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“Much too messy.” Jansen shook his head.
Risa shook her head as she watched herself buck and struggle against the pain. She wanted to scream, to give voice to the silent agony her dream self was enduring.
“So much pain,” she whispered at the doctor’s back. “Why did you hurt me?”
“Adjusting the drug isn’t going to be as easy as we first assumed,” the doctor commented thoughtfully. “Fuentes’s scientist was rather advanced in the synthetic qualities used to create the Whore’s Dust.”
Jansen stepped back, a scowl on his face as the doctor shook his head. “Too bad she’s so damned ugly, Jansen. You could have at least sold her off. At this point, she’s only a liability to you.”
Risa turned then, her gaze lifting until she could see the back of his head. His hair. Dark mixed with gray. Her vision was suddenly fuzzy; she felt light-headed, so frightened.
Shaking her head, she jerked her gaze back to herself, only to find her eyes locked with her own.
“You know him,” the bound Risa cried out in agony. “You know him. Don’t trust him. You know him.”
She fought to regulate her breathing, her fear. She tried to look at him again and a flash of disorientation assailed her.
“Look at him,” the dream Risa cried out. “You know him. Stop him. Oh God. Please. Please make it stop!”
Risa could hear the screams now. They echoed around her, resounding with torturous pain as she moved slowly around the bed, her hands gripping the metal rails that shook with the force of the d
ream Risa struggling against them. She moved in front of Jansen and lifted her eyes—
“Wake the fuck up, damn you!”
Her eyes jerked open.
She was no longer in the dream. She was struggling against Micah, her own screams still filling her head as she fought him.
She was on her knees facing him. He was kneeling in front of her, a bloody scratch running down his cheek. He was dressed in jeans, his bare chest was damp, a smear of blood on his shoulder, and he wasn’t alone.
Panting, fighting to breathe, Risa stared wildly around the room. There was Jordan and the redhead. Risa couldn’t remember her name. Had anyone introduced them? Jordan and the redhead were watching her as though she were crazed. His eyes were narrowed; the redhead’s green eyes were damp, as though she was on the verge of tears.
“Why are they here?” Risa’s throat was scratchy, her voice rough.
“You were having a nightmare,” Jordan stated as Risa saw Micah’s lips part to answer her.
Micah didn’t appear pleased that Jordan had jumped in. Handsome, hard, cold. Jordan Malone had the ability to frighten her.
She turned her eyes back to Micah. “Can they leave now?”
She wanted Jordan out of her bedroom. She didn’t like strangers staring at her as though they were dissecting her and whatever she might have said or dreamed.
She was too shaken by what she had dreamed this time, the way she had dreamed it. For the first time she hadn’t relived those nightmarish memories; she had merely observed them.
“You saw the man that came to the clinic with your father,” Micah said, his own voice rough. “What did you see, Risa?”
Her gaze moved back to Jordan. He was still dressed in perfectly pressed black slacks and a gray, starched cotton shirt. Did the man ever have a wrinkle anywhere on him?
“I saw me.” She shook her head as she pulled away from the warmth of Micah’s hands and struggled to sit on the bed, her feet flat on the floor, her back to the others. “Tell them to leave, Micah. I’m not in the mood for company at three o’clock in the morning. For God’s sake.” She turned her head and glared at Jordan. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
A heavy black brow arched with a hint of mockery. “I just replace my batteries when they run down,” he remarked laconically. “It’s more efficient.”
She snorted at that, shaking her head as Micah moved from the bed.
“Tehya, get Jordan the hell out of here,” Micah ordered her roughly. “And next time he wants to barge in, do me a favor and chain him to the bed or something.”
“He would have to be in the bed first,” Tehya commented. “I think he’s frightened I’ll join him.”
