A shrill ring of a mobile phone drags me from my thoughts. Hunter’s phone vibrates on the countertop in the kitchen. He leaves me to answer.
“Yo, man. What’s up?”
I leave Hunter to his call and head into the bedroom. Grabbing my holster, I shrug it over my shoulders. The gun weighs heavily on my torso along with the sleek steel blade I used on Hickson yesterday.
“Babe,” Hunter says tentatively from behind me.
I turn to find his tortured gaze looking back at me. “What’s wrong?” I question.
He closes the distance between us, and my heart kicks wildly in my chest. Something’s wrong. “That was TJ,” he starts slowly. “He found out who’s helping Ward with the kids.”
My brows crease in confusion. “Okay?”
“It’s Archer King.”
The mention of his name knocks the breath from my lungs in one swift punch to the gut. My mouth falls open, but no words come out. Archer. I thought I’d lost him forever, but it seems he’s found himself a job. A life.
After all we’d seen and been through, he’s working for them. Anger warms my blood, prickling my skin as awareness settles over me.
“Sam,” Hunter’s voice sounds so wary, perhaps even fearful. “Maybe he’s undercover? I mean, he wouldn’t be working for assholes like that.”
“Let’s go. I’m ready,” I say, steeling my voice of any inflection that I’m hurt. Instead, I stalk by Hunter with my body vibrating with violence I’ve never felt before. I pull on my leather jacket and head for the door.
“Sam, you’re angry. Maybe we should do—”
“Why don’t you focus on helping me tonight instead of telling me what you think we should do? I’m ready. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be heading out.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Once I have Monroe in my clutches, she’ll tell me exactly what the fuck Archer is doing working for The Factory.
Slipping into the driver’s seat, I wait for Hunter to settle in beside me and start the engine. The SUV purrs to life as I pull out onto the road.
“All I’m saying is, we need to be wary. He isn’t the—”
“Please, Hunter, just let me have this time to think.” My eyes flit to meet his. There’s tension between us, thick and angry, but I can’t change my feelings overnight. I thought I could. But deep down, I know that as many times as I’ve wanted to say goodbye to Archer, I can’t. He’s burrowed into my being, woven into the fabric of my bones, and no matter how hard I try, there’s no way I can get rid of him.
The road takes us out of the small town and into the scenic hills with forests on either side. Gloom shrouds us in its evil mist, and I wonder if it’s because of the devils that live out here.
The road winds farther into the forest, which welcomes us with its breathtaking darkness. There’s a small break in the trees when we turn another long, winding bend. It opens up to the starlit sky, and just beyond the bank of ghostly trees, we find the mansion we’re about to enter without permission.
I breathe a sigh of relief. The large, open, brick house is two floors with windows all lit up as if they knew we were coming. There aren’t any cars in the drive, and when we pull up to the side of the house, I notice that there isn’t any security.
Do filthy animals like this not realize their lives could be in danger?
Or are they so far above the law that they don’t care anymore?
“Are you ready, Buttercup?” Hunter questions in his normal tone. He’s trying to sound calm, like he usually does, but the small inflection in his voice tells me that he’s far from it.
Knowing Archer is involved only serves to confirm his suspicions. I’m still in love with the boy who left me in Hell.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I tell him, exiting the car without meeting his gaze. His eyes burn into me. I feel them trailing over me, wanting to delve into my mind and pick at the secrets I hold.
Hunter doesn’t allow me to lead the way even though I’m itching to race inside and get this over with. But I’m not far behind him. His warmth is something I crave, so I keep close as I shadow him the way I’ve done so many times before. Each job we took, every time we were out in the field, I had him by my side.
Pulling out my lockpicking device, I crouch down at the back door and begin my work. With a gentle click, the lock is open, and I push the door until it cracks. The house smells of pine and mint. It wafts through the air, hitting my nostrils, reminding me of a time when I wanted this woman to burn in hell.
