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He raised a brow. “You don’t already know? How disappointing.”
The sarcasm in his voice was caustic, but when he wiped my face clean, he was overly careful. The rag came away tinged with pink and he rinsed it in the basin.
“Can I have a drink?” I asked.
He brushed the cloth along my arms, streaking dirt and plaster over skin. “Not yet.”
He dropped the cloth into the basin and stood. “I will see you soon, Brianna Drake.”
Both men walked from the room, the second taking the bowl without so much as a glance in my direction. The door banged shut, leaving me damp and alone in the dark room. How many men where outside … fifteen, twenty? It could have been more. How many would it have taken to overcome the Division’s security? How many had been lost there?
How the heck was I supposed to scratch my nose? I blew a puff of air out, wincing at the pain it caused in my shoulder. It did feel better having the dust wiped from my face, but my eyes were still dry, my head throbbing. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to clear my thoughts, but I was still too groggy from the drug. I dozed off, waking occasionally to the empty room, but the thirst and the numbness were getting worse.
I yanked again at the binds, which were now cutting into the meat of my wrists, but the only relief I could find was in shifting my legs. I was counting the hours, but there was no way to know how long it had been. Six hours? Ten? Thirty? I’d drifted to sleep once more when the door slammed open, and my head jerked to find the noise.
There was no sound outside, but I knew the other soldiers were there. The dark-haired man stood in the doorway, a bottle of water in one hand. He tilted his head to look at me, as if deciding, and then walked the rest of the way in.
He knelt beside me, bottle in hand, and tipped it toward my mouth. I leaned my chin up, head scraping the wall, and drank.
“There,” the man said, pulling the bottle free, “that’s enough for now.”
I sucked in a breath, relieved at having at least something to drink, but desperate for more. He stood, placing the cap back on, and I croaked, “Wait.”
He shook his head, rolling the half empty bottle in between his hands. “That’s all for now.”
And then he was gone.
I decided, in the hours he was away, that the next time I saw him, he was going to die. But what came through the door next, was not what I’d expected.
“Morgan,” I breathed, the sight of him—suit clean and pressed, face smooth and calm—made my chest ache with a sudden horror.
He smiled. “Brianna, so lovely to see you again.” He crossed the room to me, stopping the toe of his slick black dress shoes just inches from my outstretched leg, and crouched down to face me.
My chest was rising and falling too fast. How had he gotten free? How was he standing here? What did it mean for the others?
Why did I not see this?
He wet his lips, reaching a hand up to trace my cheek with the back of his finger. “I hope they’ve been treating you well. I know how unpleasant captivity can be.”
I felt like retching. I couldn’t even think of what had to have happened for Morgan to be free, not to Wesley, not to any of them.
“I can see you have questions,” Morgan purred. “Let me enlighten you.”
He snapped his fingers and a man I’d not seen in my shock moved the chair closer to him.
“Go,” Morgan commanded, sitting casually into the dirty chair. The man disappeared, leaving the door open behind him. I could see light through the opening, large metal pipes low to the ground. It was a factory, but not one we’d been to on our search.
Morgan edged forward, elbows resting over his knees, and said, “It’s given me a lot of time to think, Brianna, being trapped inside their room.” He pronounced my name like he owned me, and I hated it. He leaned back, pulling a thin silver blade from his inside jacket pocket, and my eyes followed the motion as he gave it a twist, balancing the point against one finger and the grip on the other. The metal reflected light from the vents, from the open door. “How could this have happened, I thought,” he continued. “How couldEmilyhave been the chosen, if you had the power to give us?”
He stared into my eyes with a ferocity that made me certain he was trying his sway, and then he shook his head dismissively. “I’d known it wouldn’t be easy. Of course there would be opposition,” he said, “but, Brianna, this wasmore.”
His hand shifted and I caught sight of a long scar across his palm.
He saw me looking. “Yes, it wasn’t a clean extraction, but it doesn’t matter. I heal at extraordinary rates now.”
So he’d been sleeping. They’d saved him during the fight, when they’d taken me, and he’d been recovering. For how long now, how many hours or days had I been strapped here? They were under his command and they were keeping me weak on purpose. For him.
He closed his hand over the blade. “If you would listen to me, Brianna dear, I am trying to tell you something important.” My eyes came back to his. He smiled cordially. “There. Now, as I was saying, I’d heard whispers of it before, when I was a boy.”
