Sabotaged (The Sundance Series Book 3)

by C. P. Rider

  Sampson stepped aside as the two guards took me by the arms and dragged me through a rolling steel door and down a cold, badly lit corridor. The place gave off an institution vibe—not quite a hospital, not quite a prison. I sensed paranormals all around me, and I blinked away the blood dripping in my eyes to see them better.

  Shifters were held in cells fronted with shiny silver bars. Some were in hybrid form; some were fully shifted. Several were in human form, emaciated and pale, and a couple of them were in chains. I estimated twenty to twenty-five in total.

  "Sanctuary," I drawled. "Great name. I mean, everyone looks so safe and protected here."

  "Shut your mouth," Carl snapped. "I can't kill you, but I can hurt you so badly you'll wish I would."

  "Use caution with her. She's strong."

  "Don't need your advice, trancer. We already know how to handle your kind."

  "That's what the gate guards said right before they croaked." Sampson pulled up his sleeve, studied the wound on his forearm. The bleeding had slowed, but it looked painful.

  "Her name was Frieda, you bastard. And his was Jim. Show some respect."

  Sampson lowered his sleeve. "I show respect to people I respect."

  As I stumbled down the hall toward God knew what hell, I pulled power from the stronger shifters in the cells around me. There wasn't much to pull. Most of the pararnormals were so weak that if I drained them, I'd kill them. So, I forced myself to only take a tiny amount, a trickle from each cell, stopping altogether when I passed the ones who looked near to death.

  When we finally reached the end of the corridor, the younger guard, a blond, white man in his late twenties, punched a code into the digital security pad next to an oversized steel door and then stepped back. I'd seen a similar door in a bank vault on TV.

  Guess the boss really did think I was valuable.

  The sound of bolts sliding made me flinch. "I don't want to go in there."

  If anyone heard me, they didn't act like it.

  Carl pushed open the heavy door. "Home sweet home."

  Inside the room was a cot, a toilet, and a sink. A thick brown blanket and pillow. A wooden stool with a folded set of clothing on the seat. No windows, save for the small smudged one in the door, and one exit.

  Guard Carl shoved me hard through the doorway, tearing my cat tail off my skirt. I fell and skidded across the floor on my knees, scraping them up and ruining my tights.

  "Nice kitty, kitty." He waggled the black fabric tube and laughed.

  I climbed to my feet. "You should let me go."

  He laughed again and pointed with my tail to the folded clothing. "Put those on. Leave the costume and that nice bracelet on the stool. I'm sure Chuck's wife would love to have it." Carl jabbed at the other guard and winked, a sly sneer on his lips.

  "No." I held my wrist to my chest.

  I should have dropped the bracelet in the parking lot when Sampson's back was turned. If there was a tracking device inside, Lucas would receive a better signal outside of the building with the thick concrete walls. But I hadn't thought of it, and even if I had, I probably wouldn't have let my only connection to him go.

  "Trust me, kitty cat." Carl shot me a good ol' boy grin. "You won't need it anymore."

  "No. It's mine." I clamped down on his brainwaves and thrust into his head. Flooded his skull with energy. The grin slid off Carl's face, replaced by a bewildered sort of fear. With no feeling about it at all, I watched him drop to his knees and clutch his head, watched him crumple, watched him die.

  "Neely?" Sampson's mouth fell open. "What did you just do?"

  "Spiked him."

  "But you—"

  "You said, ‘Don't be afraid and don't spike these guys out here.'" I stared at the neckline of the dead guard's white undershirt. It was stretched out and yellowed from bleaching. Although it looked dirty, it was probably clean. Unlike the guard, who had looked clean, but was definitely dirty.

  "Yeah? So?"

  I shrugged. "We're no longer out there."

  Sampson didn't try to use his ability, which surprised me. He simply stared at me with his mouth open. Something about the trancer's lack of reaction made me think he might not be the enemy I'd thought he was. Though I had no doubt the shifter had an agenda.

  The blond guard pressed trembling fingers against Carl's throat. He pulled his hand back and stood slowly, his complexion waxy as he clutched his gun and backed toward the door.