As we make our way through the kitchen, I take in the plush furnishings, the expensive appliances, and the warmth that blazes through the house. She must have her heating on. Sweat trickles down my spine, causing me to shiver involuntarily.
A sound prickles my ears from the second floor. Lifting my hand, I signal that I’m heading upstairs. There’s no sound coming from the hallway, no echoes of voices or sounds of life. Silently, we stalk through the passage toward a cream-colored door. The gentle hue is a contrast to the midnight blue carpet.
A tap on my shoulder causes me to halt. Then I see it, the shadow moving beneath the door. She’s awake. Smiling, I inch closer, closing the distance between me and my revenge.
I reach for the handle while pulling the knife from my holster. I’m ready. My body vibrates with knowing. Soon, I’ll have her in my clutches, and I’ll claw her eyes out.
I don’t wait. I can’t. My blood hums approval as I twist the doorknob. There’s a whispered creak as I push open the door and find myself face to face with the woman who took something from me that I’ll never be able to get back.
The thing that makes me a woman.
“Who the hell are you?” she screeches, her voice shrill, dripping with fear and anger.
I don’t respond. Instead, I shove her backward. She trips on her silky, red nightgown as she stumbles.
Hunter pushes by me, his body large and foreboding. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls, gripping her by the nape of her neck and shoving her into the chair positioned at the window.
The night sky is inky, the moon hidden behind clouds making the evening eerily black. She peeks up at me, as if to beg me for an answer while Hunter binds her to the chair.
I lean in, getting in her face. “You are a sick bitch,” I hiss at her. “Do you remember what you did to me?”
Her frown is all the answer I need. I grab another amulet filled with the sweet poison that killed Hickson. It’s time for her to see just what I have in store for her today.
I’ve always been fascinated with the eyes. Watching how they spurt wildly with fluid when pierced or prodded, I’ve always been intrigued.
“Please, I don’t know you. Just let me go, please,” she pleads, her voice low and fearful.
My mouth curls into a smirk. “Did you really think you could get away with hurting children?”
I glance over at Hunter, who’s on her laptop, which had been perched on her bed. Her eyes dart between him and me, but the fear that creases her face is not for me or the amulet I’m holding close to her eyes. It’s for Hunter.
“Samara Eldrige.”
He lifts the computer, turning the screen toward me. There’s a folder with my name as the title. I nod. He sets it down once more, tapping the key to open it. I’ve seen Hunter in every state of anger, rage, and even pleasure, but the expression on his face is not like anything I’ve seen before.
I don’t want to know what he sees. I don’t want to know what part of my life this woman had saved in that small blue icon because I know what she did to me.
All dolls are soldiers. And they believed that all soldiers shouldn’t have a future or a family. So, the moment we turned seventeen, we’re stripped of our womanhood. Left to heal without painkillers, without any source of comfort.
“You’re ready?” Hunter questions, rising as he gets Monroe and drags her legs toward the foot of the bed and proceeds in tying her down.
�
��Now, Dr. Monroe, since you took everything from me, I’ll be taking the same from you.” I break open the crystal lid and pour the poison directly into her eyelid, as if I’m administering eyedrops. The screech that pierces the room is evidence that it’s doing its job. Once again, I grab my knife and allow the blade to slice through her nightgown, leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties.
“Please, please, I can help you,” she begs.
My hand presses the sleek silver blade to her abdomen, watching the pretty crimson liquid that seeps from the incision. My movements are slow, ensuring that she feels as much of the agony as I did. Along the wrinkled, porcelain flesh, I make the cut just below her navel. Blood drains from her body as she screeches. I’m splattered in red. A pattern I wear with pride as I watch her convulse wildly.
“What the fuck is going on here?” The deep, booming voice from the door stops my hand in midair, and my heart leaps into my throat.
When I snap my gaze to the entrance of the bedroom, I’m finally face-to-face with the man who stole my heart. The man I love with all that I am. The man who left me to suffer in hell.
