and they had given up his location. Gage was not surprised that he had been directed to this alley where Kraybold was eliciting a prostitute. When the woman had denied Kraybold since he didn’t have the funds to pay for the services, the pro had brushed him off, which resulted in her being backhanded. Kraybold then attempted to get what he wanted despite the woman’s pleas. That was when Gage had stepped up to him, told the women to leave, and “questioned” the prick.
Gage now held Kevin Kraybold against the brick wall of an alley. Kevin had long since given up fighting when it had gotten him nowhere. Gage had his hand wrapped tightly around the man’s neck, but loosely enough that he could still draw air into his lungs and speak.
“I’m going to ask you once more. Where was the girl taken?” Gage leaned in so he was nose to nose with Kraybold, staring him deep in the eyes, slightly tightening his hold on his neck so Kraybold knew he was serious. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out, only a sickening gurgling sound. Gage loosened his hold but didn’t lower him from the wall. Kraybold sucked in air, his eyes starting to water as defeat covered his features.
“I don’t know for sure.”
Gage tightened his hold again, and Kraybold’s eyes went wide as he started shaking his head. Gage loosened his hold once more.
“Okay, okay. I was instructed to drop her off at a rundown motel off of Interstate 61. I was paid my money and I left. I swear that’s all I know.”
“What was the motel's name? Who hired you?”
“I didn’t know his name. Some guy contacted me and offered a thousand dollars to bring the girl to the Dew Oaks Motel. I don't know any names. I swear that’s all I know.”
Gage could tell Kraybold wasn’t lying, but it made little difference in how his night would end. Gage tightened his grip on Kevin’s neck, his eyes going wide as his hands tried to pry Gage’s fingers from around his throat. Gage knew Kraybold thought he was about to die, but in all actuality, Gage had no intention of killing him. Kevin took a desperate breath before he passed out. Gage let go of his neck, Kraybold’s body sliding down the brick until the ground stopped him. He would make sure to phone in an anonymous call to the police. Kraybold had so many warrants out for his arrest the authorities would no doubt be ecstatic about the find.
He looked down the alley, satisfied with what he had found out tonight, and made his way back toward his car. He got into his SUV and switched on his dashboard computer that directly linked to Alpha One’s main database. The female robotic voice welcomed him, and he entered in his code, typed in The Dew Oaks Motel, and immediately got the coordinates. It was eight hours from Shyloh. He started the car and pulled out, heading toward Interstate 61 and another lead on where to find Neeka McCarthy.
* * * *
Neeka was placed in another room, this one much more spacious and furnished than her holding cell. She had been allowed to have a clock and a window, although thick iron bars covered the glass, reminding her that she truly was in a prison. Several days had passed since she met with Rye, and during that time no one had taken her to that sterile room to draw her blood. Her wounds had since healed, but then again, no one was sticking needles in her daily.
A knock sounded on her door, and she turned from her seat in front of the window, watching to see who entered. It was the same young man she had seen when she was first escorted into Rye’s office, the one who couldn’t be much older than her. He held a silver tray in his hands and set it on the small table by her bed.
“Today is grilled chicken with a light butter sauce, steamed green beans, and garlic mashed potatoes.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but he never did. He lifted the silver lid, showing her that he spoke the truth. He covered it again and turned to leave.
“Wait.” She stood and took a couple of steps toward him, noticing how his body had tensed. She had been watching him every time he came to her room, noticing how a guard sat outside her door, but how they never locked it. It had to be Rye’s ego that made him assume she would just roll on her back and present her belly. She had been biding her time, plotting a way out of this hellhole, even though she had no idea where she actually was. “Can I get a pitcher of water?” He turned around and looked at her before nodding and leaving. Even though her room was more furnished than her last dwelling, it still held the bare minimum when it came to furniture.
She had searched tirelessly for something she could use as a weapon and came up with nothing. The tables and chairs were bolted to the ground, and she was never given real utensils, all of them plastic, like they were afraid she would use them as weapons on either herself or them. She wasn’t desperate enough to kill herself, not yet at least.
Ten minutes later, the guy came back in her room with a plastic pitcher filled with water. She was hoping for a glass or metal one, but with it being full of water, she hoped it would be heavy enough for what she needed it for. “Thanks.” She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to tell her his name.