  "You killed him. With your mind."

  "No one touches my bracelet, Chuck."

  Sampson and Chuck dragged Carl's body out of the room and shut the door.

  I kept my own clothes on. The cat ears were lost when I was thrown into the SUV, the tights were toast, and the tail was gone, so it was just a long-sleeved black mini dress and black sneakers. I used the gray top on the stool as a towel to wash blood and eyeliner whiskers from my face and fixed my ponytails as best I could without a mirror. Then I wiped my skinned knees and rinsed my mouth out. I'd bitten my tongue when the guard hit me.

  After that, I dozed on the cot, confident that I'd hear if anyone entered. Hard to miss the sound of a foot-thick steel door opening and closing.

  While I dozed, I hugged my bracelet close to my chest and missed Lucas. I thought about Chandra, Earp, and the witches, and wondered if they were worried about me. I felt a twinge of loss at the idea that I might never get to teach Ana Cortez to make pink conchas, and more than a twinge that I might never see my bakery again.

  Otherwise, I felt very little. I was completely disconnected from any and all mental fear responses, though anger seemed to break through pretty easily, as evidenced by the way I'd dealt with the guard earlier. It occurred to me that my psyche would eventually exact retribution for the things I'd done, but I couldn't seem to connect that idea to any emotion, so I pushed it aside and thought instead about how I might get myself out of here.

  Two hours after I arrived, a lone human male strolled into my room carrying a tray of food.

  "Hello, Neely."

  With a deft flick of his wrist, he knocked the remaining gray clothing to the floor and set the food tray on the stool. The man was a little younger than my dad, but the same height and just as handsome, though this man was more life-worn—a late forties Denzel Washington after a week of no sleep. He wore khaki green military-style trousers and a matching cotton T-shirt with dusty black lace-up boots. The uniform fit him well.

  Unlike some of the guards I'd seen on the way in, he was in good physical condition. Probably thought he needed to be in top form to ensure he had every advantage over the paranormals in the facility. Not that it would help in a fair fight against a shifter, but then there probably weren't many fair fights in a sanctuary.

  "Wish you hadn't killed three of my guards. It's hard to find good help out here. As a former small-town business owner, you should know that."

  "Let me out of here."

  He ignored me. "I'm Garrett Harris."

  "What you are is brave, coming in here with a brain. Or maybe you left it outside?" I sat up on the cot. It was scratchy and uncomfortable, but it beat lying on the cold tile floor. "I could kill you right now, you know."

  "I heard you have rules about that sort of thing." As he drew closer, the acrid scent of rubbing alcohol wafted into my nose. There was blood on his shirt. I doubted it was his own, but I swept his mind to see. Sure enough, he'd recently made someone else bleed. A shifter.

  "I've updated my rules to include exclusions for poachers and humans who torture my kind in sanctuaries. You really should let me go."

  The man laughed. It was cold and irritating—an icicle being dragged down a chalkboard. "Not a chance. I've waited a long time for something like you."

  "Does it help?" I smoothed my skirt over my legs. "Dehumanizing me by calling me a thing? Does it make it easier to hurt people like me?"

  "You aren't people, you're a paranormal. And yet, you're something different from the others out there, aren't you, Neely? You
're special."

  "Let's make a deal, Harris." I centered myself, manufactured a little power. I'd have to use my own energy to spike him, because I'd used up the little I'd gotten from the shifters on Guard Carl.

  "Deal?"

  "You call me prisoner and I'll call you warden, and we'll keep things real between us. I prefer truth to the congenial fakery you're giving me right now. 'You're special.'" I mimicked his tone, then summoned my inner Chandra. "Fuck off."

  Warden Harris didn't like that. His mouth cinched into a frown. "There's no point in fighting. You'll lose."

  "Will I?"

  "Yes." His frown disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and he gave me a fatherly sort of smile. A gentle laugh. "It's best if you stop fighting us. I promise to take good care of you, so you can calm down, relax. No one here wants to hurt you, Neely."

