“Take them, for fuck’s sake. You got a safe? Put them in it.”
“Archer?” Samara’s face pales.
“You got chains in this place?” I ignore Samara for the moment and speak man to man with Hunter.
“What the fuck?” He looks at me like I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have.
“Listen. Both of you need to fucking listen to me. In less than two minutes, I’ll forget we both just fucked Samara into oblivion. I’ll forget I know her, and I love her. All I’ll remember is you two killed Dr. Hickson and Dr. Monroe, and I’m tasked with bringing your heads to Rebekah Ward. So, if you like your heads where the fuck they are, I suggest you tie me the fuck up and quickly.” They both look at each other and then back at me like I’ve suddenly grown a full-on dragon head or something. “Move!” I shout.
“The chest.” Hunter nods at Samara.
“Yes.”
Hunter disappears out of the room at high speed.
“I don’t understand?” Samara comes up to me. Her brows are furrowed.
“I’ve got a chip implanted inside me. It makes me forget.” I stick my hand into my pockets and pull out the memory stick. “Everything is on here." I hand it to her. “I didn’t leave you, Dollface. I don’t think I did anyway. They made me forget."
The pounding in my head intensifies. It’s bordering on blinding. I know I don’t have much time.
“I don’t want to forget.” I stroke my hand down her cheek when a tear tumbles from her weeping eyes.
Hunter races back into the room. He carries handcuffs and a long metal chain. I nod to him to bind me.
“No.” Samara steps in between us again.
“Go wash up and put some clothes on,” Hunter orders her and closes one of the cuffs around my wrist.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please, Dollface. Do as he says.” Another blast of debilitating agony hits me, and I cry out. The sound echoes around the room. Cries of pleasure from moments early replaced with terror.
“Archer.” Samara wraps her arms around me when my legs threaten to give way. I’m too heavy for her, so Hunter has to support us both. I give him a nod of gratitude when the pain passes momentarily.
“Buttercup.” Hunter softens his tone. “Listen to me. I need you to please go clean up. I’ll stay with Archer. You have my word I won’t hurt him.”
“Go,” I reassure also.
“You won’t know who I am when I come back.” Her voice sounds so tiny. She’s the little girl I remember when she was so scared for her future. Another memory, one of the last time I saw her before she left The Factory, threatens to come back to me, but it is too much. I cannot face that now, so I suppress it.
“You can teach me again,” I say with optimism. She knows my confidence is false because every time I learn who she is, I’ll forget until this chip is removed from my head.
“I’ll make you remember even if we have to fuck you every time.” She looks to Hunter. “Won’t we?”
He bows his head.
“Sure thing, Buttercup. I love to be inside you.” He smiles at her, but I can’t help noticing the corners of his mouth don’t quite reach to where they should if it was a natural reaction.
“I won’t be long.” Samara takes my hand and squeezes it before leaving the room.
Hunter steps up behind me and places the other cuff around my wrist. He threads the chain through the middle and then starts to drag me toward a doorway. He kicks it open, and I notice it leads down some stairs.
“Time to cut the bullshit. How dangerous will you be?” We stand at the top of the stairs. Man to man, toe to toe. Same height and muscular structure. Only one difference. In about two minutes, I won’t have a conscience.
“Deadly,” I reply and check the chains. “Get more. They won’t hold me for long.”
Hunter switches a light on and leads me down into a moldy basement I hadn’t known of before. On the wall are several hooks. They look well embedded, but he still checks for the strongest one. He threads the chain through and secures it, so I’m trapped.
“I must have had a sixth sense I’d need these things. Never know when a monster will come to visit.”
I let a rumbling growl reverberate around the cold room.
“I wouldn’t antagonize me if I were you. We can’t stand each other, but we both want what’s best for Mara. Right now, she needs us both. When I forget, I’m at my strongest. I have no fear of consequences. I’ve killed more people than you’ve probably fucked.” I chuckle, and it’s Hunter’s turn to look pissed off. “I’m weaker on my left side. I’ve had issues with my ribs since they were broken in a fight once. I won’t remember though. Go for there if I escape.”