“My name is Jaxon, and you’re welcome.” His voice was soft, and his words were short. He handed her the pitcher, nodded, and tu
rned away. She gripped the handle of the pitcher tightly and prayed her plan would work. “Jaxon?” He turned around, and that was when she reared her arm back and slammed the pitcher against the side of his head. The plastic cracked and water splashed everywhere. He stared at her stunned for a moment, and she balled her fist up tight and swung. With him momentarily stunned, she swung the pitcher at his head again. His gaze turned distant before he fell to the ground.
Her heart was working overtime as she stared at the closed door, praying whoever was outside guarding her room hadn’t noticed the thump when Jaxon had landed on the ground. Several seconds went by, and she blew out a relieved breath, setting the broken pitcher down and checking his pulse. It was strong and even, and she was thankful he wasn’t dead. She just prayed she hadn’t seriously hurt him. She grabbed his ankles and pulled him into the bathroom. She placed him so only his feet stuck out of the door, stepped back, and made sure she could still see them from her position.
She went over to her bed and lifted the mattress, taking the strips of cloth from under it and walking toward the door. She had successfully made ties out of some of the material, hoping to use them when and if she got out of the room. She eyed the room quickly, knowing she didn’t have the time to clean up the water on the ground as she took her stance behind the door.
“Excuse me?” She waited a second and heard the voice on the other side.
“Yeah?”
“Can you please help us in here? I’ve made a big mess and need help in the bathroom.” She quickly looked toward the bathroom and still saw the unmoving feet. A second later her door opened, and she pressed herself against the wall. The door blocked her from the guard’s view as he walked in, noticed the feet in the bathroom, and briskly walked toward them. She didn’t wait to see what would happen when he found out it was Jaxon’s unconscious body. She slipped out the door and shut it as quickly as possible just as she heard the guard’s curse ring out. She quickly tied the strips of cloth through the handles in several knots and took off down the hall. Either she was the best escape artist alive or Rye had some lousy guards. Most definitely the latter, but still, she was lucky enough to have gotten to where she was now.
She ran faster when she heard the guard pounding and shouting from the bedroom. She had no idea where to go, taking several different turns and continuously looking behind her shoulder. She didn’t dare stop or panic further when she heard male shouts ring out all around her. She started to run down a long hallway, the elegant decorations soon becoming the sterile white tile she had become so accustomed to. She knew this was the completely wrong place for her to be going, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to turn around. She continued to run, her bare feet smacking the tile as she rounded more corners. She skidded to a stop when she saw three men in fatigues down the hall in front of her. They immediately started shouting and charging toward her. She turned to go back the way she came. She gasped when two more men started coming from that way, as well.
She looked around, having only a short window of time before they reached her. She sprinted down a hallway that was empty, about to cry when she realized it was a dead end. A large metal door was on one side of her, and she tried to open it, screaming inside when it was locked. She pulled on another door, expecting it to also be locked, but when it opened, she couldn’t help the thrill that coursed through her. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, the room so dark she couldn’t even see an inch in front of her. She turned around and stepped back, hearing deep shouts on the other side and trying to frantically find some place to hide.
She backed up as the door started to shake, as if someone were trying to pull it open and finding it locked. It must have automatically locked when I shut it. She continued to back up, her body slamming into something big, hard, and warm. Her eyes grew large, and she turned around. Even though the room was completely dark, she could easily see the dim glow of two light blue eyes. They seemed neon in the dark, with an almost iridescent hue to them. She slapped a hand over her mouth as she backed away, but they got closer, following her until light spilled into the room. The door behind her swung open, and the hallway light pierced the darkness. She could finally see who was in the room with her. It was a huge, heavily muscled man, the same man she had seen in the pictures, the one named Adaym.
Pain slammed into her arm, and she looked down to see a syringe sticking out of her flesh. She looked back at Adaym, hearing his animalistic roar and seeing him charge forward before she felt her eyelids grow heavy and her body fall to the ground.
Chapter Four
Gage walked into the rundown front lobby of the Dew Oaks Motel. An elderly man sat behind the counter, his bright orange hunting hat setting off the faded and hole-ridden overalls he wore. “I need to know if a young girl came here about two weeks ago. She would have been with at least one man, maybe more.” He took a photo of her out and slid it forward.
The elderly man slowly looked up from his tattered hunting magazine and stared at him with beady black eyes. He glanced down at the photo and then back at his magazine. “I might have seen her. It’ll cost ya, though.”