  "You are a terrible liar, Warden Harris."

  His gaze darkened. "I'm not your warden. Stop behaving like a child or you will be treated like one."

  "Does that mean you're going to bring me candy? I'm fond of Reese's cups, if you're taking orders." Oh great. I was starting to sound like Lucas.

  Pain squeezed my heart when he came to mind, but I hid it. I didn't want to appear weak in any way.

  Harris stood, loomed over me. "I brought you here for a specific purpose and you will fulfill that purpose. Your cooperation is appreciated, but it is not necessary."

  Spiking him wouldn't get me out of here. It wouldn't help my case, or the other paranormals dying in the cells outside my door. It wouldn't help anything, really.

  But it would feel nice.

  And it would be good practice. This time I'd try spiking a person using limited resources and without drawing his attention to it. Slow and easy, slide right in. He wouldn't notice until it was too late. No one would hear him scream, because he wouldn't. He'd make that peculiar gagging noise for a second and slowly tumble to the floor, chest stilling, eyes peeled open and staring at nothing.

  And then he'd piss himself. They always did.

  I gave him a tiny push. Latched onto his brainwaves, rode them into his head. They were strong for a human, but they were human and, therefore, far weaker than any paranormal's.

  I spiked.

  Unfortunately for the warden, most of my practice lately had been on strong alpha shifters. My control was a little … off.

  Harris screamed and clutched his head as he backed away from me and hit the wall. Saliva drooled down his chin.

  I throttled back a little. I really needed to practice on humans more.

  "N-Now," he yelled.

  The heavy cell door was pushed open faster than any human should have been able to move it, and another man entered the room.

  "Neels. Stop. You have to stop spiking him."

  "Julio?"

  An alarm blared. It sounded like an air raid siren out of a World War II movie, slow and steady while ramping up, then fast and loud. Two weapon-toting guards in hazmat suits and masks, wearing air tank backpacks, rushed into the room. They dragged Warden Harris into the hall. The door closed behind them and I was left staring at a mirage.

  If not a mirage, then a ghost. Or a soon-to-be ghost when I finished with him.

  "You work for these bastards?"

  "It's not what you think." Julio shoved his hands into his jeans. Jeans, not gray cotton trousers. Not a gray cotton shirt, either. He wore a dark green hoodie over a white T-shirt. Street clothes, not prisoner clothes.

  "It's exactly what I think." I jumped off the cot and stomped across the room, away from him. As the room was roughly ten by ten feet, I didn't have far to stomp. "Chandra was right about you. You were with the Gold shifters that night, weren't you? You were part of it. You hit me over the head."

  "No." He strode over to me, grabbed my arms. The strength in his hands was unnerving. "I would never hit you. The coyote the hyena tore apart, he was the one who hit you. That wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be hurt."

  "And who drugged me?" Rage roiled inside me like a sickness. I could feel it below the surface, but it wasn't breaking through. The trancer had done something to my emotions, something perverse and cruel and wickedly frustrating.

  "Neels." Julio let go of me with one hand and pulled at his hair, the expression in his eyes pained. "Please, honey. Understand that it wasn't supposed to happen like this." He stroked the side of my face with the knuckles of his free hand. Lowered his mouth to my ear. "You and me against the world. Together forever, remember?"

  Once upon a time those words would have meant everything to me.

  I stared into the face of the stranger I'd once loved. "Every time I see you, you remind me more of Saul." I shook out of his grasp. "Blood will out, right?"

  "I'm not my brother." He reached for me again, but I held up my hand and he stopped.

  "Get out of my cell."

  "Neels." The sides of his mouth pulled into a deep frown. "This isn't a prison and you aren't in a cell. It's a holding room. We only put you in here to let you calm down because you keep killing guards."

  "The depth of your stupidity is breathtaking, Julio."

  "Look, I know you're upset, but—"

  "Why do you need guards if this isn't a prison? If this isn't a cell, why is the door bolted shut? Why are those shifters out there dying in cages? I have questions, Julio, lots of them. But the biggest one is, why would you side with humans against your own kind?"