Archer King.
Chapter 12
Archer
“What the fuck is going on here?” I bellow. A woman with dark tendrils of hair almost as black as the night itself turns to me with shock on her face. Something had been nagging at me all night, an overwhelming need to check on all the doctors. Leaving Rebekah asleep in my bed with Liam on guard, I dressed quietly and visited Dr. Chamberlain first. He was sound asleep in his bed, lax with his security as usual. I won’t let these arrogant pricks of doctors send my guards away again. I called them back and stationed them outside his room. If he wants to take it up with me in the morning when he wakes, then we will have a showdown. One I will not lose. Things are changing around here, and I won’t let anyone else die on my watch.
Dr. Monroe was next, and the second I set foot on her property, I got a sense of unease. Silently, I made my way through the house. Some people would think I’m insane walking into the unknown without so much as a gun on me, but I don’t need one. I’m a trained soldier. My hands and my brain are my weapons. They are what I use to kill, not metal and gunpowder. A scream of torture greeted me. The door was left open, and I watched for a few moments as the figure of a woman carved up Dr. Monroe. I was mesmerized by her grace and skill in a task so repulsive many a person would vomit the contents of their stomach onto the floor. Not this woman though; she’s tainted by the devil. Blood covers her and runs onto the floor like a spilled bottle of claret, but she didn’t falter in her task until I called.
A thick-set man who was sitting on the bed jumps to his feet, letting the laptop he was holding crash to the floor. He bears down on me quickly, ready for a fight. I dodge him when he throws the first punch, and his fist pounds into the wall next to me.
“You don’t want to fight me,” I offer the words of advice, but I can see they fall on deaf ears when he comes at me again. This time he lands a punch on my square jaw, but I don’t feel it. That’s how I’m trained. Pain is irrelevant to me. It’s not part of the consciousness of my brain. I crack my jaw and hit back at him with three sharp, shooting jabs to his face. He tries to bring his left arm up in protection, but I’m too quick. He stumbles back, reeling from the possibly broken nose I’ve given him, and slumps down onto the floor to catch his breath. He needs time to stop seeing the stars no doubt circling his head. He's no danger to me for the moment, the person holding the knife is the one who has my interest now.
“I repeat. What the fuck is going on?” I’m in front of the woman in a few striding steps. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Dr. Monroe has passed out from where it seems she was having her womb ripped from her body. The gaping hole and bloodied mess protruding from it suggests the woman with the knife had very nearly completed her task. I bring my hands up to her throat and wrap them around the slender column. I apply gentle pressure, and she drops the knife onto the floor.
“Archer,” she whispers.
It’s my turn to freeze. How does she know my name?
“Who are you?” I snarl.
She doesn’t reply. I can see her searching for words with the way her lips quiver, but none come to her. Do I know her? I squeeze a little harder at her throat. She has most probably killed Dr. Monroe, and I suspect, is responsible for the death of another doctor whose body I found carved up this morning. The modus operandi is exactly the same.
“Answer me.” I shake her svelte body. She’s like a rag doll to my strength.
“You don’t remember me?” Her voice is like a velvet tourniquet wrapping itself around my brain. There's something I should know, but I can’t figure it out.
“Who are you? Why are you killing the doctors?” I’m pushing her away from Dr. Monroe and against the wall beside the bed. She’s not fighting me. She’s apparently a trained killer, but it’s like she’s lost all her abilities.
“What have they done to you?” she asks.
“Who?” I keep one hand around her neck and use the other to search down her body. It trails along the line of her breast, and she whimpers under my touch. That sound — it’s so familiar. I lean in closer to her face. “I know you,” I state, and she gasps.
“Yes.”
I look at her lips when she involuntarily licks them. My dick stirs. What the fuck?
“I’ve tasted you.” I don’t know where that statement comes from, but it falls from my mouth with the weight of a hundred elephants. I’m reeling, and my concentration is faltering.
