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“Why is it all the way down here? Place gives me the creeps.”
“Be glad for the opportunity. This is cutting-edge research.”
“Don’t you ever feel bad for her?”
“For Twenty-Six?” The beta snorts. “You’ve seen her tapes. We’re doing the world a favor.”
Twenty-six is the number of times I’m about to kick through this asshole’s teeth.
No rush.
Playing dead, regaining my senses, I let them do the legwork while I wait for the time to strike. The wheels roll until we must’ve crossed football fields underground.
As we move deeper, a strange sensation snags behind my breastbone.
My throat crawls, shooting an involuntary twitch from my scalp to my baby toenails.
“Is she…”
“Standard response. It’s good news. The control bond is holding.”
I’m still wondering which bond he means when a scanner beeps. The betas stop somewhere that reeks of dry rot—with a moldy, grassy scent that almost claws a whine from my throat.
Rusty fish hooks tug at my ribs.
What the hell?
“How many vials of blood were ordered?”
“Two from each. One now, and one after the re-exposure period. Set the timer for thirty minutes.”
“Can we wait upstairs? I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“Fine. Just get it done.”
Brandon’s assistants clink around, while I pray they don’t check my pulse. Adrenaline fires.
Suddenly hyperaware, I feel every touch.
My breezy hospital gown. The dizzy draw of blood from the port at my wrist. The familiar manacles weighing my ankles.
It gets worse.
My chest.
My throat.
The crawling congestion.
The sickening, impossible yank, deep inside.
It can’t be.
When the lab door bangs shut, I’m left alone with a ticking timer and my racing-to-the-bottom thoughts.
The drugs have faded enough that I could move, but I’m not acting for the surveillance cams when I lie frozen, terrified to face another killer truth.
My throat spasms.