“Escape?” Hunter laughs. “These chains are pretty strong.”
“No consequences, no fear of pain. I’ll snap my own fucking wrist in half if it means I can escape.”
“Shit. They totally fucked you up.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m the prototype. Everything you need to know is on the memory stick I gave Mara. Use it. Get this fucking thing out of my head—”
“Why would I want to do that?” he interrupts.
“Because you know where her heart lies,” I reply bluntly. I see him suck in a sharp breath.
“What if we can’t?”
I look toward his belt where a gun rests.
“Then put a bullet in my brain, and stop it that way. Whatever you do, don’t let me hurt her again.” The pain comes hard and fast. I know that it’s time. “Get back,” I warn just before I keel over and black out momentarily.
I wake up to feel cold, hard metal around my wrists. I pull on the chains, but there is no give. “Asshole.” I raise my head to see Hunter Shaw looking at me. His gun is drawn but not pointing at me. “I don’t know how you managed to capture me, but I suggest you let me go.”
“Not happening.” He steps forward and brings the gun up, level with the center of my forehead. “Who’s Samara?”
I chuckle, a laugh so evil even the air in the putrid basement would cower from me if it had a form. “A motherfucking dead woman when I get my hands on her.”
The gun clicks.
Chapter 19
Samara
My body aches everywhere. I can’t believe what just happened, but we got through to Archer. That’s the main thing. Whatever they did to him, I know we can fix it. We can heal him and finally take down The Factory.
It’s been far too long, and I want closure. I need to move on from my past, but I know I’ll never be able to do that if they’re still alive. If they’re still hurting innocents. Stepping out of the shower, I towel myself off, finding the blue and purple bruises from training, fighting, and taking down people who didn’t deserve to live.
The hot water was therapeutic, warm and calming, but even though my body is relaxed, the rest of me isn’t. My heart and mind are with Archer and Hunter. No amount of showers, no downtime, can ever make up for what we’ve all been through, but no amount of promises and apologies can stop me from loving him.
Hunter’s right. He may leave me again, but I can’t live with the guilt of walking away. If I take time to really help him, I believe I can heal him. I know I can.
I’m pulling up a pair of skinny jeans when I hear the resounding echo of a gunshot. I’ve spent my life around that sound, and each time I’ve heard it, someone's been killed. I quickly tug on a tank top and race with my wet hair through the cabin.
I know where Hunter would’ve taken Archer, and I speed on bare feet toward the door. Wrenching it open, I practically fly down the stairs to the basement, expecting to find the worst. But when I reach the last step, I’m bombarded with a heavy body that knocks me to the concrete. Then, another shot, and blood splatters all over my white top. The material now drenched in crimson.
Screaming echoes around me, and I don’t realize it’s me until hands are gripping me harshly, tugging me from the floor. My gaze is blurry from b
anging my head on the step, and dizziness overtakes me.
The heaviness of Archer’s body is against mine, holding me down. Blood drips from his shoulder onto my lips, and I taste the metal liquid. It’s thick and warm, causing me to retch.
“Fuck,” he hisses, clutching at his shoulder.
My eyes dart toward Hunter, who’s now pulling at Archer’s shirt. He manages to get Arch up, and both men stumble backward onto the cold concrete.
A loud thud sounds around us as the gun falls out of reach from them both. I scramble toward it, the agony in my thigh from hitting the cold concrete causing me to fall to my knees.
“Samara, you have to do it!” Hunter’s voice is loud, shrill, as he screams at me, and I know he’s right. I reach for the gun, but Archer has pulled away from Hunter, and he’s on me in seconds.