Gage lifted a brow and smirked. No way was the geezer trying to swindle him out of money like a back-alley hoodlum. “What will it take for you to tell me what I want to know and show me the check-in book?”
The man looked back at him before tapping on the counter. “How much ya got?”
Gage could have showed the old man his Beretta, but he had no intention of hurting a man that was well into his seventies. He knew for the right price the man would give him the information. “How about one hundred for whatever you know, and another hundred for not knowing anything if asked.”
The old man mumbled something incoherent and grabbed a book from under the counter. It was worn and weathered, but it was what was inside that counted. Gage opened the book and flipped to the date he was looking for. He scanned the pages for anything that looked out of place. He stopped on a name that looked extremely out of place. The name was foreign, the letters written elegantly. It was a name that he would have seen at the Ritz or the Waldorf, not mixed in with all the other Johns, Micks, and Wilbers. He tapped on the name and turned the book around. “Remember this one? Was this girl with him?” He tapped on Neeka’s photo again.
The old man glanced between the name and the photo, nodding before picking up a toothpick and going at what teeth he had left. “Do you remember who she was with? If there was more than one? Anything at all?”
He looked like he was going to give Gage a hard time, but then he started talking. “Two guys checked in, thought them gay at first. They checked in and asked for the farthest room. I watched them, thinking maybe they planned on having some kind of orgy in my establishment. I wouldn’t be havin’ none of that. The two went in the room, and I seen a third get out of the car carrying a pretty lil’ thing in his arms. Got eyes like a hawk, yes I do.” He tapped on the picture as he smiled, showcasing a mouth full of brown and rotted teeth. “That was ye’re girl, all right. They checked out early, left the keys and a new hundred on the counter, but I was watching, you better believe it.” He leaned back in his chair, the plastic squeaking beneath his weight. “They took a left on sixty-one, but then took a sharp right off of McMillian.” He scratched his jaw, “McMillian only leads to one place, Kliffborne.”
Gage wondered why the old man hadn’t informed the authorities if he thought something was wrong, but as if he read his mind, he spoke determinately.
“I can’t be callin’ no cops over here. I like my business just that, my business. They’d be poking and prodding, findin’ all sorts of stuff that don’t need finding.”
Gage couldn’t help but smirk at the old man’s tone. Kliffborne was eight hours west, a barren dessert filled with cacti, thistle, and red dirt. It was now void of life, but Gage knew about thirty years ago a wildlife preserve had been built there. It had shut down due to lack of funds about ten years prior. As far as he knew, the building had be
en closed down since. Why would they take her there? He didn’t know, but he was about to find out.
Gage tossed two hundred dollars on the counter and said his thanks. The old man nodded and swiped up the money, his attention immediately going back to his magazine. Gage opened the door, the bell above it jingling as the door shut behind him. The air was dry and hot, a complete one-eighty from Shyloh. Where Kliffborne was hot and dry, Shyloh was right next to the mountains, the air more humid and fresh. Gage swiped a hand over his brow, sweat already starting to bead on his skin as the sun blazed brightly over the horizon. Although it was starting to become dusk, the temperature was still hot as hell. He got into his SUV and started it, slipping on his sunglasses and peeling out of the parking lot.
He could feel that he was close, could feel the blood pumping in his veins with the excitement of the hunt. He had no doubt there would be a lot of bloodshed, but then again, it came with the job.
* * * *
Neeka slowly woke to the sound of voices near her. She groaned, rolling onto her side and immediately wincing at the tender spot on her arm.
“Ah, the princess awakens.”
She blinked several times as the room slowly came into focus. She sat up, realizing she was back in her “holding cell.” Rye sat a few feet away from her, along with two armed guards on either side of him. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she noticed how the guards tightened their hold on their rifles. Neeka couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud at the sight. The guards knitted their brows and looked at her and then at Rye, as if the old man could give them the answers they needed. Rye lifted his hand, a smile tugging at his lips as his gaze never left hers.
“I have to admit, my sweet Neeka, you surprised me. Although, I must tell you, poor Jaxon will be bruised for some time.”
Guilt assaulted her briefly at the thought of hurting someone else, but then she found her resolve and told herself Jaxon was helping the monster that was keeping her a prisoner.