  He huffed, folded his arms over his chest. "You're part human. What do you have against them?"

  "Nothing, in general. But I don't trust these humans and neither should you."

  "This situation. It's not what you think."

  "Unbelievable." I threw up my hands. "You chose the wrong side again. When it all goes down, you will regret this."

  "Nothing's going to go down. Stop being dramatic." He shook his head. "Do you think the tiger alpha is coming to get you? Your 'friends' back in Sundance? Are they coming to take you home? Good God, wake up, Neels. They all fear you—everyone does. No one wants you around." He thumped his chest with his fist. "Except me. Now calm down and try to make the best of what you have here."

  "And what do I have here?"

  "A chance to live." His gaze softened and he reached out a hand. "A chance for both of us to live. Together."

  "Get out." I pointed to the door. "And if you ever call me Neels again, I will spike you. I am not screwing around."

  "Come on." He smiled at me, laughed. A condescending little laugh so like the warden's that I wondered if he'd taken lessons from the man. He flashed those glimmering emerald eyes at me and tilted his head. "You act tough, but we both know you aren't capable of hurting someone you care about. You have rules. You've always had rules."

  "My rules don't apply during wartime."

  "Wartime?" He did that stupid, patronizing laugh again. "Come on, Neels, you're being ridiculous."

  "Don't call me Neels."

  Warden Harris was human. He had no real internal power. However, Julio Roso was an alpha wolf shifter. The grandson, son, and brother of strong—maniacal, but strong—alpha leaders. He had power to spare.

  I didn't open myself to Julio's energy. No, that was too gentle. I jammed a metaphysical hypodermic straight into his skull and yanked it out of him. His face lost color and he dropped to one knee. I pulled harder. I wanted it all. Every sugar-coated drop.

  "Neely, stop."

  I leaned over his weakened body and threw his words back at him. "Please, honey. Understand that it wasn't supposed to happen like this."

  Sampson shoved the door open and raced into the room. The trancer grabbed the front of my dress, stared into my eyes with his glowing blue ones. "Sleep."

  I used the energy I'd pulled from Julio and spiked into Sampson's head. Without a second thought, without a moment's hesitation, without the slightest twinge of regret. It was as if I had no conscience left.

  All the things people had been telling me for months cycled t
hrough my head. You have to stop pretending you're human, Neely. You have all this power and you don't use it to save yourself, Neely. Well, here I was. Using it. If my friends could see me now.

  Sampson was on his hands and knees in front of me, gasping for breath, but still alive. "W-Why didn't my command work?"

  "Because I figured out how you got in and patched up the hole." I stepped back, out of his reach. "Now tell me what you did."

  "D-Did?"

  "To my emotions. I'm disconnected from them. I can feel some anger, annoyance, but little else. And I have next to no remorse. What did you do to me?"

  He shook his head as if to clear it. "I t-told you to control your emotions. To not be afraid. But that command has … w-worn off. What you feel … it isn't from me."

  The sound of shuffling feet and jangling, like car keys and coins in a pocket, came from the hall outside my cell. Two security guards with giant helmets entered. Two more followed. They looked like a mini army of bobble-head dolls as they bled into my cell.

  I wanted to laugh. I could power straight through their stupid helmets. They couldn't stop me—well, unless they had a witch charm, but these were humans. They likely didn't know about witches or witch charms.

  One of the guards shot a dart half the size of a banana into my chest. I reached up to yank it out and missed. I tried again.

  Missed.

  The edges of my vision darkened, and everything went black.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "It's the damndest thing. You seem to believe you have the upper hand here."

  "Warden, if I didn't have the upper hand, you would be inside this room conversing with me, instead of talking out of that fast food speaker on the wall."

  I spent the next twenty-four hours sleeping in my cell. No one bothered me. No one gave me anything, either. I had two bottles of water from the meal the warden had brought me, so I opened them and emptied the contents into the toilet. I rinsed the bottles and refilled one at the sink. Watched to see if there was any discoloration. Sniffed. Took a small taste.