His body weight knocks my breath from my lungs. I’m merely a puppet under this strength, and he tugs me onto my back, his legs on either side of me, holding me hostage. His hand wraps around my throat, tightening as it steals my breath. The sound of my choking echoes around us as another shot is fired from behind Archer, and he falls limply beside me.
A scream is wrenched from my lungs, burning as it falls from my lips. I’m crawling toward the man who’s lying on his back, his eyes wide in shock. Turning my head toward my friend, my partner, pinning him with a narrowed glare.
“What the fuck did you do?” I’m on my feet, ramming my slim frame into Hunter’s much larger one. I slam my fists into his chest, but he doesn’t fight back. His arms cocoon me, holding me in his warmth as he attempts to console me, but he can’t. I’m in agony. It feels as if my heart has been torn from my body. I’m pulling in air, but it’s not helping. My lungs are being squeezed, and tears sting my eyes as I blink them away.
Archer is blurry as blood pools around his body. Hunter’s arms are around me, pulling me to him, but I can’t be near him. With all the strength I can muster, I shove him backward and straddle Archer. My hands on his chest attempting CPR, but Hunter’s dragging me off him a second later.
“He’s not dead.” His words slowly seep through the cloud of worry that’s caught me in its feral grip. “Samara!” He finally steals my attention, making me look him in the eye. “He's not dead. Listen to me.” He grips my shoulders, shaking me as if to wake me from a nightmare.
“What?” My voice is croaky when I utter the word.
“It’s not a real bullet. The blood has stopped. See?” He points to the floor, and I notice that the pool of blood is nothing like I had envisioned. “He’s alive. He’ll be okay. We just need to tie him up. Help me.”
We move quickly before Archer opens his eyes, and when he finally does, there’s an empty shell of a man behind them.
“You’ll both pay. Do you hear me, bitch?” he sneers, looking directly at me. There’s anger dancing in his eyes as he regards me.
“Why do you hate me?” I question in a low tone. I need to learn what they’ve told him before we can figure out how the fuck to cure him. I know he said there’s a chip they’ve implanted in his brain, but who says if we remove it, he won’t die?
“You took everything from me,” he spits. Blood stains his full lips. “You fucking stole my freedom, you filthy bitch. There’s only one woman who can help me now. And that’s Dr. Ward.” He spews his words drenched in rage.
“Who is the love of your life?” Hunter questions, because I can’t find words, and his question stills my breathing. My heart aches for what they’ve done to Archer. For the boy who lost his youth because of evil people.
“I don’t love. It’s a pointless emotion that makes men weak.”
“Samara is the love of your life,” Hunter continues, forcing the subject on Archer.
I touch a hand to Hunter’s shoulder, but he doesn’t look at me, so I ask in a whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me about Samara.” The man who I’ve come to care for keeps going, taunting Archer, who flinches at the words. “You kissed her. Touched her when you were teenagers. She was yours, and you fucking left her to die. Do you know what the fuck you did?” Hunter’s body is vibrating with anger, and I know when he’s in this mood, nothing can stop him. I’ve seen him torture before, but seeing him do this to Archer is too much.
“Stop.”
He rears his fist back, slamming it with a loud crunch into Archer’s nose. “Tell me, you asshole! You fucking let her get raped and violated.”
Archer flinches. His head drops forward as if he’s passed out, and I take a step toward him. His head lolls back and forth, then he meets my gaze and speaks. “One, zero, two, nine, nine, three.” My mouth falls open, realizing what he’s reciting. “One, zero, two, nine, nine, three,” he repeats.
“My birthday.”
Hunter’s gaze burns into me from my left, but it’s Archer’s who holds my attention.
“Mara,” he says before his eyes snap closed and he passes out.
“We need to get that fucking thing out of his head,” I tell Hunter who’s watching me with those green eyes that hold all the love in the world for me.
“We’ll do it. I need a blade, sharpened, and we’ll need to use alcohol to sanitize it.” I move quickly around the room as Hunter gets the handheld X-ray machine that we’ve used many times before to remove bullets. I watch him work, in awe of how still his hand is.