“You left me for them.” Her blue eyes well with tears.
“Left you? I don’t know who you are or why you are so familiar, but you will tell me what is going on here. We can do this the easy, or the hard way. I’m good with either.” I try to get my focus back, but her cherry-red lips are drawing me in. They are the only thing I can see at the moment. I’ve kissed them before. They are sweet, the best taste of any woman I’ve ever had. I lean in. I have to savor them again.
“Fuck,” I shout when I feel a kick to my back.
“No,” the woman shouts, but it fades into the background when I drop her to the floor and turn around to find the guy she was with ready for his next beating.
“Ready for round two already.” I laugh.
“It’ll be you that ends up on the floor this time,” he sneers back and lunges for me. Did the idiot not learn last time? I easily side-step him, but he rounds back and catches me from behind. Ok, so maybe he did learn a little something. Won’t matter though. He’s not a soldier. He's perhaps a good fighter, but he's nothing compared to me.
“The only floor action I will see is when I’ve pinned your little bitch to it. I can think of a couple of ways that I can get information out of her on why she feels the need to kill my doctors. All of them involve her flat on her back, or on her knees, or doing the splits on top of my cock. I’m not fussy, and she seems to know me.”
“You won’t ever touch her again.” He seems confident in his statement, but I see the momentary flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Soon, we are trading blows, each inflicting pain on the other’s body. I can see he is hurting, but I feel nothing. I’m a machine designed for this. Blood drips from both our noses. I think I have a cut above my eye from a blow that involved the signet ring he wears on his right hand.
“You’re a monster, just like the rest of them. Taking children and doing what you do,” he jeers.
“So, The Factory is the reason for this? The bitch has had a stay here then,” I laugh. He steps forward and balls a fist directly into my hard abs. I clench so that it ricochets over and the force reverberates down his bruised knuckles rather than through my body “You’re not a good enough a fighter to have been here.” I’ve always been an arrogant asshole when fighting. Make your opponent so angry that they lose their head.
“At least I’m all real and not a machine,” he retorts.
I slam my fist into the side of his head,
and he stumbles backward. “Seems the machine is getting the upper hand in this fight.”
My opponent is sweating from his exertions, but I’ve barely started to perspire. My heart rate is still average, but I suspect his will be sounding as loud as a thundering railroad train in his head.
He lunges for me again and knocks us both to the floor. He’s on top of me, punching me in the head. I bring my leg up and knee him in the back. He roars out a cry of agony but continues his assault. Using all my strength, I roll us over, and we tumble along the floor, a mass of fists and kicking legs. Our blood mixes together with the doctor’s to leave the room like the scene of a massacre. I have to give it to the idiot man. He has stamina. Most people I’ve fought would have rolled over and submitted to my superiority by now. I guess I’ll just have to keep going until he realizes he is going to die, and I can end this.
We stop rolling, and this time I’m on top. I punch him hard in the nose, and if it wasn’t broken before, it is now. His blood splatters across the room. I follow its path and see it land directly onto the still-frozen woman who is a heap on the floor. Red patches mark her porcelain skin where I had my hands around her neck.
“Why did you allow them to do this to you?” she whimpers. “I loved you.”
My world implodes. I gasp for air as my head starts to swim violently. Memories, words, emotions, a past buried deep in the artificially induced haze that the doctors created in my brain tumbles through my head like a whirlwind.
“Dollface,” I stutter and stumble backward. I recognize her despite the fact that her cherry-red hair is now black. She was once my everything, my world, and the reason that I am the way I am now. She shouldn’t be here. I got her out. If they find her, they will destroy her. She knows far too much about their establishment. She’s made a big mistake coming back here to kill those responsible for destroying us.
I’m focusing heavily on the woman that I love, the woman who was made for me, when the blow comes to the side of my head. My body weakens, and I fall to the floor. I’m not unconscious but dizzy. I can’t get back up.
Cursed Angels Page 7
