“Boss wants to talk to you about the juvenile approaching the glass,” he elaborated.
An uneasy feeling filled Connor. Even if he hadn’t learned what he had, he would have been unhappy at the prospect of an interrogation. He wouldn’t share what he’d seen of Adonis, what he now knew about him—no chance. The idea of answering questions about him made Adonis seem more like a research subject than a living being.
“What’s there to talk about?” Connor feigned nonchalance. “I told you all about it. He was vibing with me until you and Arthur chased him off. Aren’t your cameras high-tech?”
“He wants to talk to you in person,” his dad said. Except this time, he used that tone. That hard, unyielding one that always ended with him getting his way, because his mind wouldn’t change no matter what. Well, Ben had another thing coming if he thought Connor would bend to him the way he used to. Connor almost smiled. Why would he still try so desperately to earn a shred of affection from his dad, when Trevor gave it out in the bucketfuls without the psychological torture?
“Yeah, well, good for him. Half the country wants a one-on-one talk with me. Even more now, given the news that’s breaking.” Connor cast his dad a cutting look. “And here I thought you came to talk about why you hired a lawyer to fuck me over.”
The corner of his dad’s eye twitched. The muscles in his neck tightened. “I just found out about that. I haven’t gotten around to sending the information to the detectives.”
“I heard. Couldn’t bare to part with the research, right? Same old story. Well, why don’t you get around to it? Hm? And maybe I’ll think about letting your billionaire boss ask me some questions.” Connor kicked off the counter. “I don’t think I can concentrate on anything other than my case until I know I’m not going to be thrown into a jail cell.”
His dad’s hand snaked out, seizing his wrist. Anger filled his eyes. “Enough with the attitude. We’re going.”
Connor sneered. “That’s mom’s favourite line. Have you ever seen it work on me?”
His dad’s grip on his wrist tightened. “You always have to make things difficult.” His gaze focused on something behind Connor, and he nodded.
Connor started to turn before an arm locked around his neck, and something covered his nose and mouth. Connor’s surprised outcry was ultimately killed—smothered by his covered mouth, and then the air he needed to make any more sounds was cut off by the elbow locked on his neck.
Déjà vu filled him.
Connor’s body jerked to life. He reached up wildly with his free hand to the person holding him, clawing at the arm cutting off his air supply. At the same time, he kicked out, nailing his dad’s knee and then his hip, before he fell backwards with a hiss. The hand his dad had restricted came free. He jabbed it into the face behind him, going for an eye. He found something soft and the body against his grunted. Familiar smells of dog and coffee washed over him.
Connor kicked out again, knocking the nearest chair down with a loud clatter.
A sharp pinch stabbed his neck, and Connor felt cool liquid rushing into his veins. A bolt of fear shot through him.What was that?
His body slackened, legs too heavy to fight, let alone move.
“Are you—what the—” Laurence’s surprised voice morphed into a cry of pain. Dread curled Connor’s stomach. He tried to move, tried to turn, to help, to do anything, but blackness punched through his vision, deadened his motor control. He couldn’t do anything.
“Dad!” Laurence cried out, his voice coming from low down, like he was on the ground.
The man at his back loosened his grip and slid onto the floor with him. Ben knelt next to him, holding a needle. Connor mustered up everything he could to glare at him but it was a feeble effort. Everything in him was fighting just to stay conscious.
“You’ve never exhibited any signs of change,” his dad said, taking a bottle from his pocket. “Not the way Austin did. But your resistance to drugs is impressive in its own right.”
Connor heard Nick shouting. Footsteps thundering down the stairs. Trevor’s angry bellow. Edith crying out. Barking. A laugh.
His dad filled the syringe, and the man cupped Connor’s chin, holding his head still as the needle disappeared into his neck as the second dose flooded his bloodstream.
Connor’s world went black.
*
“Was the rough treatment necessary?” a quiet voice asked.
Consciousness bloomed in Connor with a roaring vengeance. Everything came back to him at once: getting drugged at the house, waking in the car and being soundly beaten into submission. Waking as he was jostled onto the ship, taking a boot to the ribs when he’d managed to get himself upright, only to be knocked down again.
The gentle rocking beneath his head told him he was still on that ship. He opened his eyes, flinching at the sharp ache in both of them.
Austin’s face came into focus. Connor became aware of his gentle touch combing through his hair. Austin was looking over his shoulder at someone, his face pale and his expression fraught with unhappiness.
“He fought,” a familiar voice answered, clipped. “He’s lucky. I suggested a more permanent solution, but the doc insisted otherwise.”
Austin turned even paler, but he fixed his jaw in stubbornness, which turned into an outright sneer at whoever he was talking to. “My dad can buy brutes like you anywhere. If I were you, I’d be on my knees praying there’s no permanent damage.”