“Do you think you’ll find it?”
“Yes, we need to make sure we know exactly where this fucking thing is.” When the device reaches the back of Archer’s head, it beeps loudly in the small space. “Stay back, because I don’t know what this is going to do.”
“I’m helping,” I insist.
“Dammit, Sam!” Hunter’s deep growl is enough to shake the basement walls. “I want you safe,” he tells me, softening his tone somewhat.
“Fine,” I tell him, but I don’t move. He shakes his head, lifting the knife I’ve sanitized, and places the sharp tip against Archer’s scalp. He makes a slow incision, which has tension tightening my shoulders. Blood oozes from the cut as he makes it large enough to be able to get tweezers inside.
“I don’t know how deep this is,” he says, concentration on what he’s doing. I lift the metal tweezers, rounding him so I’m closer to Archer. We work together, slow and steady as I push the metal into the open wound of the man I love. I’m drenched in blood. My hands are a dark wine color by the time I hit metal inside the lower part of Archer’s skull. When I finally get a grip of it, I tug.
With the small metal chip clamped in between the tips, I set it down on the table and watch as Hunter stitches the cut back up.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask, meeting my best friend’s gaze.
He pulls me into a hug, warm and calming, planting a soft kiss on my head. “Yes, he’ll be just fine, Buttercup,” he promises, but I don’t know if he’s right.
Can Archer really be the boy I fell in love with again?
After all he’s done, the guilt will probably eat him alive.
That’s if he remembers everything he’s done.
Chapter 20
Archer
It’s the strong metallic scent that overwhelms me first. It wraps me up in a tight blanket, but it’s not one that gives hope. No, not at all. It constricts the movements I’m able to make. I want to run, but I can’t. That’s when the noises come. The anguished cries mixing with agonizing pain. There isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t hurt. The blood comes again. I look down at my hand, and the crimson lifeforce is running through my fingers and along my arms. It should be beautiful to me, but instead, it’s a sight that turns my stomach for the first time since my youth.
What the hell is happening?
A shadow in the corner of my eye has me lifting my head from its perusal of the blood.
Am I dead? Is this hell?
A figure steps out from the shadows. It’s my predecessor, Dr. Hickson; I recognize his old weather-beaten face immediately. He has his arms wrapped
around his chest; I think it’s odd because he is an animated man and always had his hand flying around in the air no matter what. Slowly, he moves them away from his core and reveals where his chest is cut wide open and oozing crimson onto the floor in front of him. I can see his heart and lungs, the life-giving muscle beating slower and slower each time. I count the seconds between each beat, one, two, three, four, thump. One, two, three, thump.
“You don’t remember what you did, do you?” His lips twist into an evil smirk. “You soon will though. Everything will come back, and you’ll realize just what you did to save Samara. What sort of man you became.” He gasps his last breath and falls to the floor. Behind him is another man. He wears a crisp suit that looks strange with the mohawk on his head. This man is not injured in the chest but has a hole through the center of his forehead.
“There will be more,” he says, and I look at him in confusion.
“More?”
“Always more.” He looks behind him, and I see a line of people. Hundreds, thousands. I don’t know how many. A small boy steps forward; he can be no older than sixteen. His body is covered with the marks of a cane.
“You’ve done this to all of us. Our blood is on your hands.”
I look down at my hands again, and the blood now drips from them in a waterfall. It’s covering the floor. I can feel it in between my bare toes. It’s warm. To me, it should be cold, but it isn’t. It’s almost boiling. The shadows start to retreat.
“Wait,” I call, needing more answers to the endless questions that are jumbled up in my head.
“We'll come again.” They all laugh at once; the sound is deafening. I place my hands over my ears, but that only further covers me in blood.
I feel dirty. I’m evil.
“Archer.” The soft feminine voice forces me to listen again. “Archer, save me.”
Cursed Angels Page 11
