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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Rix
Please God, no.
I knew I wasn’t in the cabin or on the boat.
That much was simple enough to figure out without even opening my eyes.
No, what I was praying for was that while I was unconscious, after one of Moord’s goons shoved that needle into my neck, was that they didn’t shove more needles into me, filling my blood back up with the serum.
A groan somewhere across the room perked my ears, but my eyelids were still too heavy for me to open.
“Rix? Zane?” Jorik croaked.
“Here,” I said, my vocal cords tight from lack of use. How long had we been unconscious? Hours? Days?
Zane grunted somewhere to my right.
Pushing myself up to sit, I harnessed all the energy I could to open my eyes. Yeah, they hadn’t dosed us—yet—otherwise I wouldn’t feel like this and it wouldn’t be so hard to open my eyes or sit up. They also would have bound our ankles and wrists.
Tiny victories.
We were in a small holding cell with a concrete floor and three concrete walls. The other wall was a two-way mirror, only we were on the window side.
“Fuck!” I growled, harnessing the last of my energy reserves to stand up and run to the window. I banged on the glass. “Haina!”
She was in a bed, passed out with a needle in her arm and a half-filled bag of blood oscillating in a Trima machine.
I pounded on the glass again. “Haina! Wildcat!”
Jorik was up beside me and was now pounding on the glass, too. “Angel!”
A small smile curled her full lips, and she turned over onto her side and snuggled into her pillow. Dread dropped like a lead balloon in my belly.
“What the fuck is going on?” I turned to Jorik. “Where are we?”
He lifted his shoulder and shook his head. “No fucking clue.”
“In the holding cell of another compound,” Zane said from across the room, standing up with a small wince. “And they’re probably extracting from her to begin dosing us again.”
Horror filled me.
No. I would rather die than go through any of that shit again. And I was pretty fucking sure Jorik and Zane felt the same way.
“I don’t understand why we’re even still alive,” I muttered. “We defected. That’s usually an automatic execution.”
The door on the far wall clicked open, and in sauntered Moord with his disgusting charred face. He’d obviously gotten caught in the explosion of the Sector Nine compound, since the last time I saw him, I’d sliced his throat and left him to die. But somehow that bastard escaped. His high buttoned-up shirt collar covered where I would have cut his neck open, so I couldn’t see the damage. But his injuries from the explosion were hard to miss. On his left side, he only had half his cheek and jaw. The skin was pink and shiny, the texture more like ground meat, and he didn’t have any eyelid on his left side, either. I could also see part of his teeth through his cheek and a bit of his jawbone. He was hard to look at.
And it had to be painful.
I wanted to poke his face with a stick.
“North brothers,” Moord said, stepping aside so the platinum blonde in the dark red leather cat suit from the dock could enter the room. Her eyes found Zane, and a sick smile curved her mouth.
“Zane,” she purred.
Zane glared at her with the hate and heat of a thousand hells. “Nereza.”
